The First Fifty Years: An Interview with Frederick Morgan
MP: During The Hudson Review’s past fifty years, beginning with the New Criticism, there have been a number of literary trends. Can you say whether the magazine has embraced any of them?
FM: In general, I have always been allergic to schools and movements since I tend to judge pieces of writing on the basis of their individual merits as I understand them. The fact that an author identified himself, or herself, with a particular school never cut much ice with me. This would have been true even of the New Critics, meaning I genuinely liked some but not others. When I published articles in the New Criticism, I did so because I learned something about whichever author or critical point of view was being discussed. The same has been true right along. I am not very ideological, and maybe this is a weakness, but frankly, we have not embraced any literary trends though it may be true that some of the works we published could be put in one box or another. But we have published essays that illustrate a variety of literary approaches and trends.
For a cliché example, take the Beat writers. I thought they were pretty lousy writers, and there was not much there that interested me. Though they were considered the latest, I would not have wanted to publish them.
MP: But didn’t you publish Allen Ginsberg once?
FM: Yes, one of his better works, “Contest of Bards.” We may have been wrong, but that was our belief. We certainly could not be praised or blamed for embracing the Beat poets, but we did publish Allen Ginsberg once.
The movement we have become more closely associated with than any other, at least since the New Criticism, is the one described as New Formalism or New Narrative. Although we have published many writers who identify with this movement, this came about not because we wanted to sponsor this or that movement, but because we happened to feel that these writers were doing very important work deserving of publication. One could simply say that these writers in a sense discovered us as much as we discovered them. But we would not publish a writer just because he or she claims to be part of that movement, and there are some we have rejected.
MP: Has the magazine’s range of interests changed since you first formulated your goals?
FM: Yes, I believe the range has simply gotten broader. We are more interested now in memoirs, in historical studies, in bio graphical studies, and in articles about travel, for example. Even articles about science. These are all expansions over our original range of interests that tended to be focused more exclusively on the literary.
MP: Is there anything in particular that has encouraged these changes over the years?
FM: Mostly experience. In my case, and it was certainly true of Joseph Bennett in the fifties, as we lived more and read more, we expanded beyond the bookish interests we had as university students. And I have continued to expand so that I am interested in more now than I was twenty-five years ago; and twenty-five years ago, I was interested in more than I was fifty years ago.
MP: Who reads The Hudson Review, and do you think your readership has changed over the past fifty years?
FM: In general, the readership has not changed, though obviously the readers themselves have changed. But I would say that our readers can basically be divided into two categories. First, we have readers directly connected with universities, mainly faculty members but also some graduate students and possibly a few undergraduates. These are readers whose primary interest is linked to the academic. Then we have general readers who sim ply like to read and are content with a magazine that gives them words on pages without many visual aids. They are interested in what is going on in the visual arts and what the newest books are about and in keeping up with new fiction, new poetry and the world of ideas. General readers may not be interested in every single piece of a given issue, but they would be attracted to at least 75 percent of it. Although we have scatterings of subscribers in rural or small-town areas, our basic readership is mainly urban and somewhat sophisticated, professional men and women, doctors, attorneys, people interested in culture and the arts. To sum it up: there is the cultivated reader and then the very cultivated, in most cases, academic reader whose interests might be a little more specialized.
MP: As a follow-up, what was the magazine’s relationship with academe in the early years and how has it changed over the last fifty years?
FM: Since Bennett and I were Princeton graduates, it was inevitable that we began with our association there. We were in touch with writers who were either on the faculty or lived in the Princeton area. But we were always mistrustful of becoming too closely linked to Princeton or any other academic entity. We resisted as long as was necessary the tendency to be labeled an outgrowth or affiliate of the university. Although we formed our ideas about publishing at Princeton, with a great deal of help from Allen Tate, we were independent and involved with writers from all over the country or, for that matter, from all over the English-speaking world. We never wanted to be considered an academic journal, and people have not referred to us as one for a number of years. We feel that we have maintained a certain direction established by our own views. When I say our, I mean mine and Joe’s to begin with, and, for the last thirty years, Paula’s and mine. Our advisory editors also sympathize with these views. We all agree to retain a focus and emphasis on originality in writing and on scholarship and criticism that has its own tradition. Where universities are true to it, good for them, but more often they are the ones to stray.
About fifteen years ago, as a guest at a luncheon at Yale, I was amused to meet a young member of the English department who was considered very bright. He paid me an intended compliment by saying he was coming back to The Hudson Review after many years during which he thought the magazine was irrelevant. And we thought we were publishing interesting work all along. I should have turned his statement around and said, “During the years you and your colleagues were doing deconstruction and the like, you were the ones who were irrelevant. Maybe you are coming back to the avenue of common sense.” On the one hand, I think the academy does valuable work by providing critics and scholars with a home and a livelihood, a context for creative writers and original minds. On the other, the prevailing tenor of intellectual life in any given English or modem language department, or in the humanities, may be off on some fashionable hobbyhorse that would impose a dogmatism on their following. I suppose there are independent minds in the academy, just as there are everywhere, but they are scattered around. We have always resisted the prevailing doctrines in force.
MP: This certainly ties in with your shift in interest from the early years to much broader-based interests.
FM: Even in the early years, the New Criticism we were publishing was not popular in the academy at that time.
MP: In every issue, you publish a piece of short fiction and several poems. Over the years the poetry has seemed better and stronger than the fiction. Do you agree?
FM: In responding to this very good question, there are two aspects to bear in mind. In our social and economic context, there is a sharp difference between fiction and poetry. Fiction can become commercially viable, and writers of fiction can make money publishing books that sell in great quantities. Poets, on the other hand, probably do not have that hope. It is not impossible for a good poet to sell a book of poems in bestseller quantities, but it would be a remarkable exception. Writers of fiction, though not the majority, can do it. Therefore, two results follow. First, since The Hudson Review’s existence, commercial publishers and large-circulation magazines have been looking for storywriters. They are not looking for poets. Consequently, were we to publish a story noticed by an editor at Doubleday or Random House or a fiction editor at, say, Playboy or Esquire, or any commercial magazine that could pay $1,000, $2,000 or $5,000, it was common for us to receive letters from them to be forwarded to our authors. If his or her next story was any good, the author had the option to go where the money is. So they do not stay with us.
Secondly, agents pick them up. And where an agent comes into play, authors lose their loyalty to the original publication. If Mr. X sends poems to The Hudson Review, and they are accepted and read by a number of people, he will be pleased and submit more over the course of a year. In this way, we would continue this writer’s poems for a decade or longer, and Mr. X may become famous.
But if Miss Y sends us a story that we publish, and an agent contacts her, she will send her next story to the agent because of the promise of financial gain. The Hudson Review cannot compete with what The New Yorker or Playboy pays authors, nor do we publish books. The agent then markets the story all over. In the end, it may come back to us when she gets down to the low-paying categories. But the result is that fiction writers are not as likely to have a sense of loyalty to a particular publication because the agent divides up their work.
Now there are some honorable exceptions among published writers, like Maureen Howard. We published a section of her novel entitled Bridgeport Bus, and she has remained loyal to The Hudson Review though she has gone on to become a highly regarded, successful novelist who has had an agent for decades. Not many fiction writers send me letters implying what a thrill it was to be published for the first time.
Two other notable exceptions, writers we have published more recently, are Gary Krist and Dean Albarelli. As our list of stories indicates, there are many one shots, writers who came in once and then never again. Now that may be because they only wrote one good story and never sold another to anybody. But it may also be that their work was either picked up by an agent and marketed to other publications, or that they went on from the short story to begin writing novels.
As I said previously, poets are more limited as to where they can publish their work, and they tend to stay with the magazines where they deal directly with the editors, and from these intimate working relationships develop friendships. Poets keep coming back, while less so writers of fiction.
MP: Who would be the five or eight writers from each of the five decades whom you would identify as the outstanding contributors to The Hudson Review? Let us begin with 1948 through the 1950s. Then we shall go through the ’60s,’70s and ’80s into the ’90s.
FM: This is a difficult question to answer as it involves a certain arbitrariness in naming names, meaning some names mentioned might just as well be substituted for other names that space and time preclude my mentioning. Outstanding would certainly mean writers who are nationally or internationally recognized. We have always published writers of that description. Obviously, in our early years, writers like that had already achieved recognition prior to publication in The Hudson Review. But then there were writers who either began with us, or who, after a few publications elsewhere, made a serious connection with us and then became well known later. There are two distinct routes. For example, in 1948, we published Thomas Mann, Wallace Stevens, Allen Tate and Marianne Moore to name only four. But we also published W. S. Merwin when he was still in his teens. In 1949, we published T. S. Eliot, Paul Valery and William Empson, but we also published Robert Fitzgerald and Anthony Hecht.
In 1950, we published Ezra Pound and Dylan Thomas. We also published R. W. B. Lewis, who was just getting started as a critic and later became an eminent biographer and scholar, as well as Theodore Roethke, who had published before but was not as celebrated as Pound or Thomas. In the 1950s, on the other hand, we published Robert Graves, St. John Perse, Italo Svevo, Edwin Muir, Jorge Guillen, who were internationally known, but also Kenneth Burke, Louis Simpson, at the beginning of his career, Donald Hall, very early, and James Merrill. In the latter part of the ’50s, we published Andre Malraux, Wyndham Lewis, Ortega y Gasset, Vladimir Nabokov. In addition, we published criticism by Irving Howe, Marius S. Bewley, who were young critics getting started; poetry and criticism by John Holloway; and poetry by A. R. Ammons, James Dickey, James Wright, Anne Sexton and Maxine Kumin.
In the ’60s, Yves Bonnefoy, John Wain, E. M. Cioran and Thornton Wilder; then also, Maureen Howard, Robert Bly, Richmond Lattimore, Lincoln Kirstein (as a poet) and Hayden Carruth. At that time, Marvin Mudrick began his long reviewing career with us. And we published, of course, two outstanding special features, the “Last Letters from Stalingrad” and posthumously-collected writings of Mark Twain that we titled “Reflections on Religion.” In the second half of the ’60s, we published Isaiah Berlin, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Anthony Burgess, Octavio Paz, W. H. Auden, and also, Daniel Hoffman, John Haines, William H. Pritchard, Guy Davenport, Wendell Berry and Adrienne Rich. In the 1970s, there was work by Mandelstam, Ungaretti, Cabral de Melo Neto and Drummond de Andrade, the Brazilian poets, Nirala, the Indian poet, Jean Starobinski, the Swiss critic, and Alain, the French critic, and also, Joseph Epstein, Robert McDowell, Clara Claiborne Park and John Simon, the theater critic.
In the 1980s, we published Yannis Ritsos, Anna Akhmatova, and also Alfred Corn, Emily Grosholz, Dana Gioia, Gerald Early, Seamus Heaney, Mark Jarman and Ursula Le Guin, although she may go under the first category as she is a big name in her world. Later in the ’80s, along with many of the names already mentioned, we published George Watson, the brilliant English critic, Harold Fromm, Bruce Bawer and Frederick Brown.
By the time the 1990s came around, we found ourselves in a position where we had so many exciting American authors to deal with that we were actually less motivated to go overseas for contributors. I do not think this is permanent but just a phase because of a certain estrangement between British and American intellectual life that is deplorable. On my travels I have found that the British do not know that much about contemporary American writing. Though I think we are a little better on our side, we do not know as much about contemporary British writing as we should. I do not have time to go into the reasons for that now. The same situation is true in France, which I think is suffering from a cultural sterility at the moment. We have published Yves Bonnefoy, who is a great poet, and also a poet older than Bonnefoy, Rene Char. But we are not aware of any major excitement from Europe. So in the ’90s, although we published William Trevor, who is Anglo-Irish, we focused on contemporary Americans, including many new ones. I mention these names at random as there are many others who could be substituted: Susan Balée and Thomas M. Disch; the art critics John Loughery and Karen Wilkin; the fiction writers Madison Smartt Bell, Robert Olen Butler and Dean Albarelli; and the memoirist C. S. Giscombe. We have also continued to publish senior American writers like Joseph Epstein, Joseph Frank and James W. Tuttleton, a splendid critic of American literature. And every once in a while, we publish the odd bit. I say odd because though it may not appear characteristic of the magazine, it is something that we now feel is well within the purview of The Hudson Review, as described earlier—for example, the memoir by the physicist Abraham Pais about his days hiding out from the Gestapo during World War II.
Among all these writers, we now feel we have a fertile field with exciting possibilities; and in almost every issue, we get previously unpublished writers, at least by us. Many of the writers already mentioned are either at or approaching the peaks of their careers so we think there will be important writing from them in the years to come. I should mention, too, that although I have segregated writers according to different decades, many of those from earlier ones still appear in the magazine. For example, W. S. Merwin was published in our first issue and on numerous occasions since then, as have been James Merrill, Anthony Hecht and Louis Simpson. The magazine has a double focus then of trying to maintain a nucleus of writers capable of first-rate work while always being ready to add new ones from outside sources. With regard to foreign writers, there is the mechanical difficulty of the copyrights controlled by publishers who prefer to hold out for a commercial magazine that will pay higher permission fees. There is also the problem of translation rights. Paula has recently tried to establish connections with Japanese writers. We have published review essays of Japanese literature, but we have never published a Japanese writer except for small selections from old poets.
From our two categories of writers, certain of them had made their reputations before we published them, the most extreme example being Thomas Mann, who won the Nobel Prize by the time he appeared in The Hudson Review. Obviously, we did not further his career. At the opposite extreme, I believe publication in the magazine was very helpful to W. S. Merwin, and he would be the first to acknowledge that as would other writers mentioned across the decades. Practically all of our writers allow that publication in The Hudson Review has furthered their careers. Wendell Berry, as another example, has always been gracious about our acceptance of his early essays, and he has gone on to become a major figure in the environmental movement.
MP: Who are the writers whose careers or audiences have grown specifically as a result of being published in The Hudson Review?
FM: Well, that may be a question more properly addressed to the writers themselves because I am not sure I know the answer. Take James Merrill, for example. He became well known and had a loyal book editor who greatly advanced his career. But we did publish Merrill quite often when he was very young and just getting started, so we certainly furthered his career to some extent. But we are not book publishers, so once a fiction writer or poet has a book out, it would be only natural for that writer to regard the book publisher as the one furthering his or her career more than any magazine editor could. We would only claim credit for having discovered someone or being among the first to publish a writer to any great extent in a magazine that makes an impact. There are little magazines that do not carry any weight, say one that is thirty-two pages long and publishes a few poems. It may be nice for a poet to appear in it, but it is not going to impress anyone. We are a big enough magazine to have clout even among commercial booksellers. But it is hard for me to put words into our authors’ mouths. A couple of years ago, Maxine Kumin wrote to me that she always remembered how welcoming I was when Anne Sexton first suggested that she send poems to The Hudson Review and that it meant a lot to her. So I know that we have done some good and have been helpful to a number of writers. But whether I would ever claim to being responsible for a whole career or the life achievement of a writer, I think that would be rather presumptuous because books are an essential part of it, and book publishers deserve credit, depending on how well they do with a particular writer.
MP: Over the years, in addition to publishing their poems, you have assigned poetry reviews to poets, including poetry chronicles by Hayden Carruth, Dana Gioia, Emily Grosholz, Anthony Hecht, Mark Jarman, Robert McDowell, David Mason and Louis Simpson, to name eight. Do you think you have increased their audience by publishing their criticism as well as their poetry?
FM: I would venture to hope that is true. Also, I find heartening another aspect suggested by this question: that the writers you have named, and others who could be included, feel a certain collegiality through publishing in The Hudson Review and reading each other’s work. Sometimes, they may not be happy should one of them give another a bad review, but, nevertheless, they have built a rapport and a feeling of association between themselves. In general, they are in sympathy, working toward the same goals. I know this has become very important to the magazine and what Paula and I most treasure about editing The Hudson Review. We trust it is of value to these writers. But I cannot take responsibility for speaking in their stead except to assure each and every one of them that everything we published by them was something that we really liked. We did not just do it because they were part of the gang.
MP: Do you feel that editing The Hudson Review impeded your own poetry from surfacing during the magazine’s first twenty or more years?
FM: I was inclined to think in the ’70s and early ’80s what a shame that I did not get started sooner. But now I am not so certain because the kind of poetry I write is so much a part of my life as I live it day by day, week by week. It is also a part of my thinking, and my thinking has been so integral to my whole life to date that it is hard for me to imagine what kind of poetry I would have written had I started writing say in the ’50s. Maybe it would have been pretty lousy poetry. I am inclined to think so from samples I was unwise enough to publish or that I have found lying around. I think that insofar as I am a poet, I was cut out to be a poet who needed a lot of time to get started. It is true that there were certain precipitating forces in my life that released me; and probably from a career standpoint in poetry, those came in the nick of time. It is hard for me to imagine now what my poetry would have been like and whether it would have turned out even as well as what I have written since the mid-’70s.
Another way of putting this is that I feel right now that whether I am in the process of writing poems or not, I am lodged in a permanent frame of mind and of emotions in which my poetry is at hand. It may be in the next room, but it is not down the block. I have gotten to this point because of having lived a rather long life and having had certain experiences. It is difficult for me to imagine myself having been in this situation as a younger man. I imagine it would have been a different kind of poetry, and I would have been a different person.
So I cannot say that I have any real regrets about it anymore. I think the regrets I felt were a projection of an impatience I was feeling at the time. When The New Yorker took one of my long poems, I would think what a shame that I did not begin writing twenty years ago, for then Howard Moss would have published them, and everyone would have said, “Oh, great, he’s in The New Yorker.” That is what a lot of this comes from: regretting not having done something sooner. But I was not the same person twenty years earlier. I think regrets should be confined to what one really knows one has done wrong. For instance, one could be sorry for having splashed water on somebody who had become very irritating, although I am not always certain I am sorry about actions like that either.
Back to the original point, I think by editing and focusing entirely on judging work by others, one may find it difficult to produce writing of one’s own. But I am no longer even sure of that because now I can certainly do it. But it has taken me time to get to the point where I am, and anyway, it happened the way it did, and I am not unhappy about that.
MP: Is there anything you would do differently or change in the past fifty years of the magazine?
FM: Yes, I can think right away of something in particular due partly to lack of time and the energy to do just so much in a day. I could have been better at following up with writers whom we published and then lost sight of. For example, we published Eudora Welty in the early days, and I do not remember exactly what happened afterward. She was the nicest woman in the world; but she never sent us anything else. I think it was probably because neither Joe nor I wrote to ask her for another story and just assumed she would send one, but she never did. Then we forgot about it when we became involved with publishing Ezra Pound and other projects. But she was a very good writer.
There are others I have lost track of over the years when I did not have time to pursue their changes of address or other contact information. I have always had the attitude that if one of our writers moved to China or the like, it is his responsibility to inform us. Writers have this funny idea that we are supposed to know where they are as if they were the center of the world. Some professor gets a year off to go to Timbuktu, and everybody is supposed to know about it. I cannot stand the attitude: “Well didn’t you know? I’ve been in Portugal.” Why should I know he has been in Portugal if he doesn’t tell me? Anyway, my reaction has been: well, we published this guy, and we liked his story. Fine. I assume he will send us his next story or poem in due course. Most of them do, but there were always these odd few who fell through the cracks. So, I have some regret about not having followed up with some of them.
Just a while back, someone asked me whatever happened to Patrick Cruttwell. I don’t know what happened to Patrick Cruttwell, and I regret that I did not keep following up on him. But, of course, it was his job to let us know. But who knows, he may have had a stroke or something. But I do regret not knowing what happened to every single person we published.
Also, everybody makes mistakes. We have published works that now I would not publish, and we have doubtless turned down others that we would accept although I do not remember any of these specifically. I take great glee in reading magazines like The Yale Review and The Gettysburg Review and seeing that each issue contains three or four pieces or poems that have been rejected by us.
MP: From your perspective, what do you see as the future of The Hudson Review when you step aside as editor after fifty years?
FM: Yes, I step aside with Vol. LI, No. 1. I see the future as a struggle, but also I see it as encouraging. I think the struggle is due to the fact that the written word and books and literature as such have become a minority form of expression in the United States and throughout the world. There will always be confusions and conflicts introduced not only by commercialism but also by mass communication and the electronic media. Nevertheless, I believe that since books were invented, there will always be people who will want to read them as well as serious magazines, and not just to glance through and throw them out. As long as these people are around, I think a magazine like ours has a readership and will survive, even with all the momentous developments on the Internet.
Now on the encouraging side, first of all, the editor to whom I am turning over The Hudson Review is already thoroughly experienced and will continue editing the magazine with some new emphasis of her own. I would not expect her to reproduce what I have done for fifty years, but I think basically she will adhere to the same standards. She has tremendous capabilities and is enormously receptive to all kinds of experience with and possibilities for the written word. I would say more so than I have. So I think we have strong editorial controls as The Hudson Review goes beyond its fiftieth year. She will be helped by the same advisory editors who have been so helpful to me. Gradually these will be replaced by others as older ones retire. I think that the transition, as far as the internal workings of the magazine are concerned, is very encouraging, with an additional reason being that our staff is excellent.
I would also venture that even though literature may be a minority interest in this country, people who are devoted to it are deeply committed. Presently, there is an enormous range of literature open to everybody who chooses to pick up a book whether at the library or from a paperback book counter. Out of the huge majority that does not bother or just reads trash, there is this small minority that is going to be excited by good writing and will want to know more about it. These people will be interested in any publication that gives a fresh, original and independent point of view.
Also encouraging is the fact that the academy may slowly be emerging from the aridity and pedantry of its doctrinaire school of theory in literary studies. I do not want to be overly optimistic because the same people are still in control and will not be displaced for a while yet because of tenure, but there are stirrings of rebellion and hope that the pendulum is beginning to swing in the direction that will favor us. So I feel we should go along fighting the same battle we have been fighting right along. Basically the same principles are at stake although the adversaries change costumes with each decade. I believe that The Hudson Review can continue doing its modest share to make the study and enjoyment of letters and contemporary writing something worthwhile and accessible to the minority who are responsive to it. For heaven’s sake, enjoyment is what it is all about!
MP: Since it is unique that a literary quarterly has the same editor for its first fifty years, does the growth of The Hudson Review reflect your own intellectual and artistic growth over time?
FM: Well, I think it does since it has been my life in a sense. As my profession, it has occupied my time, my energy and my thoughts along with my tastes, of course. So the magazine would reflect my limitations as well as whatever strengths I may possess. I find this gratifying and somewhat humbling, if also frightening. I would hope that if the magazine has improved over the years and become more individualized and more open at the same time, it would parallel my own development. It makes sense to assume this to be the case and that the development has been a good one, though maybe not in a direct line or without fits and starts, and that the magazine has become more interesting. Or if not more interesting, then more cohesive with more of an identity.
Dana Gioia used an expression at New York University last October that I found challenging and stirring, which is that The Hudson Review has reinvented itself every decade. I would agree with that and think it connects up with what you are asking, only with the proviso that it is not a sudden reinvention. Instead, it is a gradual pattern of development that has grown so that the emphasis of the magazine changes. I think that the magazine has been able to do that, for better or worse, because of the negative capability of rejecting ideology and doctrine. I have always felt very reluctant to impose a program of any kind on the magazine, and for that reason it has been able to adapt itself. Some people would say that makes the magazine wishy-washy and loose without enough punch. Certainly, ideological and polemical magazines have been very important, but they tend to be short term.
MP: Given the perspective of fifty years, what would you assess as the greatest contributions made by The Hudson Review?
FM: I think our contribution has been to publish a magazine that has supported the work of a fairly substantial number of good writers, by providing them with the opportunity to see themselves in print and to learn and to grow. It has offered readers the opportunity of reading the works of these writers and also of participating in an ongoing intellectual companionship with them and with reviewers who have written over the years about various cultural events and topics of intellectual interest. I think we have given readers over a period of fifty years a lot to think about and a fair amount of pleasure. We have given writers a home, a place where many of them feel welcome. Some of them have treated us like any other opportunity, but many have a special feeling toward the magazine as a place where they found a warm reception, where they met one another and read one another’s work. It created a useful frame of reference as a magazine that contributed to an ongoing review and analysis of literary trends. Though undoubtedly there were lapses, we maintained some kind of standard that will be looked back on in the future as having contributed something of value to the last half of the twentieth century, and we supported writers who will be found in the final analysis to have made a reasonably substantial contribution to American letters.
MP: Thank you for this illuminating discussion.
FM: It has been my pleasure.
 This is Part II of an interview that took place on August 8, 1997, at Frederick Morgan’s Upper East Side apartment in New York City on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of The Hudson Review. Part I, “The Hudson Review‘s Early Years,” dealing with the founding of the magazine, appeared in The Hudson Review, Vol. LI, No. 2 (Summer 1998) and is available on Frederick Morgan’s website. M.P.
 Dana Gioia was one of the Hudson Review writers who spoke at a panel discussion on “The Future of the Literary Magazine: Exploring the Roles of Literature and Cultural Criticism in the 21st Century,” at New York University, October 10, 1996.