The publication o f Northrop Frye's Notebooks troubled some o f his
old admirers, myself included. O n e unfortunate passage gave us Frye's affirmation that he alone, o f all modern critics, possessed genius. I think o f Kenneth Burke and o f William Empson; were they less gifted than Frye? O r were George Wilson Knight or Ernst Robert Curtius less original and creative than the Canadian master? And yet I share Frye's sympathy for what our current "cultural" polemicists dismiss as the "romantic ideology o f genius." In that supposed ideology, there is a transcendental realm, but we are alienated from it. T h e genius is a person at least more open to that transcendence than most o f us are. Historicists assert that genius is only an eighteenth-century idea, in which the saint and the hero were replaced, as they were by Goethe, widely renowned as "the genius o f happiness and astonish- ment." T h e r e had been at least three earlier meanings o f genius: one's attendant spirit or natural endowment or aspiration. Frye's declaration o f genius prompts m e to an impish archaism: was this Magus o f the North attended by a spirit? It seems likelier that Frye, a formidable ironist, would refer to his aspiration, more even than to his natural endowment. I fell in love with Frye's Fearful Symmetry, his study o f William Blake, when it was published in 1947, my freshman year at Cornell. I purchased the book and read it to pieces, until it was a part o f me. A decade later, when Anatomy of Criticism was published, I b e c a m e one o f its first reviewers. I am not so fond o f the Anatomy now, as I was more than forty years ago, but I probably absorbed it in ways I no longer can apprehend. In later years, whenever I lectured at Toronto, Frye would introduce m e with considerable polemical fer- vor, making clear that his Methodist Platonism was very different from my Jewish Gnosticism. I place this upon record, since I have come to praise Frye in this foreword, though with a certain ambiva- lence. Frye disliked the idea o f an anxiety o f influence, and told me that whether a later writer experienced such an affect was due en- tirely to temperament and circumstances. W h e n I replied that influ- ence anxiety was not an affect in a person, but the relation o f one literary work to another, and so the result, rather than the cause, o f a strong misreading, my heroic precursor stopped listening. He had