The Free Man, Always Young and Fair, The Light in the Forest, and The Grandfathers seem to represent for the author a respite from the creative rigors of … [his] more ambitious works. Yet they are by no means—nor were they intended to be—light exercises to keep authorial techniques sharpened for bigger things. For this reason, then, the impression that the four represent interludes results more nearly from artistic lapses than from Richter's intention….

[Of all] Richter's novels, The Free Man received possibly the sharpest critical rebuke. (p. 117)

A major reason for the novel's shortcoming is its purpose to inspire the present with lessons of the past, for Richter was writing in the midst of World War II. "Perhaps in an understanding of the Pennsylvania Dutch, their loyalty to democracy and their love of peace," wrote Richter in the preface to the novel, "may be found the secret of a peaceful Europe in the years to come." Such purposive tendencies, of course, were not new. American literary figures as early as Philip Freneau, of the Revolutionary War era, had similarly weakened their art in behalf of a cause. And, when Richter turned to the same Revolutionary War for examples to inspire his own age, he likewise faltered.

It must be conceded, however, that The Free Man was timely in recalling the occasionally neglected fact that American free-dom sprang from European roots. (p. 118)

[One] of the novel's basic weaknesses [is] the improbable union of the lowly Henry Free and the aristocratic Amity Bayley. (p. 119)

And this flaw of plot underscores a more crucial failing of characterization. The Free Man is a vignette; as such it should provide a much clearer picture certainly of the protagonist, Henry Free, and also of his antagonist-turned-mate, Amity Bayley. In the effort to impress upon the reader Henry Free's love of freedom and his difficulty in earning it, however, Richter stresses brutality at the expense of affection that is necessary to bind the reader to the boy…. Moreover, the failure of Richter to depict Amity Bayley as a rounded personality results in her emerging as something more nearly resembling a china doll than a flesh-and-blood person. And it links her with a character likewise inadequately portrayed, Rudith Watrous of Tacey Cromwell.

Despite their flaws of characterization and their improbable mating, Henry Free and Amity Bayley in marriage do perform the service of illustrating one of the themes of the novel. Through the union of German and English, Richter … presents the theme of America as a melting pot of ethnic groups. It is a concept that the author had dealt with previously in "As It Was in the Beginning" and with which he would deal again in The Light in the Forest and in The Lady. The melting-pot concept is a corollary of the larger theme of historic change, which, in Richter's fiction, grows out of the processes of "westering." And The Free Man—set earlier than any other of the author's works growing out of such processes—thus demonstrates that, virtually from the beginning of European civilization in America, ethnic lines dissolved through marriage. In turn, the themes of historic change and America as a melting pot recall Richter's essayical theory of evolutionary progress.

Henry Free's successful fight for freedom represents a second theme related to "westering": hardship-into-gain. And the hardship—the adversity—harkens back to Richter's theory of human-energy supply and expenditure. In his philosophical essays, the author insists that adversity enables an individual to draw on supplies of energy from his own organism and consequently to satisfy an energy hunger. In The Free Man he implies that man collectively is enabled to satisfy the hunger for freedom by undergoing adversity. The theme of hardship-into-gain here is a link in the chain that extends throughout Richter's fiction.

The scope of Henry Free's life further stands for the theme of man's enduring and prevailing, a concept closely related to the essayical theory of evolutionary progress. But, in the course of "westering," man does not always endure. The Swiss and German settlers who die aboard the ship that brings Henry Free to America, for example, illustrate the failure. Of these, the youths who die reinforce the novel's theme of the tragedy of youthful death. Youthful death, a negative corollary, is a theme likewise employed by Richter in Early Americana, The Sea of Grass, The Lady, The Trees, The Fields, and The Town.

Shoring up these themes, with their overtones of freedom, are at least two obvious symbols in The Free Man. The iron collar Henry Free wears as an indentured servant represents forces that restrict man's freedom. And Queen Street, on which Amity Bayley resides in Reading, stands for aristocracy that would compel others to servitude.

As a historical service, The Free Man reveals important but unfamiliar aspects of American nationhood and the part played by the Pennsylvania Dutch with their "little Declaration of Independence" as early as April and May of 1775 and with their introduction and development of the pioneer rifle. These actual events, as well as the other themes, result in the novel's making a plea for international understanding and brotherhood. (pp. 119-21)

[In the second interlude], Always Young and Fair, Richter turned for the first time since his short stories of 1913–33 to the Pennsylvania of his youth. (p. 121)

In essence it is the story of a representative segment of Teddy Roosevelt's America, of the serene, bucolic life often referred to as the "age of innocence." Its final chapters, however, link the novel with Woodrow Wilson's America. And one of the strong points of the work is its successful re-creation of the spirit of the times and place.

Against this background, Richter again employs a youthful narrator to tell the story…. [And] like all of Richter's fictional predecessors, he is sufficiently detached to present an objective account. A portion of his detachment may be attributed here, as in nearly all of Richter's works employing a narrator, to the fact that Johnny for several years is away at college and thus unable to observe directly the events of a given moment.

As related by Johnny, Lucy Markle's story (like that of [F. Scott Fitzgerald's] Jay Gatsby) involves an attempt to stop the clock. In 1898, Private Tom Grail, aged twenty, dies in the service of Company G of the Pennsylvania National Guard in the Philippines. Supposedly he had been engaged to Lucy Markle, then aged eighteen, who, although thought by most actually to love Tom's cousin Captain Will Grail, was felt to be motivated by pity for Tom in her choice between the two.

Upon Tom's death, Lucy busies herself by caring for the dead youth's rheumatic father and in numerous other ways reflecting homage to Tom's memory. Initially she spurns the marriage offer of Will Grail, and, later, when she has consented, fails to appear for her wedding. The years speed by…. At a Legion hall dedication, Lucy hears a public reference to herself as a "well-preserved, gray-haired lady." Only then does she realize, in terror and with sudden resentment, that she, like all mortal flesh, has grown old and that only the memory of Tom Grail, to which she has devoted her life, has stayed forever fresh and unchanging—"always young and fair." In feverishly casting herself upon Will Grail, then, she thus prepares the way for the macabre denouement: shortly after their marriage, Will becomes an invalid for whom Lucy must care until the end of his days.

In Always Young and Fair, then, Richter has inadvertently veered into tragicomedy in reverse. Classical tragicomedy, of course, is a play with a plot suitable to tragedy but which ends happily like a comedy. Although doubtlessly intended as a serious vignette, Always Young and Fair revolves around personal actions so eccentric as to become ludicrous until the denouement, which takes a turn toward the tragic.

The character of Lucy Markle, with her vanity, her growing eccentricities, and her consuming egotism, is clearly drawn. But other aspects of characterization remain faulty. Primary among these flaws is the relationship of Lucy and Will Grail, each of whom lives unaccountably long within his own rigid reserve. That Will could be patient at first with Lucy's perversity is understandable; that he does not openly rebel earlier in a more vigorous way is not. Lucy and Will, nevertheless, become the only characters in Richter's fiction to end in tragedy because of their own willfulness, and they thus command greater attention than they might otherwise deserve. (pp. 122-23)

As an objective and realistic historical novel dealing with the relationship between the Scotch-Irish settlers of western Pennsylvania and the Tuscarawa (Delaware) Indians during 1764–65, The Light in the Forest has … [drawn praise] for its fidelity to ethnohistory. (p. 125)

Richter sets his story in 1765 in the Tuscarawa village at the forks of the Muskingum in Ohio and in western Pennsylvania. Then, using an omniscient point of view and the idiom of both the Indian and the pioneer settler, he relates the experiences of young John Cameron Butler: his captivity and rearing by Indians who name him True Son, his compulsory return by Colonel Boquet to his white parents, his inability to readjust to the white man's ways, and his unsuccessful attempt to return to his Indian foster parents. (pp. 126-27)

The title for The Light in the Forest Richter derives from a quotation from Wordsworth that prefaces the novel:

        Shades of the prison-house begin to close
          Upon the growing Boy,
        But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
          He sees it in his joy.

And inherent in the quotation is one of the basic themes of the novel: the restrictions that civilization places on the individual. This theme actually is a corollary of the larger concept of historic change that grows out of the processes of "westering" and historic change, in turn, is suggestive of Richter's essayical theory of evolutionary progress. As True Son, John Butler (like his adopted Indian brothers) lives as free as the open air. But returned to his white parents he experiences the constraints of civilization…. (pp. 127-28)

Still other corollaries of historic change, set forth in The Light in the Forest, are the themes of America as an ethnic melting pot (illustrated by the marriage of Little Crane and his white wife); the mixed allegiance of an individual to two opposing ethnic groups (represented mainly by John Butler); and the duality of civilization that is at once both good and evil (shown in the contrast between John's decent white father Harry, on the one hand, and his evil uncle Wilse, on the other). (p. 128)

The contrast between Indian and white, of course, is not simply that between good and evil; True Son at first thinks so but he ultimately and sadly learns better. The moment of truth, in which he discovers the Indian to be as savage as the white had insisted he was, haunts the boy…. Here, then, Richter introduces into his novel the theme of appearance and reality, and thereby touches also on the ambiguity of good and evil.

While objectively treating both white and Indian, the author still reflects something of a bias for the latter. His portrayal of True Son and Cuyloga reveals the author to be sympathetic with the Noble Savage concept of early Romantic literature in America. Further strengthening this impression is the fact that only two of the whites … are depicted as having any genuine understanding of the plight of the Indian-like white boy.

In thus sympathizing with the Indian, Richter brings to the novel the theme of brotherhood. The Light in the Forest thus resembles two earlier novels and a like number of earlier short stories. One of its predecessors, Tacey Cromwell, pleads for tolerance of human frailty, with the theme reinforced by the reaction of so-called "respectable" women to a reformed prostitute. And the two stories, "Good Neighbors" and "The Laughter of Leen," inspired by World Wars II and I, respectively, call for understanding of a nation's wartime enemies in foreign countries. The Free Man, written during World War II, also makes such a plea. The Light in the Forest ostensibly explores still another side of the theme of brotherhood by seeking to promote harmony between two opposing ethnic groups in the same country…. While the short stories belong to Richter's non-"westering" fiction, the three novels grow out of processes of "westering." For this reason, the theme of brotherhood in the longer works actually serves as a corollary of the larger concept of man's enduring and prevailing—an idea related to the essayical theory of evolutionary progress. (pp. 128-30)

In the corpus of Richter's fiction, brotherhood and its larger theme of man's enduring and prevailing signify success—evolutionary progress. But in the course of "westering" man does not always succeed. To illustrate this verity, then, the author admits into The Light in the Forest two negative corollaries: the tragedy of youthful death and the inability of Eastern woman to adjust to frontier life. (p. 130)

On the psychologically subconscious and mystical levels, The Light in the Forest promotes the theme of the mystique of the wilderness by revealing the Indians in close contact with nature and by contrasting their way of free living with the white's constrictions. The mystique of the wilderness is a corollary of Richter's theme of the organic unity of man and nature, which, in turn, recalls the essayical theory that all life is governed by natural laws. (pp. 130-31)

Finally, The Light in the Forest … continues the mystical theme of the search for and reconciliation with the Spiritual Father. John Butler becomes alienated not from one, but two (his white and his Indian) earthly fathers. And since the earthly father serves as a symbol of the Spiritual, he becomes isolated inferentially from the Spiritual. Compounding his problem, John does not understand his mother, whose love could provide a key to the understanding of his earthly (and hence his Spiritual) father….

[The Grandfathers] represents his fourth and final interlude to date…. [It] finds a place in the corpus of Richter's Midwestern fiction by contributing further to the panoramic view of life that the author continues to portray of his native Pennsylvania and environs. Moreover, the work is Richter's first to be devoted almost exclusively to comedy.

Although creating an initial impression that it serves as a depository for unused humorous anecdotes Richter has collected during his half-century of writing, The Grandfathers received favorable reviews. (p. 131)

The main story line, interlaced with tall tales and subsidiary episodes bordering on burlesque, causes The Grandfathers to veer dangerously close to farce. And in lesser hands than Richter's it would. One of the factors that mitigates against the work's degenerating into an installment of television's "Beverly Hillbillies" is its pastoral quality…. Richter, it is true, lacks the complex vision of [Robert Frost or William Faulkner], but he still is able to portray a rustic world that simplifies human conflicts and which thus evokes a response in the reader.

Further redeeming the novel from farce, Richter expertly applies liberal doses of authentic folklore…. In recreating a hell-fire-and-brimstone sermon, the author reveals a deft ear for folk speech…. (pp. 134-35)

Viewed for its contribution toward completing Richter's panoramic view of his native Pennsylvania and environs, The Grandfathers assumes still greater significance…. [Because] it is his first to deal with western Maryland, it tends even more to complement his panoramic view.

Finally, The Grandfathers proves meritorious in its fidelity to themes that Richter has promoted throughout his fiction. For all of its humor, the novel contains characteristic authorial seriousness. One example is an omnisciently poignant passage in which the reader learns that Ant Dib's twins will never grow up. Less "than a week before starting school, they would take spine fever, the boy first, the girl soon after, and both die within twenty four hours of each other." This revelation, coupled with the early death of Dick Goddem, is in Richter's thematic tradition of the tragedy of youthful death. (pp. 135-36)

On the psychological-mystical level, The Grandfathers, harkening back to Richter's essayical theories, repeats the themes of the search for the Father and for individual identity, and of altruism. All three are embodied in the thoughts and actions of Chariter, the psychic center of the novel….

These virtues notwithstanding, The Grandfathers is not without faults. Central among its shortcomings, the characters are derivative. (p. 136)

Another weakness occasionally appears in strained efforts for humor….

Structurally The Grandfathers is also derivative, but the practice in this instance is not objectionable. In Always Young and Fair, for example, Richter had employed a story-within-a-story to foreshadow the fate of his heroine. In The Grandfathers, he utilizes a similar device…. Like virtually all of Richter's novels, The Grandfathers is episodic.

Although creating the impression of being interludes—respites from the creative rigors of more ambitious works—The Free Man, Always Young and Fair, The Light in the Forest, and The Grandfathers still manage to perform useful fictional functions for Conrad Richter. The two of a purely historical nature (The Free Man and The Light in the Forest) enable the author to explore topics anterior to the subjects of his Ohio trilogy and thus to fill gaps helpful to greater appreciation of the larger novels. Written during the years of two wars, they also provide outlets for messages of patriotism, reassurance, and hope for a peaceful world characterized by brotherhood and human understanding. Always Young and Fair provides perhaps necessary preparation for the other two autobiographical novels to follow, The Waters of Kronos and A Simple Honorable Man; for it marked Richter's first return since his earliest short stories to the use of native materials. The Grandfathers is notable as Richter's first full excursion into comedy and also as his initial treatment of a segment of life in western Maryland. (p. 137)

Some of [Richter's works] reveal the author to have attuned himself to the problems of contemporary life and to current literary fashions. But others (including his best efforts) show him to have avoided both; however, in turning from the present to the past for fictional materials, he has consistently focused on human qualities that he considers fundamental to man's successful adaptation to modern complexity. And, if he has defied classification either as a Naturalistic-Realistic or as a psychological writer, he has embraced characteristics of all.

Richter is one of America's most autobiographical writers. Whether he is writing of his own time or of the past, he draws largely on personal experience—either that of himself or of his family and other persons he has known. But for his historical fiction he has added to materials obtained from these oral sources those gleaned from old documents, letters, newspapers. The use of the familiar, of course, is not inherently meritorious. To the contrary, it can result (as occasionally it does for Richter) in a tendency toward sentimentality. Too, it can lead (as it does not for Richter) toward didacticism. The real significance of Richter's dependence on the familiar is that it has turned him toward an introspection that prompts his works to veer more often than generally recognized toward the mystical and mythical.

Again, the indulgence in mysticism and myth, especially for the mere sake of esotericism, fails to distinguish a writer. What does merit acclaim is the successful attempt to utilize mysticism and myth to find new forms for the novel and new concepts of man and history. But to suggest that Richter has thus succeeded would be to misrepresent his accomplishment. For the mysticism and myth with which he works are not new but conventional: the alienation from the earthly and Spiritual fathers and the subsequent search for reconciliation, and the assumption of guilt; and the myths of the making of the American racial unconscious; and time and individual identity. Hence, they do not contribute either to novelistic or to philosophical innovation. Neither, however, do the mythical and mystical elements in Richter's fiction reflect a purely esoteric purpose. They are organic parts of a whole. And the suspension thus created may be praised for the simple reason that it represents a successful attempt to elevate fiction above the level of mere popularization. In other words, Richter's mysticism and myth, while failing to reach bold new heights, at least place his fiction above that which never undertakes the task. (pp. 153-54)

Technically, Richter's artistry is perhaps first evident in concision of presentation. Most of his long fiction (which still averages less than two hundred pages) derives from the novella. In such a determinably short form of single effect, space and time are crucial. The author must forego the leisurely and chronological presentation of events to concentrate on central situations in the lives of the characters. To satisfy this requirement, Richter often has employed the middle-distance point of view, with a narrator sufficiently related to the principal characters to be aware of significant events, but detached enough to be objective. The result, in every instance except Tacey Cromwell, is the proper motivation of character and the adequate portrayal of event.

The deft portrayal of several characters likewise attests to Richter's artistry. Sayward Luckett Wheeler, of the Ohio historical trilogy, stands as the author's finest characterization, although Harry Donner, of The Waters of Kronos and of A Simple Honorable Man, remains in close contention. Both are portrayed as strong characters, but realistically with human failings. They epitomize elemental virtue without overly doing so. If their portrayals fail in any manner, it is because of their lack of complexity. Yet this deficiency is somewhat calculated: Sayward is essentially simple in order to form a complementary contrast with the complexity of her husband Portius and her youngest child Chancey; and Harry Donner is basically unquestioning in his religious convictions not only to underscore the troubled thoughts of his eldest son John but to reinforce the ideas of simple goodness. (pp. 154-55)

A simplicity of style, occasionally verging on the lyrical, enables Richter to create evocative settings. Punctuated with authentic and generous examples of folklore, it further permits him to re-create other "actualities" of time and place. Few writers have this quality that Robert Penn Warren calls a "true ear" for indigenous speech. Elizabeth Madox Roberts and George W. Harris before Richter had it; and Eudora Welty, Caroline Gordon, Erskine Caldwell, and William Faulkner—contemporary with Richter—have it. In this technique and among this company, Richter has no peer. And this achievement—combined with his successful presentation of plot, character, and setting—enable his better works to maintain an admirable unity of effect….

Richter's chief contribution, then, is in the field of historical fiction. Such of his works reflect an understanding of early man, a feeling for history (not per se, but the "actualities" of everyday life of the past), and the ability to think and to write in keeping with this understanding and feeling. The limitations of the genre, nevertheless, become those of its practitioner. (p. 156)

Yet his limitations do not deny Conrad Richter a position on the council of America's foremost historical novelists…. And if any have effectively dealt with elemental virtue, Richter has promoted with artistic restraint the worth of simple goodness. (p. 157)

Edwin W. Gaston, Jr., in his Conrad Richter, Twayne Publishers, Inc., 1965, 176 p.