“Who would read good books if college students were not compelled to read them? And who would write about them if professors were not obliged, for reasons of career advancement, to publish something from time to time? Yet the leading American critic of this era was a man, Edmund Wilson, who held no more advanced degree than a bachelor of arts from Princeton and whose stints of teaching were brief and few. He once wrote that “after trying to do something with teaching and rather enjoying it at fi...rst … I’ve decided that the whole thing, for a writer, is unnatural, embarrassing, disgusting, and that I might better do journalism, after all, when I have to make money.” Not that he was against education. Indeed, he seems to have enjoyed and cherished his own more than most. He maintained until the older man’s death an affectionate correspondence with Christian Gauss, the favorite of his Princeton professors, and wrote an admiring and grateful memoir of his prep-school instructor in Greek: “The thing that glowed for me through Xenophon and Homer in those classrooms of thirty years ago has glowed for me ever since.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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