I am writing to you with considerable hesitation because I realize that this letter might well not succeed in what it sets out to do. But since I feel strongly and deeply about my purpose, I will take the risks inherent in my enterprise. As you undoubtedly realize I want to talk to you about your recent lecture, Psychoanalysis and the Misinterpretation of Literature. It will not surprise you to hear that many of my colleagues did not respond favorably to it. There were some, however, who were fascinated by what you had to say and, despite strong misgivings, felt positively in the balance. And there finally were also those, including me, who not only admired the formal brilliance of your presentation but who also were grateful to you because you had chosen a most significant topic and had confronted us with a number of crucial questions. But even this group of admirers of which I am here making myself the spokesman had some reservations and, above all, felt certain deep regrets. Let me say at the outset that I do not insist on an evenhanded approach. Like the good old-fashioned hellfire-and-brimstone preacher, you delivered a sermon meant to stir up guilt and contrition in the congregation; and, while my own tastes don't go in this direction, I have no wish to impose my predilections on you and grant you the right to make your points in the form of your choosing, especially in view of the to me decisive fact that your scorn was mitigated by an occasional dram of wise, above-the-melee objectivity and by an ounce of welcome humor