Travel & Taboos

SOPHOMORES ABROAD--Charles Macomb Flandrau--Appleton-Century ($2).

Almost 40 years ago Charles Macomb Flandrau published a book of college stories called Harvard Episodes, in which undergraduates were described realistically for the first time in U. S. fiction. The book created a minor sensation, even brought its young author a friendly six-page letter from Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt. Promptly taken up by Saturday Evening Post, Author Flandrau continued to write, less frankly, a series of sketches dealing with college life in general, with two amiable, intelligent, irresponsible Harvard boys in particular. Last week Author Flandrau prefaced a slim collection of these sketches with a long, ingratiating introduction almost entirely given over to an account of the formidable difficulties that a candid young writer faced in a period when editors were cautious to the point of timidity.

Although the sketches themselves, dealing with wide-eyed impressions of London hotels, ancient transatlantic steamers, travelers' affectations and disappointments, hold up remarkably well across the years, the chief distinction of Sophomores Abroad is Author Flandrau's wryly amusing apology for having written it. When he began his literary career, certain topics, including religion, college education, youth and the possessors of great wealth, were sacred in popular magazines, while other topics, like sex, cigarets and alcohol, were absolutely taboo. A character in the thick of battle might slay Indians, but he could not smoke. When Author Flandrau gave one of his travel-harassed heroes the satisfaction of a long, cold highball, it came out in print that the boy got only a glass of lemonade. Looking back on his career and that of others who also blamed editors, he eventually came to the conclusion that such changes made no difference, decided amiably "that . . . losing one's fine, early scruples is of far less importance than losing one's fine, early head of hair."

Young Author Flandrau nevertheless found conforming difficult. Editors lured him with attractive offers. The best of Author Flandrau's anecdotes deal with Satevepost's George Horace Lorimer, "the most insidiously seductive Lorelei of them all ... perched on a rock known as the Curtis Publishing Company overlooking the human tide that ebbs and flows along Independence Square in Philadelphia." Author Flandrau had written pure, sexless, nonalcoholic short stories, a good clean serial called The Diary of a Freshman, when Editor Lorimer wanted him to write the diary of a professor. Author Flandrau fled to Europe. The editor, using "diplomatic and gratifying" communications, persuaded him at least to take his charming fictional college boys along. Wearily Author Flandrau capitulated, found the young Harvard men accompanying him to England and France, thought of them as traveling in his heart, his head and his steamer trunk, got rid of them at last with such relief that he did not reread his own account of their adventures until 34 years later.

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