[No Souvenirs: Journal 1957–1969] is packed with the jottings of an overflowing mind: dreams too good to lose; insights to be refined later; sad thoughts on the degeneracy of orientalists….

The journal can be hard going. As a travelogue it disappoints, but as a record of the cerebral life in the early jet age it has its niche. We leave the professor grappling with Chicago hippies, persuading himself that the uninhibited sexuality they praise is 'part of the (unconscious) process of the rediscovery of the sacredness of life.' By now he may know whether he was right.