658 ALH Online Review, Series XXIX

Lydia G. Fash, The Sketch, The Tale, and the Beginnings of American Literature
(Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2020), 316 pp.

Reviewed by Elizabeth Hewitt, The Ohio State University

Lydia G. FashȂœ The Sketch, The Tale, and the Beginnings of American Literature makes an
appeal with which literary scholars are accustomed: that we should be more refined in
our formal taxonomies and that we should look beyond the novel to discover other genres
significant to the development of a national literature. As her title indicates, Fash directs

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our attention to the sketch and the tale. She advocates on their behalf with an argument
that familiarly draws a connection between form and politics: the sketch and the tale
ex™›ŽœœȱŠ—ȱȃŠŽœ‘Ž’Œȱ˜ȱ›Š–Ž—Š’˜—ȄȱǻŚǼȱ‘Šȱ is analogous to the political work of E
pluribus unum, the many that constitute the one. The tale and sketch are important to US
literary history not only because of their capacity for miscellany, but also because they
Œž•’ŸŠŽȱŠȱȃŽŽ•’—ȱ˜ȱŠž‘Ž—’Œ’¢ȄȱŠ—ȱ‘ŽȱȃŠŒŒŽ™Š—ŒŽȱ˜ȱ‘Žȱ’—Œ˜–™•ŽŽȄȱǻŗŜŜǼ.

Fash presents her scholarship as something of a recovery project, scolding previous critics
˜›ȱ’Ÿ’—ȱ‘ŽȱŠ•ŽȱŠ—ȱ‘Žȱœ”ŽŒ‘ȱȃœ‘˜›ȱœ‘›’ȄȱǻśǼ. But her archive will be recognizable
to most readers: she provides studies of the short fiction of Washington Irving, Sarah
Josepha Hale, Catherine Maria Sedgewick, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Edgar Allan Poe.
ȱžœŽȱ‘ŽȱŽ›–ȱȃœ‘˜›ȱ’Œ’˜—ǰȄȱsince even though Fash aims to sharpen generic clarity, and
rightly chides literary scholars for conflating the sketch with the tale, she herself groups
the two forms together under the label ȃœ‘˜›ȱ’Œ’˜—ǯȄȱThe difference between the two,
she says, is that tales emphasize plot and time while sketches emphasize space and stasis,
but both constitute genres distinct from the short story, which develops much later.

‘Žȱ—˜–Ž—Œ•Šž›Žȱ˜ȱȃ’Œ’˜—Ȅȱ’œȱœž›™›’œ’—ȱ’ŸŽ—ȱ‘Š she cites examples of both sketches

and tales that claim an allegiance to reality. S‘Žȱ‘Ž›œŽ•ȱœŠ¢œȱ‘Šȱ‘Žȱȃ™›˜˜˜Œž–Ž—Š›¢ȱ
œŠ—ŒŽȄȱǻŘŖŗǼȱ˜ȱ‘Žȱœ”ŽŒ‘ȱ’œȱŒ›žŒ’Š•ȱ˜ȱ‘Žȱ˜›–ȂœȱŠ™™ŽŠ•, and so, I am unclear what Fash
gains by resting her generic taxonomy on the shifting sands of fictionality. Additionally,
given that she argues on behalf of more meticulous histories of genre, she might have
been a little more detailed in providing the genealogy of the two genres she studies. Fash
claims, for example, ‘Šȱȃ–Ž›’ŒŠ—ȱœ”ŽŒ‘ŽœȱŽœŒŽ—Žȱ›˜–ȱ‘Žȱ Spectator and TatlerȄȱ
(21), but the genre of the Addisonian (or periodical) essay, which is ubiquitous in early
American print culture, comprised both the sketch and the tale. We would define
Spectator, No. 3 as a sketch since it provides an allegorical rendering of British finance that
is shaped through a scenic and static portrait of Lady Credit. But Spectator No. 11 gives
›ŽŠŽ›œȱ ‘Šȱ’ȱ–Š—’Žœ•¢ȱŒŠ••œȱŠȱȃŠ•ŽǰȄȱ‘Žȱ™•˜Žȱœ˜›¢ȱ˜ȱ —”•ŽȱŠ—ȱŠ›’Œ˜, one that is
retold throughout the eighteenth century. Because the subject of her first chapter,
Washington Irving, begins his publishing career writing Addisonian essays, it would

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 ALH Online Review, Series XXIX 659

seem useful for Fash to provide a fuller account of the origins of the genre she designates
as ȃœ‘˜›ȱ’Œ’˜—ǯȄ

I sense, however, that Fash ultimately is less invested in an exegesis of the genres
’Ž—’’Žȱ ’—ȱ ‘Žȱ ’›œȱ ‘Š•ȱ ˜ȱ ‘Ž›ȱ ‹˜˜”Ȃœȱ ’•Ž than in the subject of ȃbeginningǽœǾȄ
referenced in ‘Žȱ’•ŽȂœ last clause. Indeed, her book largely focuses on how tales and
sketches by US writers craft stories about the origins of the nation. Her chapter on
Sedgewick, for example, argues for the importance of the gift-‹˜˜”ȱ˜ȱ ˜–Ž—Ȃœȱ›˜•Žȱ’—ȱ
the construction of antebellum US literary culture: the gift-book, or literary annal, is a
ȃœ˜Œ’Š•ȱœ™ŠŒŽȄȱǻŗŖŖǼȱin which white women can participate (as writers and readers) in the

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storytelling that establishes the shared belonging of national beginnings. The chapter on
Hawthorne proposes that his turn to the seventeenth century as source material is not a
strategy to locate national origins, but instead to highlight the difficulty of this location
™›˜“ŽŒǯȱ ŒŒ˜›’—ȱ ˜ȱ Šœ‘ǰȱ Š ‘˜›—ŽȂœȱ ž›’Š—ȱ Š•Žœȱ Š›Žȱ ™Š›’Œž•Š›ȱ ›ŽŸŽ•Š˜›¢ȱ in
featuring a narrative temporal complexity that she also sees as key to Calvinist theology:
‘Šȱœ‘ŽȱŽœŒ›’‹ŽœȱŠœȱ‘ŽȱŽ—œ’˜—ȱ‹Ž ŽŽ—ȱȃŒ‘›˜—’Œ•ŽȄȱǻŠȱ•’—ŽŠ›ȱ—Š››Š’ŸŽȱ˜ȱŽŸŽ—œǼȱŠ—ȱ
ȃ›ŽŒ”˜—’—ȄȱǻŠȱ›Ž›˜œ™ŽŒ’ŸŽȱexplanation), and between free will and predestination. She
Š•œ˜ȱ’Ž—’’ŽœȱŠȱœ’–’•Š›ȱ”’—ȱ˜ȱŽ–™˜›Š•ȱœŒ‘’œ–ȱ’—ȱ˜ŽȂœȱŽŽŒ’ŸŽȱ’Œ’˜—ǯȱ —ȱ‘’œȱŒŠœŽǰȱ—˜ȱ
between chronicle and reckoning, but between the story of a crime and the story of a
crime being solved. Even so, ‘Žȱ ›ŽŠ’—ȱ ˜ȱ ˜ŽȂœȱ ŽŽŒ’ŸŽȱ œ˜›’Žœȱ ’œȱ œ’–’•Š›ȱ ˜ȱ the
analyses ˜ȱ Š ‘˜›—ŽȂœȱ Š•ŽœDZȱ ‘Ž¢ȱ ‹˜‘ȱ ›ŽŸŽŠ•ȱ Šȱ ȃ’œ’••žœ’˜—–Ž—ȱ ’‘ȱ –Ž›’ŒŠ—ȱ
‹Ž’——’—œȄȱǻŗśŞǼǯȱ

This thesis about how Š ‘˜›—ŽȂœȱ Š—ȱ ˜ŽȂœȱ Š•Žœȱ ™›˜Ÿ’Žȱ ŽŸ’Ž—ŒŽȱ ‘Šȱ ȃ‘Žȱ
antebellum culture oȱ‹Ž’——’—œȱ‘ŠȱŽ›˜ŽȄȱ(164) leads to the final chapter in which
Fash proposes that four of the canonical novels of 1850s US literature (The Scarlet Letter,
Moby-’Œ”ǰȱ—Œ•Žȱ˜–ȂœȱŠ‹’—ǰȱand Clotel) are composed from the building blocks found
in the sketch. Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and William Wells
Brown ž›—ȱ ˜ȱ ‘Žȱ ȃŠŽœ‘Ž’Œœȱ ˜ȱ ‘Žȱ œ”ŽŒ‘,Ȅȱ œ‘Žȱ Š›žŽœǰȱ ‹ŽŒŠžœŽȱ ’ȱ ȃŽ—Š‹•Žȱ ‘Žȱ
™Š›’Œ’™Š’˜—ȱ˜ȱ›ŽŠŽ›œǰȱ‘ŽȱŽŽ•’—ȱ˜ȱŠž‘Ž—’Œ’¢ǰȱŠ—ȱ‘ŽȱŠŒŒŽ™Š—ŒŽȱ˜ȱ‘Žȱ’—Œ˜–™•ŽŽȄ
(166). Her description of the various readerly effects ascribed to the sketch, even when it
is sutured to the longer form of the novel, serves in this final chapter to punctuate her
•’Ž›Š›¢ȱ‘’œ˜›’ŒŠ•ȱŠ›ž–Ž—ȱŠ‹˜žȱȃ‹Ž’——’—œǯȄȱ‘Žȱ—˜ŸŽ•’œœȱȃ˜••Žȱ‘ŽȱŽŠ‘ȱ”nell for
‘ŽȱŒž•ž›Žȱ˜ȱ‹Ž’——’—œȄ (201).

‘’•Žȱ–žŒ‘ȱ˜ȱŠœ‘Ȃœȱ‹˜˜”ȱŽ–™‘Šœ’£Žœȱ‘˜ ȱ‘ŽȱȃŠŽœ‘Ž’Œœȱ˜ȱ‘Žȱœ”ŽŒ‘ȄȱŠ™™›˜ŠŒ‘Žœȱ
narrative beginnings, she also proposes other kinds of consequences for readers.
Focusing on short fiction in Š•ŽȂœȱ Š’ŽœȂȱ ŠŠ£’—Žǰȱ Fash argues that the sketch form
cultivated ™Š’Ž—ŒŽȱŠ—ȱȃŽ—ž›Š—ŒŽȄȱǻŜřǼȱin the largely female audience; and this patient
endurance was, for Hale, ‘Žȱ”Ž¢ȱ˜ȱ ˜–Ž—Ȃœȱ™˜•’’ŒŠ•ȱagency. Fash also explicitly links
660 ALH Online Review, Series XXIX

this reading modeȯof being willing to wait and not race to read plotȯ˜ȱ ˜–Ž—Ȃœȱ
fiction. But other critics who have studied the sketch, like Kristie Hamilton and Amanpal
Garcha (both of whom Fash cites) have described how slowing down readers can
accomplish numerous ideological and aesthetic effects. And FashȂœȱ Œ˜––’–Ž—ȱ ˜ȱ
reading the sketch in terms of a female politics can lead her to make odd peripheral
claims, as, for example, when she claims that the reason The Scarlet Letter and Moby-Dick
Ž›Ž—Ȃȱ™ž‹•’œ‘Žȱ’—ȱ–ž•’™Š›ȱŸ˜•ž–es is that they Ž›Ž—ȂȱŠ’–ŽȱŠȱŠȱŽ–Š•Žȱ›ŽŠŽ›œ‘’™
(77). But many nineteenth-century novels that were marketed to both men and women
came out in multivolume and/or serialized publications: ’™™Š›ȂœȱMonk-Hall and James
Ž—’–˜›Žȱ˜˜™Ž›ȂœȱThe Pioneers, for example. And both of these novels contain numerous

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chapters that we could classify as sketchesȯ•˜—ȱŠ—ȱȃ ˜›¢ȄȱŽœŒ›’™’˜—œȱ‘Šȱ˜›ŽœŠ••ȱ
quick reading and not offered in the service of plot.

My point is less ‘ŠȱŠœ‘Ȃœȱ›ŽŠ’—ȱ˜ȱ Š•ŽȂœȱœ”ŽŒ‘es is wrongȯI very much like this

chapterȯand more, simply, to point to a risk that comes from Šœ‘Ȃœ ambition to locate
enormous literary historical consequences from a particular form. The danger is that it
can lead her to ignore the ways that genres can produce very different, even
contradictory, effects. ‘˜›ȱ ’Œ’˜—ȱ ŒŠ—ȱ ‘žœȱ ‹Žȱ Šœœ˜Œ’ŠŽȱ ’‘ȱ ȃ‘Žȱ ŠŒŒŽ™Š—ŒŽȱ ˜ȱ ‘Žȱ
’—Œ˜–™•ŽŽǰȄȱ‹žȱŠ•œ˜ǰȱŠœȱ˜Žȱ‘Ž˜›’£Žœǰȱ ’‘ȱŠȱȃž—’¢ȱ˜ȱŽŽŒǯȄȱ‘e other risk is that it
can lead to the misrepresentation of other literary forms. For example, Fash claims that
nineteenth century ȃœ‘˜›ȱ’Œ’˜—Ȅȱ’œȱa ȃ–˜›Žȱ•Ž¡’‹•ŽȄȱŠ—ȱȃŠž‘Ž—’Œǰȱœ™˜—Š—Ž˜žœȄ form
than nineteenth-century poetryǰȄȱ ‘’Œ‘ was by contrast ȃŒŠ›Žž••¢ȱ ˜›Ž›ŽȄ (24) and
unnatural. This is an odd claim to make about nineteenth-century poetry, which had been
‘Ž˜›’£Žȱ‹¢ȱ˜›œ ˜›‘ȱŠœȱȃœ™˜—Š—Ž˜žœȱŽ¡™›Žœœ’˜—ǰȄȱalbeit expressed in iambs. It is
also a strange claim to make about short fiction, which frequently followed a
conventional and generic set of themes (the romance of real life; the dream; the faithful
wife; the Orientalist tale, etc.)

All of which is to say that I am not, in the end, persuaded by Šœ‘Ȃœȱlarge, provocative
thesis that adjusting our lens to the antebellum sketch and tale will reveal an entirely
different story of national origins. But I am convinced that the form is of vital importance
to literary history. And much of what Fash does is provide us refined, detailed, and
compelling explanations of the more localized consequences of the form for both authors
and readers alike. I am tempted to say that I enjoyed the book more as a sketch than as a
novel.