I read the Banquet Years about 20 years ago and for some reason picked it up again last week. In my recollection, it was astute, scholarly, and brilliant. What a shock to find a bunch of half-baked drivel. Shattuck may know his subject, but he comes across as a pretentious twit who gets no enjoyment from the arts. All these guys would have hated him--especially Alfred Jarry.