LIKE all forms of journalism, book reviewing has shown new tendencies since the War. What we see may be a wayward phase or a stage in evolution. If one were to presume that it is evolution, it would be with a certain trepidation that one confronted the future. When an organ fugue or a sonata has been altered to a tumult of trombones in my generation, I share the feelings of a musician who shudders at the prospect of Bach being supplanted by Stravinsky's successor.
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