nd,
instead of quoting any of the numerous things that would interest people,
fill half a column with abuse of the way in which the book was written, of
the inconsequence of the chapters, of the second-handedness of many of the
anecdotes. Now, I do not object to any of these charges being brought. It
is well that "made" books should not be palmed off on the public as
literature. On the other hand, a mediocre book (from the point of view of
literature or history) is no excuse for a mediocre review. No matter how
mediocre a book is, if it is on a subject of great interest, it usually
contains enough vital matter to make an exciting half-column. Many
reviewers despise a bad book so heartily that, instead of squeezing every
drop of interest out of it, as they ought to do, they refrain from
squeezing a single drop of interest out of it. They are frequently people
who suffer from anecdotophobia. "Scorn not the anecdote" is a motto that
might be modestly hung up in the heart of every reviewer. After all,
Montaigne did not scorn it, and there is no reason why the modern
journalist should be ashamed of following so respectable an example. One
can quite easily understand how the gluttony of many publishers for
anecdotes has driven writers with a respect for their intellect into
revolt. But let us not be unjust to the anecdote because it has been
cheapened through no fault of its own. We may be sure of one thing. A
review--a review, at any rate, of a book of memoirs or any similar kind of
non-literary book--which contains an anecdote is better than a review
which does not contain an anecdote. If an anecdotal review is bad, it is
because it is badly done, not because it is anecdotal. This, one might
imagine, is too obvious to require saying; but many men of brains go
through life without ever being able to see it.

One of the chief virtues of the anecdote is that it brings the reviewer
down from his generalizations to the individual instances. Generalizations
mixed with instances make a fine sort of review, but to flow on for a
column of generalizations without ever pausing to light them into life
with instances, concrete examples, anecdotes, is to write not a
book-review but a sermon. Of the two, the sermon is much the easier to
write: it does not involve the trouble of constant reference to one's
authorities. Perhaps, however, someone with practice in writing sermons
will argue that the sermon without instances is as somniferous a