Life, As The Most Ancient Of All

We Need – More Urgently Than Architectural Utopias, Ingenious Traffic Disposal Systems, Or Ecological Programmes – To Comprehend The Nature Of Citizenship, To Make Serious Imaginative Assessment Of That Special Relationship Between The Self And The City; Its Unique Plasticity, Its Privacy And Freedom.

One Classic American Landscape Haunts All Of American Literature. It Is A Picture Of Eden, Perceived At The Instant Of History When Corruption Has Just Begun To Set It. The Serpent Has Shown His Scaly Head In The Undergrowth. The Apple Gleams On The Tree. The Old Drama Of The Fall Is Ready To Start All Over Again.

Life, As The Most Ancient Of All Metaphors Insists, Is A Journey; And The Travel Book, In Its Deceptive Simulation Of The Journey's Fits And Starts, Rehearses Life's Own Fragmentation. More Even Than The Novel, It Embraces The Contingency Of Things.

When New Yorkers Tell One About The Dangers Of Their City, The Muggings, The Dinner Parties To Which No One Turns Up For Fear Of Being Attacked On The Way, The Traffic Snarl-ups, The Bland Indifference Of The City Cops, They Are Unmistakably Bragging.

Inaugurals Conventionally Start With A History Lesson And Finish With A Prayer.