I love reading E.B. White and W.H. Auden. Both are lovely writers and good observers. Yet I find I fundamentally distrust both, because both essentially sat out World War II. Neither was a conscientious objector, a position I respect. White at least grew chickens on a farm. Auden simply left England, still a relatively young man at age 32. I think it leaves a hole in the works of both.
So as I read, and nod in agreement, or underline, I hear a little voice: "Yes, but...."