Maxwell, William 1908–
Maxwell is an American novelist, short story writer, and editor whose pride in his midwestern heritage permeates his writings. So Long, See You Tomorrow is a masterful evocation of a young man's coming of age. (See also Contemporary Authors, Vols. 93-96.)
The New York Times Book Review
["Bright Center of Heaven"] is a bright fragment from the lives of an oddly assorted group of people on a Wisconsin farm. It begins with breakfast and carries on to bedtime. That short space of time is crammed with penetrating glimpses into the characters of the twelve people on the farm that day. The point of view shifts from the inner consciousness of one to another, and each inner view sheds light on the individual and reflects on his house-mates. The scope is deliberately narrow, and in its field the book is remarkably well done. The writing is pungent and sure. The humor is adult and original. The author's attitude is one of impartial detachment tinged with a human fondness for his characters….
The book is a sort of literary snapshot—clear-cut, incomplete but satisfactory. Overwrought emotions are portrayed with clean, swift strokes, and there are rapid transitions to keenly comic situations.
"A Frantic Lot," in The New York Times Book Review (© 1934 by The New York Times Company; copyright renewed © 1962 by The New York Times Company; reprinted by permission), September 9, 1934, p. 17.
THEODORE PURDY, Jr.
Treating with lightness and dexterity a number of subjects usually discussed only with the highest seriousness of the sort commonly labelled "Social Problems," Mr. Maxwell in ["Bright Center of Heaven"] has put together an admirable satiric comedy, bitter-sweet in flavor, yet always humorous. "Bright Center of Heaven" exhibits few of the weaknesses present in most recent efforts by American writers to achieve subtlety and a graciously detached viewpoint in dealing with human relationships. Nevertheless it is essentially original, and does not imitate the prevailing British and French conventions for such fiction. (p. 109)
[The] core of the plot has a peculiarly native quality for which the author is to be congratulated…. Besides this, the rest of Mr. Maxwell's material is sufficiently timeless and universal to be anyone's property, such themes as adolescent love, the musical temperament, and the servant problem supplementing his more novel central idea.
Technically, Mr. Maxwell has surprisingly little to learn. He shows remarkable skill in presenting his people and in making them understandable, and does not often overemphasize the tragic undercurrent which flows continually beneath his deliberately careless manner. On the other hand, his book is a trifle slow in starting, and his climax … is too long delayed to be really effective. There is no particular reason why the writer of such a novel as this should pay great attention to narrative form, especially as he has confined the action within the limits of a single day, but there are a good many annoyingly loose ends left untied and unaccounted for at the close of these twelve hours. Exception taken for minor and comparatively unimportant aberrations of this sort, it is possible to say that "Bright Center of Heaven" is a delightful and amusing satiric novel, and consequently also something of a rarity in this season. (p. 110)
Theodore Purdy, Jr., "American Comedy," in The Saturday Review of Literature (copyright © 1934 by Saturday Review; copyright renewed © 1952 by Saturday Review; all rights reserved; reprinted by permission), Vol. XI, No. 9, September 15, 1934, pp. 109-10.
["They Came Like Swallows"] is one of those rare tales in which childhood is reflected in the simplicity and intensity of its own experience…. Mr. Maxwell has a warmth of comprehension, a delicacy of insight not only into the mood and emotions of youth but into those of maturity which augurs well for his future as a novelist…. His story is compact, economical, and straightforward, and has a deliberate inarticulateness of emotion which lends it strength and beauty.
"They Came Like Swallows" is the simplest of tales…. [The] pivot and inspiration of daily life is the wise, undemonstrative, tender woman who is awaiting another child and in the meanwhile counseling, laughing at, soothing, and loving her men folk big and little. Mr. Maxwell has drawn her with sure and loving skill and made her real and convincing. With subtle strokes, a half sentence, a glance, a caress, she is made to come to life, and the influence she is supposed to exert rendered entirely credible…. Mr. Maxwell has been singularly successful in creating a character whose distinction resides in no dramatic qualities but in a quiet understanding.
Commonplace happenings, commonplace conversations, life flowing on as it did for thousands of families in hundreds of towns in the United States as the war was drawing to an end, woven together by an art that is discriminating and touched to life by sympathy and understanding—that is Mr. Maxwell's book….
I make no claims of large importance for this book. But I repeat that it is a lovely one.
Amy Loveman, "Family Life through the Eyes of Children," in The Saturday Review of Literature (copyright © 1937 by Saturday Review; all rights reserved; reprinted by permission), Vol. XVI, No. 1, May 1, 1937, p. 4.
V. S. Pritchett
The weakness of They Came Like Swallows is technical. The narrative disintegrates because you begin with little Bunny at his mother's knee, go on with little Robert who is "father's boy" and then muddle along with father. There is no unity. Otherwise the book is a sensitive, wistful reminiscence of family life, very intimate and pathetic and with some acute observation which, between one dab of the handkerchief and the next, is actually very delightful. (p. 312)
V. S. Pritchett, "New Novels," in The New Statesman & Nation (© 1937 The Statesman & Nation Publishing Co. Ltd.), Vol. XIV, No. 340, August 8, 1937, pp. 312-13.∗
[It] is peculiary reassuring to read "The Folded Leaf."… Mr. Maxwell is not putting on a show for the international literary world …; he has no gospel for Europe at war. He does not even have to brush aside the magazine and movie formulas, for he does not hear them humming in his ears. He has fixed upon a segment of experience and has molded it into a work of fiction through a style and a narrative skill which have been learned in the struggle with his subject…. This drama of the immature, with no background more glamorous than middle-class apartments and student fraternity houses, is both more moving and more absorbing than any of the romantic melodramas which have been stimulated by the war.
There are episodes in "The Folded Leaf"—incompletely imagined or dramatized—which sometimes keep it from being quite rounded out. The opening sequence of chapters is perfect: the author alternates between his two heroes, taking us to their respective homes and letting us see inside the minds of both, presenting them in contrast and balance. But from the point where they go to college, though we continue to see Lymie from within—the more sensitive and dependent of the pair—we get rather out of touch with Spud, the athletic and instinctive one, and the girl characters, though carefully sketched, never really find their way into the spotlight with which Lymie and Spud are followed. The end leaves us a little unsatisfied…. [The] author breaks off the story without quite having been able to persuade us to share Lymie's feeling of confidence [after his suicide attempt]. Yet the whole thing has...
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"The Folded Leaf" is a sustained piece of extraordinarily good writing; its sensitive and often beautiful prose re-creates accurately and illuminates warmly a whole complex of human experience—difficult, not often handled, yet deeply meaningful…. The events are the intense, simple, urgent ones of growth: friendship and jealousy and falling in love and waking to desperation.
They are the events which, in a sense, belong to every life. But not every writer is able to project in sharp detail the larger—indeed the almost universal—feeling which William Maxwell so constantly and easily evokes….
There is a kind of absolute rendering of the Nineteen Twenties here; the feeling is...
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"To arrive at some idea of the culture of a certain street in a Middle Western small town shortly before the First World War, is a … delicate undertaking," runs one meditative chapter ending in ["Time Will Darken It"]. But even more delicate, and more difficult, is the projection in fiction of the breathing people, the living relationships, the very air and feeling of such a time and place. Yet that is precisely what Mr. Maxwell …, in a quiet, accurate way, achieves in "Time Will Darken It."
The book's time, 1912–13, and its scene—an Illinois town typical enough to be recognized under many names but here called Draperville—are both still close enough to allow many readers to check their own...
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"Time Will Darken It" is the least satisfying of Mr. Maxwell's novels. His greatest power, the ability to recreate the pangs and joys of childhood and adolescence, made "They Came Like Swallows" a very moving book. It did not, however, save the tender account of adolescent passion in "The Folded Leaf" from a blown-up quality, the result of an intrusive semi-philosophical commentary not necessary to the fiction; nor from a conclusion—although this is a minority opinion—false in terms of the rest of the book. "Time Will Darken It" has the same power and the same faults. Mr. Maxwell recaptures perfectly his Illinois town in 1912. His small-town parties, his junkets into the countryside are excellent. His family...
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[The Chateau] is likely to be even more disappointing than Maxwell's previous books to readers looking for fleshly characters who undergo things, as well as to those who wait for novels that come in the shape of chinese boxes. It is really an anti-novel; and if you understand that there is no massive esthetic theory involved and that Maxwell isn't angry or on fire or jaded, you might appreciate and enjoy the kind of anti-novel it is.
The kind it isn't is that of Robbe-Grillet or Nathalie Sarraute…. What Maxwell does is something much less ambitious on the one hand and less embittered on the other, though it stems from quite the same weariness with the novels that give answers,...
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[William Maxwell calls "The Old Man at the Railroad Crossing"] a collection of tales, but they blend some of the quality of classic fables with the form of fairy tales. They combine the traditions of Aesop and the Brothers Grimm, and are faithful to both.
The fidelity to tradition is the quality most immediately noticeable. The 29 tales, each only a few pages long, contain morals, more or less directly stated, and epigrams—along with freshly minted proverbs as well. They are written in a style so simple and direct as to suggest, elusively, deliberate archaism—there are moments when one half expects to turn a page and come upon an illustration by Howard Pyle. And the subject matter belongs, for...
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Moral fables would … loosely describe William Maxwell's short stories [in The Old Man at the Railroad Crossing]; the author calls them "tales," which is a better word, since these pieces have more in common with the world of legend and fairy tale than with the sophisticated art of the modern short story as it is generally practiced. Not that Mr. Maxwell is unmodern; many of his seemingly artless pieces effectively turn on the problem of identity and other hot contemporary issues: The total effect is of something midway between the Brothers Grimm and Kafka, with perhaps a touch of Zen. I found the whole collection odd, charming, repetitious, and with rather too calculated an air of uplift and inspiration. (p....
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Almost every writer surrenders to the temptation to inflate his tale with unearned emotion and significance, to rave a bit and hint at Larger Meanings. Middle-class Americans, unconcerned with the ways in which the specific historical moment has shaped a life, are particularly apt to see themselves or their heroes as Everyman; the urge to eternalize and universalize is the sign of political naiveté. That William Maxwell has splendidly resisted this impulse is his chief victory. Seldom has a story been told with more modesty and by a voice so accessible, so educated and so simple. And [So Long, See You Tomorrow] is a novel securely situated in its time (the 1920s) and place (a small town in Illinois). This...
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So Long, See You Tomorrow is a rare truth-telling fiction. Grave, moving, and wise, it presents a vision of life as a tragic order in which passion is fate, choice is illusion, and innocence and guilt have little meaning and no moral relation to suffering. There is no cure for this suffering, since its cause seems to be life, but there is an implied mitigation. This is the retrospective activity of the sympathetic imagination, which cannot change the facts of another's life, but can make their meaning present and in this way create a feeling of solidarity between oneself and others. This activity of the imagination is precious; it is not too much to call it the humanist's version of prayer. But it cannot make...
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Robert A. Leiter
The central event in William Maxwell's [So Long, See You Tomorrow] is a violent murder. We are given the particulars in the opening pages. The style is unadorned, reportorial….
If Mr. Maxwell's story were about nothing more than the murder, his presentation of this information so early on might have proved ruinous. But though he writes well and powerfully of the crime, he does not want it to dominate his other concerns. By suppressing an unnecessary element of suspense, he can explore the nature of death, the confusions of childhood, the quality—the very texture—of desire.
The story is told by a narrator looking back on events that occurred fifty years earlier. Once the...
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Gary F. Waller
[So Long, See You Tomorrow] is an intriguingly intense account of an old man's recollections of a murder during his childhood. Maxwell … is interested in the interaction of place, history and spirit…. [He] evokes the mysterious currents of association and suggestion that unite us to our physical surroundings, most especially in childhood. He picks out the way minor details; arbitrary incidents, embarrassing hiatuses in our lives, may all link us beyond words or formulations to our own pasts or to each other's—and, most impressively, how such associations haunt our adult lives…. Maxwell doesn't simply tell us; he opens up our experience of this realization. Our adult memories, like a "continually...
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[So Long, See You Tomorrow] is a small jewel of a book. (p. 439)
The novel is so soundly conceived and so brilliantly executed—I know of no narrative which has a structure quite like the one Maxwell employs—that theme cannot be separated from method. It is a consummate success, and it deserves the attention of all who are interested in learning more about the way fiction works. (p. 441)
Walter Sullivan, "The Feckless Present, the Unredeemed Past: Some Recent Novels," in The Sewanee Review (reprinted by permission of the editor; © 1980 by The University of the South), Vol. LXXXVIII, No. 3, Summer, 1980, pp. 432-41.∗...
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