R. P. Blackmur: America's Best Critic
Russell Fraser
R. P. Blackmur, whom Alien Tate called our best American crritic, has been dead now for 16 years. This seems long enough to warrant a comprehensive look at his achievement, where achievement signifies the man he made himself not less than the books he wrote. Interest in Blackmur is on the upswing today. His criticism of poetry gets plenty of respectful attention. Harcourt, his old publisher, has recently brought out an abridged version of the huge manuscript he left on Henry Adams and at which he labored for more than half his life. In 1977, Princeton, where he taught for 25 years, published a collected edition of his poems. Critical studies have begun to appear, and a full-dress biography is in the works. All this activity speaks of success. But, in his own view, Blackmur died a failure. What kind of man was this who so disvalued himself, and how tenable is the judgment at which he arrived? Here is one man's answer.
No question, Blackmur's personal life ended in disaster.
