Review of Veblen's The Theory of the Leisure Class,
by Robert C[harles] Benchley

'Vanity Fair' (Magazine), New York, (Apr., 1919), p. 39.
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The Dullest Book of the Month
'The Theory of the Leisure Class'
'Dr. Thorstein Veblen Gets the Crown of Deadly Nightshade'


It has long been the custom among many of our leading literary publications, such 
as 'The North American Review', for instance, to devote a special review to what is 
referred to as 'The Best Book of the Month', or even 'The Months Best Book'. 'Vanity 
Fair' can not undertake to select the best book of the month for review, but it can 
select a book which, it is a safe bet, a majority of its readers would not otherwise 
be conversant with - and, at that, not impugn the good taste of its readers.

We have selected for the first month's review, Dr. Thorstein Veblen's 'The Theory 
of the Leisure Class' (New York. Macmillan. Cloth. $2.00 net). This book has been 
chosen for two reasons, both of them being that Dr. Veblen has recently been the 
storm-center of a soviet uprising among the young ladies in New York who compose The 
Junior League.

From current press reports, it appears that a revolutionary element among the members 
of New York's exclusive 'demoiselles' refused to attend lectures at the new School 
for Social Research (a training table for 'The New Republic' squad) because of the 
presence, on the faculty, of Dr. Veblen and several other savants who were suspected 
of having radical leanings and therefore of being unsuited to act as docents for our 
social register débutantes.

But a study of Dr. Veblen's arraignment of the Leisure Class will disclose a still 
more cogent reason for his rejection by these astute young ladies. As the members 
of the Junior League possess both leisure and class, they naturally enough resented 
this gross attack upon their admirable and energetic League.

The Original Leisure Classes

Dr. Veblen starts away with a rush. He brings us, right off the bat, into contact 
with the original leisure classes, those inhabiting the Polynesian Islands and the 
Icelandic community at the time of the Sagas. This is evidently done to lend color 
to what follows, for the theme is developed logically through the period of the 
Andamans, the Todas of the Nilgiri Hills, the Ainu of Yezo, and also, although "more 
doubtfully", some Bushman and Eskimo groups.

It is well that the author protected himself by the insertion of that "doubtfully", 
or he would have had a controversy on his hands with the present reviewer. We are 
very touchy on that Todas matter. As it is, however, we will let it pass.

Immediately following this snappy outline of what has preceded the opening of the 
story, we are introduced, without further ado, into the swirl of passion in which 
the book itself is carried along. Note the emergence of the love interest in the 
following vivid, if somewhat colloquial passage:

"The ground on which a discrimination between facts is habitually made, changes as 
the interest from which the facts are habitually viewed changes. Those features of 
the facts at hand are salient and substantial upon which the dominant interest of 
the time throws its light."

It will be seen from this that Dr. Veblen knows his Ring Lardner. The influence of 
the "You-know-me-Al" school has crept into this work almost imperceptibly and yet 
indubitably. It has, however, a raciness all its own. It does not depend upon 
mis-spelling for its humorous effect, but, as in his definition of Man ("Man, in his 
own apprehension, a center of unfolding impulsive activity - teleological activity") 
we find the native genius of Dr. Veblen creating something in the way of humor that 
is entirely his own.

The second chapter of the book is entitled "Pecuniary Emulation". This chapter is 
a scream. But, when one has finished it, one must admit that the plot has been advanced 
no whit. You are simply where you were in the beginning, except for the fact that 
the woman in the red hat has danced on the table. Which really isn't very far, when 
you come to think of it.

Here Is a Word on Drunkenness

But in his chapter on "Conspicuous Leisure", the Doctor warms up to his task. He gives 
us to understand that the term "leisure" does not denote "indolence or quiescence", 
but "non-productive consumption of time" - which is one of the reasons, I dare say, 
why the junior League girls rebelled so. He takes us, by sheer force of his cave-man 
word-pictures, into the creation of "a subsidiary or derivative leisure class, whose 
office is the performance of a vicarious leisure for the behoof of the reputability 
of the primary or legitimate leisure class". This all seems so simple that the wonder 
is that no one has ever thought of it before. And, through it all, Dr, Veblen maintains 
a certain dignity underneath his popular exterior, giving the reader to understand 
that the author has his serious side as well.

This feeling is somewhat dispelled, however, in the next chapter, entitled 
"Conspicuous Consumption", for here the Doctor lets himself go, to the point of being 
ribald. Drunken scenes are, at best, unpleasant, but what shall we say of one handled 
thus:

"Drunkenness and the other pathological consequences of the free use of stimulants 
therefore tend in their turn to become honorific, as being a mark, at the second 
remove, of the superior status of those who are able to afford the indulgence."

If that isn't dragging drinking down to the level of a bestial process, we should 
like to know what is. As if the Liquor Interests didn't have enough to worry about 
without being accused of being "honorific at the second remove."

There follows, however, a paragraph which makes amends for much. It is the private 
opinion of the reviewer that Dr. Veblen wrote this originally for 'Vanity Fair', to 
be used as the advertisement for the magazine which is usually run on the page 
immediately preceding the frontispiece. Or, perhaps Dr. Veblen has been writing the 
'Vanity Fair' advertisements all along, who knows? Listen:

"The growth of punctilious discrimination as to the qualitative excellence in eating, 
drinking, etc., presently affects not only the manner of life, but also the training 
and intellectual activity of the gentleman of leisure. He is no longer simply the 
aggressive male - the man of strength, resource and intrepidity. 'In order to avoid 
stultification he must also cultivate his tastes, for it now becomes incumbent upon 
him to discriminate with some nicety between the noble and ignoble in consumable 
goods. He becomes a connoisseur in creditable viands of various degrees of merit, 
in manly beverages and trinkets, in seemly apparel and architecture, in weapons, 
games, dances, and the narcotics.' This cultivation of the aesthetic faculty requires 
time and application, and the demands made upon the gentleman in this direction 
therefore tend to change his life of leisure into a more or less arduous application 
to the business of learning how to live a life of ostensible leisure in a becoming 
way."

"A copy of 'Vanity Fair' each month will do all this, and more, for you," is the logical 
ending to that paragraph.

But then comes what we might call "the rough stuff". Up to this time we have heard 
nothing of Little Annie, who left her home in Great Barrington ten years before the 
opening of the story. It is therefore with a shock of something akin to offended 
modesty that the average reader will scan the following lines:

"Men differ in respect of transmitted aptitudes, or in respect of the relative 
facility with which they unfold their life activity in particular directions; and 
the habits which coincide with or proceed upon a relatively strong specific aptitude 
or a relatively great specific facility of expression become of great consequence 
to a man's well-being!"

Strong words, Thorstein! ... But, after all, are they not better said openly and 
frankly than concealed as if they were something of which one might well be ashamed?

Light Reading for Débutantes

But, surely, not for the young Missy of the Junior League is the following estimate 
of the chief factors in feminine beauty:

"Apart from the general control exercised by the norm of conspicuous waste over the 
ideal of feminine beauty, there are one or two details which merit specific mention 
as showing how it may exercise an extreme constraint in detail over men's sense of 
beauty in women. It has already been noticed that, at the stages of economic evolution 
at which conspicuous leisure is regarded as a means of good repute, the ideal requires 
delicate and diminutive hands and feet and a slender waist. ... She (the woman thus 
adapted) is useless and expensive and she is consequently valuable as evidence of 
pecuniary strength."

The "astute man", moreover, is little better. "His functioning is not a furtherance 
of the generic life process. At its best, in its direct economic bearing, it is a 
conversion of the economic substance of the collectivity to a growth alien to the 
collective life process."

Do you see?

On the whole, 'The Theory of the Leisure Class' is a good work, hastily done. In the 
hands of a more serious-minded student it might have been developed to greater 
lengths.

The Doctor has made one big mistake, however. He has presupposed, in writing this 
book, the existence of a class with much more leisure than any class in the world 
ever possessed - for, has he not counted on a certain number of readers?
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