William J. Long opens his preface with a confession: the textbook he studied as a boy was 'a most dreary catalogue of dead authors, dead masterpieces, dead criticisms, dead ages.' That memory drives his own book, which aims to present writers not as 'dead worthies' but as 'companionable men and women.' The result is a survey that wears its opinions openly. Long does not hesitate to call Tennyson's The Princess a failure—'a moralizing intruder spoils a bit of innocent fun'—or to note that few readers now attempt its three thousand lines. Such bluntness, paired with a conversational tone, makes the volume less a reference work and more a prolonged, personal lecture.

A Preface That Sets the Tone

Long’s preface is the most revealing part of the book. He describes his own youthful encounter with literary history as a 'literary sepulchre' and insists that the only valuable feature of any work is its 'vitality.' This is not a neutral stance; it is a manifesto. He quotes Pascal—'The last thing we find in making a book is to know what to put first'—and then proceeds to put his own experience first. The apology that follows is less an apology than a declaration: the book is meant to be 'winsome as a smile on a human face.' That phrase, with its deliberate homeliness, signals Long’s preference for the personal over the academic. Readers should expect a guide that judges as much as it informs.

Tennyson Under the Microscope

Long’s treatment of Tennyson shows his method at work. He praises In Memoriam as 'more personal and sympathetic' than Milton’s 'Lycidas' or Shelley’s 'Adonais,' but he is sharply critical of The Princess, which he calls an attempt to combine 'an old romantic story with a modern social problem' that does not succeed. He notes that Tennyson 'does not know the answer to his own problem' and that the poem’s conclusion is 'lame and impotent.' The criticism is specific: Long objects to the mixing of genres, not to the subject matter itself. He also observes that most readers now skip the poem and remember only a few lyrics—'Sweet and Low,' 'Bugle Song'—that have become anonymous household songs. This is a pattern in Long’s writing: he measures works by their staying power with ordinary readers.

The Idylls and the English Idyls

Long distinguishes between Tennyson’s Idylls of the King and his English Idyls, a distinction that reveals his interest in the local and the contemporary. He recommends starting the Idylls with 'The Passing of Arthur,' the twelfth book, because it 'reflects the noble spirit of the entire work.' But he also notes that some readers prefer Malory’s version, and he advises reading both to see how the Arthurian story 'appealed to writers of different times.' The English Idyls, by contrast, are praised for turning 'from ancient heroes to sing the romance of present-day life.' Long singles out 'Enoch Arden' as once popular but now 'in danger of being shelved' because modern readers prefer prose romance. Here, as elsewhere, Long is attentive to changing tastes and the lifespan of literary fame.

Long’s book is best approached as a period piece of literary criticism, not a neutral reference. His judgments—sometimes tart, sometimes generous—are part of the texture. Readers who want a dry chronology will be frustrated; those who enjoy a strong authorial voice will find much to argue with and enjoy. The preface’s promise to treat literature as 'a living thing' is kept, even when the living thing proves to be a little cranky.