Men of letters
Explanation:
Esto es sólo para confirmar la respuesta de Alejandra, y para muestra:
ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS
MARIA EDGEWORTH
BY THE
HON. EMILY LAWLESS
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1905
All rights reserved
Lives of Men of Letters and Science,
who flourished in the time of George III
Henry, Lord Brougham
2 Volume(s)
Broughton, Trev (University of York)
Men of Letters, Writing Lives: Masculinity and Literary Auto/Biography in the Late Victorian Period
Routledge, April 1999, 224 pp., ISBN (cloth) 0-415-08211-0, $85.00, ISBN (paperback) 0-415-08212-9, $24.99
Description:
Men of Letters, Writing Lives takes an in-depth look at the developments within Victorian autobiography and biography, and asks what we can learn about the conditions and limits of male literary authority. The book focuses on two case studies from the period 1880-1903: the theories and achievements of Sir Leslie Stephen and the debate surrounding James Anthony Groude's account of the marriage of Thomas and Jane Welsh Carlyle. Providing a feminist analysis of the effects of this literary production on culture, Trev Broughton argues that the modernization of life writing was due to the commercialization of the life-and-letters industry and the proliferation of professions with a vested interest in the written life.
From the New York American
April 22, 1910
[Anonymous]
Chief of American Men of Letters
MARK TWAIN IS DEAD.
It would be hard to frame four other words that could carry a message of personal bereavement to so many Americans.
He was easily the chief of our writers, by the only valid test. He could touch the emotional centre of more lives than any other.
He was curiously and intimately American. No other author has such a tang of the soil--such a flavor of the average national mind.
Europeans who complain that we denied Walt Whitman, misunderstood Emerson and have admired only those who write in old world fashions should be satisfied at least with Mark Twain, and with our unwavering taste for him.
He was our very own, and we gathered him to our hearts.
In ages to come, if historians and archaeologists would know the thoughts, the temper, the characteristic psychology of the American of the latter half of the nineteenth century, he will need only to read "Innocents Abroad," "Tom Sawyer," and "Huckleberry Finn."
Mr. Clemens's books were the transcripts of his life. And that life was the kind of life that the average American man of his time has believed in and admired.
He was the man that rose from the ranks without envy or condescension.
The man that hated dogmas and philosophies and loved a flash of intellectual light.
He was the man that cared much to get rich, yet would sweat blood to pay his debts.
The man of boundless optimism, who has never troubled to understand the great tragedies of nations.
The deepening sense of the twentieth century--with its feeling that there are social problems that cannot be resolved by pleasantries--has somehow left our dear prophet, with all his delicate and tender ironies and his merry quips, a little in the rear.
Mark Twain was never fortunate in his polemics. He was not effective as the champion of a cause. What he wrote of the Congo was hardly more creditable or convincing than his crusade against Mrs. Eddy.
He had no natural acerbity, and consequently no real talent for satire.
His genius was full of bravery and brightness and the joy of life.
And in the strength of his serene and laughing spirit generations of Americans will go forth to do deeds that he himself could never have conceived.
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