A Hero and Some Other Folks — A Closer Reading

The Rhetoric of Heroism

In the first essay, Quayle’s prose is declarative and aphoristic: “The hero is not a luxury, but a necessity.” He relies on contrast—old heroes versus new—and on quoted authority, such as Lowell’s lines about freedom. The reader should observe how Quayle’s voice shifts between preacher and critic. He does not merely describe Jean Valjean but uses him as a type of modern heroism, implicitly arguing that literature’s function is to elevate. The opening paragraph’s rhythm, with its short clauses and exclamatory tone, signals a writer who aims to persuade rather than inform.

Shakespeare and the Iconoclasts

Later in the volume, Quayle turns to the Shakespeare authorship question, a topic that allows him to display his own method. He summarizes the arguments of Delia Bacon, Donnelly, and others, then counters them not with new evidence but with appeals to genius: “Genius knows no rules.” This section reveals Quayle’s willingness to engage with contemporary controversies. He treats the anti-Stratfordian position with respect—calling Donnelly “a man of ingenuity”—before dismissing it as implausible. The reader should note how Quayle balances skepticism toward iconoclasm with admiration for the iconoclasts’ energy.

Structure and Transition

The book’s table of contents shows a deliberate arc: from Jean Valjean to Shakespeare, Caliban, William the Silent, and then to American geography, iconoclasm, Tennyson, historians, King Arthur, and the gentleman in literature. This is not a random collection. Quayle moves from individual heroes to broader cultural topics, then to literary criticism and historical figures. The reader should watch for how each essay builds on the previous one. For instance, the essay on iconoclasm in nineteenth-century literature follows naturally from the Shakespeare discussion, extending the theme of challenging established reputations.

Quayle’s Use of Examples

Throughout the excerpts, Quayle draws on a wide range of references: classical epics, Victorian poetry, American historians, and biblical drama. He assumes a literate audience familiar with Ulysses, Aeneas, and the works of Tennyson. Yet his examples are not mere decoration; they serve to illustrate his arguments about heroism, genius, and cultural change. The reader should pay attention to how Quayle selects details—for instance, calling Aeneas a “big cry-baby”—to make his points vivid. This technique keeps the essays lively even when the subject matter is academic.

As you read through A Hero and Some Other Folks, notice how Quayle’s voice evolves from the assertive preacher of the first essay to the more measured critic of later pieces. The book rewards attention to its structure: each essay contributes to a coherent argument about the value of heroism and the dangers of uncritical iconoclasm. Quayle writes not as a scholar but as a public intellectual, eager to engage his readers in a conversation about literature and life.

I’ve spent many evenings with A Hero and Some Other Folks, watching Quayle soften from devotion to doubt. Its later essays remind me of a quiet old friend, Thoughts Suggested by Mr. Froude's "Progress" — Reading Notes, which likewise lays down a hero’s laurels with a sigh. There’s a kinship in that gentle shedding of certainty—each book, in its own time, simply holds the door open.