It is depressing, in a couple of ways, to read Andre Maurois's biography of the great French writer Honore de Balzac. First, and more prosaically, the book's heavy reliance on correspondence to and from Balzac reminds me of the decline of letter-writing and the rich detail that will be unavailable to future biographers of great figures. The digital trail, so easily erased, is no substitute for an analog archive. Second, and more significantly, this biography reminds me that our era appears to be one of artistic stagnation. Balzac's ideas and work were revolutionary; the same could be said of Faulkner and Dos Passos. Thomas Bernhard died 30 years ago. But we get the culture, and the leaders, we deserve.
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