Preface
Preface
This review was originally meant for Nordisk Literaturtidende.1 But its excessive length in relation to the modest compass of that paper, up to half of whose space is devoted to Swedish and Norwegian literature, soon became obvious to me, as also my incompetence when it comes to writing for periodicals. We have no journal of aesthetics: so, very well, let this circumstance be what the review itself will refer to occasionally as the unity of the surroundings’ reflection and psychological consistency, in this case the unity of my being the author and the review therefore being disproportionately long, and of the fact that nowadays any reasonably adequate review has to be published as a book in its own right. It will quickly be seen in any case that this review is not meant for aesthetic and critical readers of newspapers but for rational creatures with the time and patience to read a little book, without this implying that this is one they should read. That the book is written for them puts them in no way under an obligation to read it; all it means, at most, is that those whose critical and aesthetic education comes from reading newspapers are excused from doing so.
S.K.