family, society, and friends and undernthe influence of the great John HenrynNewman; of his even more extremendecision to join the Society of Jesus, innwhich eventually, after a long period ofnstudy and probation, he was ordainednand in which he served all his life; andnof those various posts where this dedicatednpriest preached and taught. In thencourse of his account. Professor Martinnpaints vivid pictures of Hopkins’ relationshipsnwith his many friends: friendsnas diverse as Walter Pater and BenjaminnJowett, Coventry Patmore, RobertnBridges — perhaps his closest friend, .nhimself later Poet Laureate, to whom allnreaders of Hopkins owe their knowledgenof his poetry — Canon Dixon, and thenyoung Digby Dolben, dead at 19,nwhom Hopkins loved so deeply andnwhose early death was a lifelong grief tonhim. Professor Martin is clear and specificnabout Hopkins’ homoeroticism,nwhich shaped his life and colored hisnverse and—far more valuable for annappreciation of that verse — shows hownthe poet’s repressed but powerful sexualityninfluenced and controlled the vocabulary,nthe imagery, and the pulsingnemotion of his poems.nThere are not many biographies thatnso illuminate the achievement as well asnthe life and character of their subjects.nIn Professor Martin’s book we see workingnharmoniously together the biographer,nthe stylist, the literary criHc. Fornof what use is the most diligent andndedicated research, of what good is thenkeenest penetration into psyche ornpoem, unless these fruits can be presentednin a persuasive and delectablenmanner? Hopkins has finally found anbiographer who, like his editor andnfriend Bridges, sets him and his achievementnforth, suffering and triumphant, tonbe known as fully as possible to all hisnadmirers.nGertrude M. White writes from WestnBloom field, Michigan.nFor Immediate ServicenCHRONICLESnNEW SUBSCRIBERSnTOLL FREE NUMBERn38/CHRONlCLESn1-800-877-5459nThe Global Villagernby Bill KauffmannCity Limits: Memories of anSmall-Town Boynby Terry TeachoutnNew York: Poseidon Press;n204 pp., $19.00nTerry Teachout was a clumsy, nearsightednteacher’s pet who grew upnin Sikeston, Missouri, populationn17,431—“A Community ThatnWorks!” as its boosters trumpet.nTeachout stumbled through LittlenLeague and Boy Scouts, he tells us innhis memoir, and distinguished himselfnin school as “the very worst kind ofnGoody Two-Shoes.” He carried annolive-drab briefcase and once fell downna flight of stairs while trying to impressntwo girls. Teachout writes well of hisnown sissyhood. In fact, I wish he hadngiven us more: the pain, the awkwardness,nthe pockmarks, the right-field misplays,nthe Friday nights spent squirrelednaway reading sci-fi paperbacks, thenunrealized cheedeader fantasies. This isnthe book Teachout should have written:nMemories of a Small-Town Geek.nAs a teenager, Teachout finds partialnsocial salvation through music. Hentakes up the violin and the bass guitarnand discovers “the incomparable joy ofndoing something really well.” He joinsna hillbilly band. Sour Mash, and playsn”I Saw the Light” in churches andnHoliday Inn bars. Although his bandmatesnmake him the butt of their crudenjokes, Teachout finally belongs. What’snmore, he is — in a retro way — cool.nCity Limits drags us along withnTeachout to William Jewell College,nwhere Greek-Independent rivalrynflares; then to a bank teller’s job innKansas City, where he sees a stick-upnman gunned down; then on to thenUniversity of Illinois, where he is understandablynglum while manning ansuicide hotline; finally, he musters upnthe moxie to bid farewell to the humdrumnMidwest and stake his claim innNew York City, where he falls in with annotorious gang of grifters, weirdos, andnpansy-ass militarists, a/k/a the ManhattannConservatives. His adventures withnthis motley crew will be related, nondoubt, in Volume Two of the 35-yearoldnMr. Teachout’s autobiography-inprogress.nnnThe post-Sikeston years are on thendull side, although Teachout sketchesnfine portraits of two musicians: decrepitnWoody Herman, driving his ThunderingnHerd across the Midwest, andnHarry Jenks, a pizza pador pianist withnno ambition but boundless talent — thenantithesis, one suspects, of many ofnTeachout’s current pals. As for Sikeston:nwell, the sturdy values that Teachoutnacquired back home he will carrynwithin no matter how far he roams,nblah blah blah. “I am like a millionnother Americans who grew up andnmoved away from the small towns ofntheir childhood,” he writes. “We cannotngo back; we are not at home wherenwe are. We are exiles from the lostnheart of the land we love.”nCome on. The “land we love”nwasn’t lost, it was abandoned. Take angood look around your hometown.nThe largest supermarket in mine wasnjust bought by a Dutch concern; ournbanks are all headquartered elsewhere,nand our city and school budgets arenlargely driven by federal and state mandate.nMen making a livable wage arenlaid off and replaced by part-timersnwho get no benefits. In desperafion, anneighboring town begs an out-of-statencompany to build an incinerator. Thenbig houses — the mansions on the hilln— are torn down. The brick factoriesnin which my ancestors sweated andnbled stand empty. Rats run through thencorridors; wild boys sneak in throughnbusted windows, swigging Malt Ducknand blasting Megadeath. The smartnkids who go off to college and becomendoctors never return; the louring skyndarkens.nIs this happening in Sikeston, too?nHere and there we catch glimpses ofndecay. “A shopping mall was built onnthe edge of tovvn,” Teachout notes,n”and the downtown stores, one by one,nstarted to sell off their stock and closentheir doors.” The Interstate bypassedndowntown Sikeston, eliminating drivethroughncommerce. But Teachout optsnfor the kinder, gentler cliches of Republicanncommercials: “Sikeston, Missouri,nis still a place where peoplensalute the flag and don’t ask for receipts,nwhere everybody knows whonyour parents were and what they didnfor a living. It is narrow and kind andndecent and good, and I am blessed tonhave been raised in its shabby, forgivingnbosom. It is my hometown; it isn