ABSTRACT
LONDON, where I thought I would be more at home, was last and seemed to hit me all at once. My introduction was stark and untypical. The first day, Geoffrey Gorer came to our hotel to see me. I had not met him before, and as I put out my hand he said sharply, “You have destroyed the monuments of Europe.” “What?” I said, wondering whether he was mad or I hadn’t heard right. He answered by reciting passionately all the sacred objects that had been marred by American GIs carving their initials, or names, or slogans. Even though I had been subjected to personalized anti-Americanisms in Paris, like snide remarks against Coca-Cola as the colonizing drink of American imperialism, I hardly knew how to cope with Gorer’s totally gratuitous and far-fetched assault. Perhaps because I did not know how to reply, I answered angrily and crudely that the GIs kept Europe out of concentration camps. It turned out that my own bad taste put an end to his tasteless attack, and we went on to talk about the usual things visitors and hosts talk about: what’s been happening in England and America, who is doing what, whom I should see, etc.
