Malcolm Cowley did as much as anyone to shape the literary canon of the last century. Why did he hold onto Soviet Communism long after other American intellectuals had given it up?
Once upon a time—between September 1913 and February 1936—there was Vanity Fair. A quarter of a century after it folded, Cleveland Amory called it “America’s most memorable magazine,” and only a curmudgeon would quarrel with that accolade. It inspired an unusual fondness in both its contributors and its readers when it was alive, and amazingly its reputation still inspires much the same fondness in those who have never turned its pages. It is understandable that Condé Nast Publications Inc., the firm descended from the original publisher, should have been tempted to revive it.
MR. FITZGERALD. How do you do. I’m afraid it’s an awful nuisance for you to see me. Mr. Brooks. Not at all. I’m glad to. I’m only sorry to have had to put it off. But I’ve been so frightfully busy with my book that I haven’t ben able to do anything. Mr. Fitzgerald. What’s that—the James? I suppose you’re trying to have it out in time to get the benefit of the publicity of the Dial award. Mr. Brooks. Oh, no: it may take me a long time yet. But it’s really rather a complicated job and I don’t like to drop a chapter in the middle or I lose all the threads.