Conventional Wisdom

By John Elson

TITLE: THE CREATORS

+ AUTHOR: DANIEL J. BOORSTIN

PUBLISHER: RANDOM HOUSE; 811 PAGES; $30

THE BOTTOM LINE: An eminent historian's guide to culture is ambitious but disappointing.

MANKIND'S RECORD OF INVENtion and discovery is an unfinished epic of awe and wonder. In his widely (and justly) praised The Discoverers (1983), historian Daniel J. Boorstin narrated with scholarly elan the saga of man's quest for knowledge of the world and himself. Now he has essayed what his book's subtitle calls "a history of heroes of the imagination." The Creators' range is impressive, from the Vedic hymns of ancient India to the modern cinema. The end result, alas, is considerably less exciting than its predecessor.

Part of the problem is the nature of Boorstin's material. In the realms of science or exploration, the roster of pioneers is largely carved in stone, as it were, even though multiculturalism has taught us to view Christopher Columbus' voyages of discovery somewhat less ecstatically than previous American generations did. Yet in art or music or literature, every age tends to create its own canon of greatness. Fifty years ago, for example, Longfellow and Sir Walter Scott were adjudged model poets; they go virtually unread today.

Boorstin in many areas seems out of touch with the ever changing fever chart of critical reputations. A chapter on the 19th century English novel, for example, is devoted to Charles Dickens. There is scarcely a word about Anthony Trollope, a writer of smaller genius, perhaps, but whose insightful portrayals of women and politics nonetheless make him seem prophetically modern. Boorstin's account of Protestant sacred music understandably focuses on Johann Sebastian Bach. But why, some readers may wonder, are there only passing references to Handel?

Boorstin, to be sure, has written an interpretative personal guide to cultural history rather than an encyclopedia. Yet many of his appraisals, as well as his choices, seem blandly conventional. Some, in fact, are so woefully inadequate as to suggest that the author relied entirely on secondary sources rather than on firsthand knowledge. In a muddled chapter on dance, George Balanchine, who revolutionized the vocabulary of classical ballet, gets scarcely more space than two more limited choreographers, Leonide Massine and Michel Fokine. The paragraph on Mr. B. mentions none of his landmark ballets but cites instead his glitzy dances for films like I Was an Adventuress. Ignored also are Balanchine's two greatest contemporaries: Antony Tudor and Sir Frederick Ashton.

Boorstin, the Librarian of Congress Emeritus, has a magisterial gift for summary and organization; some readers will doubtless find his guidance helpful. Still, The Creators is not the book it could have been.