For three decades Lewis was an important public figure whose movements and statements were news. His books topped the best-seller lists. He sought, was offered, loudly refused, and then won the important prizes, snubbing the Pulitzer but seeking and happily accepting the Nobel as the first American to win that award in literature. To the Pulitzer committee he addressed a widely published and discussed letter of rejection of the prize for Arrowsmith (his motive was his stillsmoldering anger that the choice of Main Street as winner five years before had been vetoed by a senior panel). On the occasion of the Nobel ceremony, he made a memorable address explaining, defending, and touting American writers. He was in some ways an outrageous figure who, as T. K. Whipple said, bestrode his nation like a Red Indian.
Lewis created a stock company of characters who were targeted over and over in his satires: political reactionaries, fund-raisers, doctors, Rotarians, braggarts, con men, idlers, racial bigots, nagging women, professors, preachers. He portrayed heroic figures—his pioneers, workers, doers, and worthy wives. He gave us commanding examples of hypocrisy, in reproductions of doublespeak long before Orwell, in mockery of editorials, oratory, gossip, table talk, ads, religious harangues, whining, and boosterism.
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