Sometimes, in the modern life of technocratically-domineered teenagedom, it becomes necessary for the teen, under threat of lethargy and doomscrolling until one’s eyes rot far enough to match the brain, to open a new leaf from a beloved author, no matter how uniquely and unusually irrelevant to modernity it may seem. My decision to read English Traits by Ralph Waldo Emerson was one of those times. The book is a series of short essays detailing the customs, airs, manners, and essential character of Englishpeople in the 19th century, based on Emerson’s own observations. Putting aside how boring such a topic may appear, Emerson’s rhythmic prose, like always, carries the work into something easily, enjoyably, and powerfully written. The fault of the work lies not in the writing, but in the contrast between the headstrong, overweening, confident prose describing an obsolete era Emerson perhaps did not know as well as his brazenness would let on. English Traits is a mediocre selection of essays for Emerson with beautiful, elegantly-sculpted prose juxtaposed against often faulty or fanciful opinions, but one that, in the wake of this era’s phone-induced tempus fugit, I am immensely glad I read. 

     The first essay in the book differs from the subsequent chapters by being a travelogue of Emerson’s first ever journey to England, and remarking on the character of the literati he met across the pond. These include such figures as Thomas Carlyle and William Wordsworth, and Emerson’s keen eye for character evaluation as well as what qualities he values most in the individual, are abundantly clear. For certain figures, namely Carlyle, he is not too fond, and very openly criticizes the faults of each characteristic he noticed. For example, while he is a fan of Wordsworth and his poetry, he critiques him for being too close-minded and bound intellectually to societal customs and mores. In a nutshell, Wordsworth is a genius whose ingenuity is limited to what he has been indoctrinated to know in an English society. Such criticism weighs quite evenly (mostly) with the praises, which makes it seem like Emerson wants nothing more than to provide an unbiased and fair presentation of people. Again, his prose, clarity, and confidence admixed in competence carries this section of the book. 

     However, not every section, like in all opinionated nonfiction, can be unquestionable. Emerson’s insistence in the next chapters on characterizing the English based on their “Saxon blood” intermixed with their “Norman blood,” alongside a healthy dose of environmental determinism (i.e. praising England’s climate for breeding hard-working but genteel men) is romantic, perhaps, but not easy to swallow with its likeness to Social Darwinist thought. Perhaps most laughable in the book, however, was a comment that had nothing to do with race or civilization, but rather a laughably overconfident piece of pseudoscience, fictionalized from God-knows-where. Upon visiting Stonehenge, Emerson opines, with his unbroken, unbowed, and unchecked boldness that the megalithic monument was constructed by Phonecians sailing from Tyre. Furthermore, he claims that the literature of Ancient Greece contains riddles hinting about the truth of Stonhenge’s creation, such as Heracles traversing the seas in Helios’ golden cup, which Emerson supposes for a metaphor for Phonecian compasses. In scenes like these, Emerson’s individualistic passion and pride works to his detriment, which is a sorry thing for someone like me, who loves falling in the snares of beautiful prose lacking substance, to admit. 

     Nevertheless, Emerson’s English Traits was an informative read of an early American perspective on British custom and essence, and one I cannot say I am worse for reading. Emerson will always be a joy for any Anglophone to read, whether he writes about apocryphal, pseudo-mythological puzzles or the ingredients in a soap bottle. And that is a compliment I can give to few.