De Crèvecoeur writes in an earnest and sincere tone punctuated by moments of real bitterness. Letters from an American Farmer encapsulates de Crèvecoeur's argument that the American colonial experiment is exceptional and has the potential to grow into something magnificent. He is, therefore, decidedly enthusiastic about his adopted country—sometimes even to the point of romanticism, as in Letter 2:
When I contemplate my wife, by my fireside, while she either spins, knits, darns, or suckles our child, I cannot describe the various emotions of love, of gratitude, of conscious pride, which thrill in my heart and often overflow in involuntary tears. I feel the necessity, the sweet pleasure, of acting my part, the part of an husband and father, with an attention and propriety which may entitle me to my good fortune.
As the above passage demonstrates, de Crèvecoeur's earnestness comes out in full force whenever James thinks about his farm or his family.
At the same time, there is real angst underneath the surface. When this angst erupts, it erupts as bitterness—as with James's discussion of lawyers in Letter 7:
Lawyers are so numerous in all our populous towns that I am surprised they never thought before of establishing themselves here; they are plants that will grow in any soil that is cultivated by the hands of others; and when once they have taken root, they will extinguish every other vegetable that grows around them.
The colonies are changing, and James—who essentially functions as a stand-in for de Crèvecoeur's himself—must watch America outgrow the ideals of his beloved agrarian society and grow ever more complicated. This process is only further exacerbated by the impending reality of a war with England.
De Crèvecoeur writes in an earnest and sincere tone punctuated by moments of real bitterness. Letters from an American Farmer encapsulates de Crèvecoeur's argument that the American colonial experiment is exceptional and has the potential to grow into something magnificent. He is, therefore, decidedly enthusiastic about his adopted country—sometimes even to the point of romanticism, as in Letter 2:
When I contemplate my wife, by my fireside, while she either spins, knits, darns, or suckles our child, I cannot describe the various emotions of love, of gratitude, of conscious pride, which thrill in my heart and often overflow in involuntary tears. I feel the necessity, the sweet pleasure, of acting my part, the part of an husband and father, with an attention and propriety which may entitle me to my good fortune.
As the above passage demonstrates, de Crèvecoeur's earnestness comes out in full force whenever James thinks about his farm or his family.
At the same time, there is real angst underneath the surface. When this angst erupts, it erupts as bitterness—as with James's discussion of lawyers in Letter 7:
Lawyers are so numerous in all our populous towns that I am surprised they never thought before of establishing themselves here; they are plants that will grow in any soil that is cultivated by the hands of others; and when once they have taken root, they will extinguish every other vegetable that grows around them.
The colonies are changing, and James—who essentially functions as a stand-in for de Crèvecoeur's himself—must watch America outgrow the ideals of his beloved agrarian society and grow ever more complicated. This process is only further exacerbated by the impending reality of a war with England.
