Abstract
At times in reading some of books which arrived this past twelvemonth, I have been prompted to remark, as Francis Jeffrey so memorably did of Wordsworth's Excursion in Edinburgh Review, This will never do! Such absolute damnation seldom pays, however. I am put in mind of a little-known review in The Harbinger (April 1848) which also begins with pronominal indignation: This is an unmitigated atrocity, from beginning to end, and if, as title page imports, by author of Jane Eyre, his fall has been as signal and as overwhelming as his rise was sudden and astonishing.'' I suppose that knowing who Currer Bell was certainly would not have changed reviewer's opinion, but intense negative impulses often need to be tempered by an awareness of facts. More frequently as I read, I was put in mind of wry opening sentence of Arthur Symons's review of Francis Thompson's first volume: If Crashaw, Shelley, Donne, Marvell, Patmore and some other poets had not existed, Francis Thompson would be a poet of remarkable novelty. It doesn't seem long ago that Uli Knoepflmacher complained about readings and interpretations that merely swerve a few degrees from existing discussions and David DeLaura spoke of the sheer ignorance and mindless botanizing of so much recent criticism-the endless circling around same questions, with little truly professional concern for what is needed (ELN [December 1978]:184-85). Doubtless Knoepflmacher and DeLaura are referring to sort of article one of my colleagues is wont to cite in this connection-on dog symbolism in The Mill on Floss.
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