Listened to some engaging speakers this morning, addressing the notion of the creation of a literary community with much enthusiasm, good sense and good ideas. Then later in the day found myself beset by some cynical but rather bracing thoughts. It suddenly occurred to me that one doesn't exactly think of groups of writers, critics and lit academics as embodying warmth, goodwill to all men and bonhomie. The kind of spats you get in literary journals are pretty good evidence of what I mean.
I reckon a chap in search of the quiet life would have done well to avoid the Lake poets and their ilk. Would you have wanted to hang out with Byron?
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