It's always been difficult coming to terms with whatever is happening in America. If Goethe could herald us as 'eternally new,' a century later Gertrude Stein would call her country 'the oldest in the world.' And of course we seem fated to be a little bit—or a whole lot—of both. As soon as we grow accustomed to a recognizable scene, a tidy concept—Tocqueville's 'individualism' or Taylor's 'scientific management'—a gale wind of late news suddenly fragments the images, and we're fumbling in the dust, starting the laborious construction once more. A year ago at the Inaugural Ball who would have thought that Pat and Dick waltzing to the sedate strains of Guy Lombardo were secretly dancing on the Titanic?
Review, 5509 words
To read the full text of this piece, please choose one of the following options:
|
If you are already a subscriber to the Review's electronic edition, please sign in: |
To subscribe to the electronic edition, please press the button below. |
To purchase access to this article for $3, please press the button below. |