At a recent conference of historians, one of the few participants with a literary background confessed that he was surprised to hear such frequent and confident reference to “facts.” His reaction reflects the fact that contemporary literary theorists have become as wary of speaking of facts, (without inverted commas) as avant-garde theologians are of adverting to “God.” Indeed to critical theorists, most historians seem theoretical dolts; unlike Molière's famous character, they don't even realize they are talking (bad) theory all the time. Moreover to a novelist such as Gore Vidal, historians seem pettifoggers and without an imaginative bone in their body. Whatever else they are confident of, novelists automatically assume that they can do justice to the past with more verve and authenticity than historians.

If we only considered how near and intimate is the subject of the study of the self, we might suppose that of all studies it would be the most easy. And since it carries us back to the object of our most lively affections, we might think it would be most agreeable, and that we should proceed to it by natural impulse. Yet it is precisely the contrary.

King Vidor's 1928 film “The Crowd” examines the life of an “average” New Yorker, John Sims, who grows up dreaming of boundless opportunities for success yet remains stuck as a low-level clerk in a large corporation. Bored with office work, John invents advertising slogans and eventually wins $500 in a contest. He rushes home with an armful of toys and clothes for his family and jumps ecstatically about the room with his wife. From the window he displays a newly purchased scooter to his children across the street, then watches as his little girl runs to receive her gift and is struck by a huge truck careening down the block. John rushes out to find her surrounded by a large and anonymous crowd. In his grief he lifts the injured child high above them, an unconscious sacrifice to the seemingly mindless speed and swirling masses that rob modern urban people of their innocence and hope for individual fulfillment.