Thomas R. Edwards
In spite of [Samuel] Richardson, Emily Brontë, or [D. H.] Lawrence, you would hardly know from reading most Anglo-American fiction that it's love that makes the world go round. For the Protestant imagination, passionate sexual desire needs to be satirized, sentimentalized, or domesticated, as if it were some severe but exotic disease which, properly isolated, needn't interfere with important concerns like money, politics, manly adventure, or social education. Now, even in a more lenient moral climate, we get lots of sexual performance but not much love. Most of the great love stories are still imports.
Scott Spencer's Endless Love, a serious novel of wholehearted desire, thus seems odd...
(The entire section is 478 words.)