The Little Review, April 1916 (Vol. 3, No. 2)

In Short

This periodical functions as a manifesto for the avant-garde, blending poetry, cultural criticism, and fierce political advocacy. It captures a pivotal moment when writers and artists attempted to dismantle stale Victorian conventions in favor of raw, authentic expression. By championing figures like Amy Lowell and Vachel Lindsay, and engaging with the radical social questions of the day—from birth control to the ethics of war—the magazine remains a lasting testament to the necessity of intellectual freedom and the perpetual, difficult work of cultural renewal.

The Story

The magazine begins with a stark, evocative collection of poetry that sets the tone for the entire volume. Carl Sandburg’s verses, particularly his reflections on the disappearance of a "wild girl" named Chick Lorimer and his meditations on death, establish a preoccupation with the transient and the overlooked. These poems are not merely aesthetic; they are grounded in the realities of human loss and the relentless, uncaring nature of time. Following this, the narrative pivots to the global stage through a blistering letter from Ezra Pound, who decries the "insularity" and "stupidity" of American trade policies regarding literature. Pound argues that the tariff on foreign books is a form of cultural sabotage, keeping the American mind tethered to mediocre, "canned" goods rather than the bracing intelligence available in foreign intellectual capitals.

The focus then shifts to the editorial desk of Margaret C. Anderson, who offers a defiant defense of modern poetry. She confronts the common criticism that contemporary verse lacks "feeling," arguing instead that the fault lies with a public that demands sentimental familiarity rather than true art. This theme of artistic integrity recurs in an assessment of the Art Institute of Chicago, which is described as having devolved from a vibrant, rebellious school of artists into a soulless "factory" governed by administrative sterility.

The middle section delves into the evolving nature of performance, specifically the work of Vachel Lindsay and the rise of motion pictures. The critique here is nuanced; while the author acknowledges Lindsay’s importance as a "vaudeville" chanter, he also questions the viability of the poet’s theories on cinema as a new scripture. This leads into the "New York Letter," where the author observes the city’s attempt to enforce geometry and order upon the "sophisticated" trees of Washington Square, a metaphor for the broader tension between natural vitality and artificial control.

The volume concludes with a robust section of book discussions and reader correspondence. Critics weigh the merits of historical and political texts, cautioning against the "ink-war demoralization" caused by biased war literature. The final pages shift to the practical concerns of the day: advertisements for books on psychoanalysis, suffragette politics, and radical social tracts by Margaret Sanger. The closing arc of the magazine is not one of resolution, but of ongoing, heated engagement. It leaves the reader with the sense that the struggle—whether against the "dead hand" of tradition, the censorship of official morality, or the encroaching banality of commercial life—is a necessary, never-ending labor.

How It Unfolds

The poetic opening Carl Sandburg introduces a world defined by absence and the "great way of forgetting." His verses focus on the quiet tragedy of the individual in the face of inevitable, wind-swept erasure.

The international complaint Ezra Pound issues a sharp, polemical challenge regarding the intellectual isolationism enforced by tariffs. He frames the issue not as mere economics, but as a moral barrier preventing the growth of a mature American culture.

The editorial defense Margaret C. Anderson intervenes to confront the philistine dismissal of modern poetry. She demands that the reader encounter the work on its own terms, rather than requiring the poet’s personality as a crutch for enjoyment.

The institutional critique A stinging assessment of the Art Institute of Chicago reveals the rot of professionalization. It calls for a return to the messy, vibrant, and dangerous atmosphere that defined the earlier, more daring generation of students.

The performance paradox The discussion of Vachel Lindsay and the "midnight-movie" audiences exposes the friction between lofty artistic theory and the chaotic reality of public consumption. It highlights how the common man, drunk or sober, often has a more honest, visceral reaction to art than the critic.

The social imperative The concluding pages align the magazine with the most controversial social movements of 1916. By promoting birth control and radical philosophy, the publication declares that literature is inseparable from the active, often painful, construction of a new society.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson, the publisher and editor, acts as the magazine’s moral anchor; she is unapologetically combative and refuses to house any contributor or reader who cannot appreciate the emotional depth of modern verse. Carl Sandburg emerges as the poetic voice of the common experience, finding beauty in the "salt and bread" of a difficult life. Ezra Pound appears as a distant but fierce intellectual force, demanding that the American writer be granted the same access to the global conversation as his European counterparts. Vachel Lindsay represents the experimental, often contradictory, effort to bridge high art and the populist "vaudeville" spirit, while the unnamed "common man" in the movie house—the scrub-woman, the drunk, the hotel maid—serves as the ultimate, unvarnished judge of whether art truly succeeds in capturing the human condition.

In Its Own Voice

So we all love a wild girl keeping a hold On a dream she wants.

In his poem "Gone," Sandburg captures the haunting, elusive nature of a life lived outside the boundaries of conventional society.

It means insularity, stupidity, backing the printer against literature, commerce and obstruction against intelligence.

Pound’s assessment of the tariff on books serves as the magazine’s central argument for the necessity of intellectual and artistic freedom.

Why conjure up an atmosphere of guilt that neither man nor woman felt?

In the reader-critic section, Alice Groff challenges the stifling influence of traditional morality on the depiction of human desire.

What It's Really About

This volume is fundamentally concerned with the tension between "vibrant life" and the "dead hand" of tradition. The contributors argue that whether in poetry, painting, or social policy, art must be allowed to grow from the raw, unadorned truth of human experience. The magazine fights against a culture of convenience, where the public prefers the "canned goods" of mainstream publishers to the challenging, often uncomfortable, work of the genuine artist. Beneath the individual reviews and poems lies the question of how to maintain a creative life in a society that prefers its streets geometric, its morality stagnant, and its art safely divorced from the realities of the body and the soul.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the sharp, unvarnished energy of intellectual history will find this volume deeply rewarding. It does not offer the polished, retrospective view of a textbook; rather, it provides the immediate, breathless sensation of writers standing on the precipice of a new era, unsure of what comes next but certain that the old ways are dying. You will encounter the genuine frustration of people who are exhausted by the "ink-war" of their time and the pervasive, shallow morality of their neighbors.

The experience of reading it is like stepping into a heated, late-night conversation in a Chicago office in 1916. Some of the references—to forgotten plays or minor figures—may feel distant, and the period’s specific anxieties about "foreign" influences or industrial change are distinctly of their moment. However, the core of the magazine—the insistence that art must be "clean and true" and the refusal to accept the "lie against life" imposed by social conventions—resonates with a fierce, enduring relevance. If you value primary sources that capture the grit and the idealism of the past, this collection is an essential, bracing encounter.