Jean Toomer writes like Joyce but gets none of the credit. Cain belongs in most conversations about Ulysses. Published at the same time, lots of canonical allusions, and a sterling mixed-media effort way before that stuff was cool. Toomer’s estate needs to get on this-they could be missing out on millions in anthology royalties.

At literary themed parties, someone inevitably dresses as the Wife of Bath. Some folk artist reads an awful poem. Some publishing associate leaves chicken wing remnants in the cushions. 

Delmore Schwartz would fight hard for the mental health parity bill meandering its way through Congress. He’d testify in favor of it. The Voices would interrupt him at intervals.

Benchley wrote perfect book reviews. Whoever played him in Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle hit perfect pitch. It was a perfect era, civil rights and labor “challenges” not withstanding. At least it had style. Has the present ever had style in the minds of young Wetsern readers? Doubtful.

Glossy journals get the readers; think Swink out in LA. Quirky names get the readers, too; think Can We Have Our Ball Back. The age demanded: gloss n’ irony. Not so bad, really. Academics control the game now, but if the trend continues they might lose their grip. Either way there’s booze.

Congreve and Pope in a bar fight, who wins? Moot point, really. They’d be more likely to throw down at an ice-cream social–with a decades-sober Albee looking on.

Edward Albee needs an ice-cream cone, and this blog needs a spam filter. He’ll be happier and we’ll have nothing but blue sky in front of us.

Jean Rhys had many lovers. She also had a ballerina dress that she wore on special occassions. She also had Jazz Age icons on her roladex. She had a drug problem. She had a wrinkled passport. She had a wonderful time, in a truly wonderful era of license and fiscal imprudence. Good.

Hemingway would edit his e-mails. Newspapermen strike polysyllabic words from everything, including their grocery lists. He’d also IM, though I doubt he’d blog. Hunters never blog.

DH Lawrence would enjoy Dubai. Lots of wealthy American tourists (and possible benefactors) laying out in the sun. Just like his New Mexico trip–not sure about the peyote scene abroad, though.

Would Boccaccio make an able NEA director? I think so. Italians approach these jobs with passion and energy. Plus they take care of their own. Hot-blooded art needs millions to outduel MSN for our attention. He could deliver.

Would Faulkner support physician-assisted suicide? Maybe as a curiosity. Would he vote? Ditto.

Hart Crane’s sedition trial would be closed to the press. He’d unwisely retain some Sierra Club lawyer and get clobbered. He’d do well to retain a junk yard dog from the Philip Morris general counsel’s office. Or maybe he made the right decision on the high seas.

Chaucer’s sexual assault trial would draw millions of television viewers if it aired today. He’d retain Shapiro to refute Anti-Semitism charges.

Chris Hedges stands as a rarity among journalists who cover politics and national defense: a quiet, macho liberal. Mailer had the machismo but lacked the self-reflection. Vidal had a strong leftist bent but couldn’t fight his way out of a Girl Scout banquet. Hedges goes everywhere, goes months without bathing (I imagine), dodges bullets (so I’ve read), and hits everything from NPR to Anti War Radio. Another minister’s kid kicking ass–they always seem to. Probably ’cause even when they embrace agnosticism they continue to pray.