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Science Fiction Utopias
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About 298 minutes
Science Fiction Utopias
68,509 recorded words. 4 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #25190About 302 minutes
Science Fiction Utopias
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Science Fiction Utopias
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Read on Project GutenbergThe opening essay, 'Bohemia Past and Present,' immediately establishes the book's informal, memoir-like tone. Carr confesses he adopted the critic's calling before daring to write, and recalls his early journalistic essays on painting while still a law student. He looks back with 'feelings almost of dismay' at his youthful assurance in judging contemporary masters. This self-deprecating honesty sets the stage for a collection that is less a systematic treatise than a series of personal glimpses into the artistic circles of late Victorian London.
Carr's introductory note reveals that many of these papers first appeared in the Daily Telegraph, and are here reprinted by permission. The volume thus collects occasional pieces, not a unified argument. In 'Bohemia Past and Present,' he defines his own trajectory: from a timid student at the bar to a critic who 'assumed to measure and appraise the achievement of contemporary masters.' He quotes Lord Beaconsfield's barb that critics are failed artists, but counters that youth often judges before daring to create. This personal framing invites the reader to treat the essays as a kind of intellectual autobiography, shaped by chance encounters and professional assignments rather than a predetermined plan.
The table of contents lists essays on Millais, Alma-Tadema, Rossetti, Burne-Jones, Whistler, and others. The excerpt from 'With Rossetti in Cheyne Walk' suggests intimate, anecdotal portraits. Carr's method is to evoke a person through setting and conversation, not systematic analysis. For instance, he recalls standing beside a cottage gate with George Meredith, and quotes Meredith's own lines from 'Love in the Valley'—'Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping'—to capture a moment. These vignettes rely on the reader's familiarity with the figures, but Carr supplies enough context to make them accessible. The essays likely blend personal memory with critical assessment, though the excerpts do not reveal the balance.
In 'The Legend of Parsifal,' Carr traces the Arthurian origins of Wagner's opera. He notes that many Wagner enthusiasts are unaware that Parsifal is the British Sir Perceval, and that the Holy Grail legend originated in Britain. Carr cites Crestien de Troyes, who began writing around 1150, and Wolfram von Eschenbach, whose 'Parzival' directly inspired Wagner. He also mentions Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, where the Grail is identified with the Holy Cup brought by Joseph of Arimathea. This essay is more scholarly than the personal memoirs, demonstrating Carr's range as a critic who could move from anecdote to literary history. The excerpt shows careful attention to textual sources and their transmission.
The essay 'Sex in Tragedy' was written for Sir Henry Irving's revival of Macbeth at the Lyceum. Carr's interest in the theatre is evident throughout the collection: 'Henry Irving,' 'Sitting at a Play,' and 'A Sense of Humour' all appear in the contents. The excerpts do not reveal Carr's specific arguments, but the titles suggest a focus on performance and dramatic theory. Given his background as a playwright (author of King Arthur and Tristram and Iseult), Carr likely writes from a practitioner's perspective. Readers interested in Victorian theatre will find these essays a valuable complement to the art criticism, offering a unified view of a life spent 'in close association with more than one of the arts.'
As you read, note how Carr shifts between the roles of memoirist, critic, and historian. The essays are best approached as separate pieces, each illuminating a different facet of his world. The index lists 25 sections, so you can dip into topics that interest you—whether the Pre-Raphaelites, Wagner, or Irving—without reading straight through. Carr's voice is urbane and self-aware, often wry about his own earlier judgments. Let the book's structure guide you: start with the personal essays for context, then explore the more analytical pieces on legend and drama.
That afternoon, listening to the rain against the window, Carr’s talk of Rossetti’s crowded studio led me astray into footnotes about the women who once held such salons. Their world felt quieter, more deliberate—letters and teacups instead of oil paint. Before I knew it, I was following that thread to Elizabeth Montagu, the queen of the bluestockings, Volume 1 (of 2) — A Reader’s Guide, and the afternoon dissolved entirely.
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