HEDNOTE. I seem to recall that GONE WITH THE WIND was at one time touted as the American WAR & PEACE.

 

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So, rather than merely being a good, or even a great, writer who bears the Swedish Academy's seal of approval, Amis now finds it wise and prudent to proclaim Bellow the "American Tolstoy," the very best of the very best.  As I said, nonsense.

Forgive me if I've missed some of this discussion and repeat what others have said.  But I have to agree.  The notion of an American Tolstoy is silly to begin with, of course; maybe James might qualify, but the comparison, if it's not to be simply the shallow equivalent of an Oscar, should take into consideration the era in which the writer wrote.

 

As for Bellow himself, there's not a more inflated reputation.  Even Mailer's has been properly trimmed.  Augie March is unreadable, endless.  With the exception of Henderson the Rain King, his books are insufferably pretentious.  The same has been said of Faulkner, though the later doesn't take endless pleasure in looking down his nose at virtually everything.  Bellow's humor is stiff and stifled, like a suppresseded laugh.

 

It's an overstatement to say Bellow can't carry Amis's inkpot.  Amis has his moments.  The writer on this list who praised The Information knew what he was taking about.  But Amis is far too uneven, and I haven't read a thing of his yet as good as Henderson.  The writer Bellow cannot touch is Philip Roth.  Between the early Zukerman novels and his American Trilogy--not to mention the farcical perfections of Portnoy and Sabbath's Theatre--you have a shelf of consistent quality that dwarfs Bellow's.