H.L. Mencken was a Baltimore, Maryland writer (journalist, essayist, critic) born in 1880, dead by 1956. The man had an acerbic wit. He loved Nietzsche. He criticized essentially anything and anyone. He had literary balls dipped in gold. A modern literary inheritor would have to be Christopher Hitchens (who died in 2011), and currently, if there is one, perhaps someone like Sam Harris. (Though I admit this isn’t a precise fit.)
The following photos are from Alistair Cooke’s collection called ‘The Vintage Mencken’ (1955). Included are pieces written by Mencken between 1917 and 1949.
I think it’s honest to say that never in my life as a writer have I read prose more affecting and chillingly true to my writing experience and feelings towards art, life, existence, than Mencken’s words. Talk about honest and prescient. He could be very acidic. Yet he also nailed something so profoundly human and true that it simply cannot be disregarded.
These photos are pulled from two essays in the collection: ‘The Artist’ and ‘Theodore Dreiser.’
Enjoy.
I read Prejudices last fall, The Library of America volumes, and was floored the whole we through. I read both volumes in two weeks. My only regret is that I haven't bought them yet. Hitchens had the same vibe as Mencken, but I don't think he was comparable.