n reader the reason is that he is witnessing just this
condition.... The American is aware of the individual and social
problems which inspire the current literatures of Europe. He is
conscious of the conflicts of family and sex, of the contrasts of
poverty and wealth. Of such stuff, also, are his books. Their _body_ is
mature: but their mental and spiritual _motivation_ remains infantile.
At once, it is reduced to an abortive simplification whereby the reality
is maimed, the reader's wish fulfilled as it could only be in fairyland.
But the fairyland is missing: the sweet moods of fairyland have withered
in the arid sophistications of American life.... And yet the authors of
this sort of book are hailed as realists, their work is acclaimed as
social criticism and American interpretation. And when at times a
solitary voice emerges with the truth, its message is attacked as morbid
and a lie.

"It is easy to understand how optimism should become of the tissue of
American life. The pioneer must hope. Else, how can he press on? The
American editor or writer who fails to strike the optimistic note is set
upon with a ferocity which becomes clear if we bear in mind that hope is
the pioneer's preserving arm. I do not mean to discredit the validity of
hope and optimism. I can honestly lay claim to both. America was builded
on a dream of fair lands: a dream that has come true. In the infinitely
harder problems of social and psychic health, the dream persists. We
believe in our Star. And we do not believe in our experience. America
is filled with poverty, with social disease, with oppression and with
physical degeneration. But we do not wish to believe that this is so. We
bask in the benign delusion of our perfect freedom.... Yet spiritual
growth without the facing of the world is an impossible conception."

Mr. Frank instances the case of Jack London as an example of how
inhibition may crush an artist, while rewarding him with material
success. "The background of this gifted man was the background of
America. He had gone back to primal stratum: stolen and labored and
adventured. Finally, he had learned to write. Criticism grew in him. He
pierced the American myths. He no longer believed in the Puritan God....
But what of this experience of passion and exploration lives in his
books? Precisely, nothing. London became a 'best-seller.' He sold
himself to a Syndicate which paid him a fabulous price for every word he
wrote. He visited