There is a bit of biographical information here, but this is primarily a critique of Sinclair Lewis's books, and an assessment of his place in American Literature. The book was written at a time when Lewis was being dismissed by most critics as a minor writer, undeserving of the honor of having been chosen the first American winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature. I agree with Grebstein's position, that Lewis, in the 1920's was one of the most imprtant and widely-read American writers, and that his influence on American thought and literature during that period was immense. This should not be discounted because of the many books he wrote just to make a buck, or without attempting the high achievement of his great books of that decade (Main Street, Babbitt, Arrowsmith, Elmer Gantry, Dodsworth). Had Lewis retired in 1930 after winning the Nobel, his reputation today would not be so blemished. But I am a Lewis completist; he fascinates me as a flawed artist and human being. And I did find a guilty pleasure in even the most minor of his books. ( )