Freedom to publish sometimes what the editor likes and the
public may like, instead of what the editor approves because the
public has liked it, is all that he needs. There is plenty of
blood in the American short story yet, though I have read through
whole magazines without finding a drop of it.
When we give literature in America the same opportunity to invent,
to experiment, that we have already given journalism, there will
be more legitimate successors to Irving, to Hawthorne, to Poe and
Bret Harte. There will be more writers, like O. Henry, who write
stories to please themselves, and thus please the majority. There
will be fewer writers, like O. Henry, who stop short of the final
touch of perfection because American taste (and the American
editor) puts no premium upon artistic work. There will be fewer
stories, I trust, where sentiment is no longer a part, but the
whole of life. Most of all, form, _the_ form, the _formula,_ will
relax its grip upon the short story, will cease its endless tapping
upon the door of interest, and its smug content when some underling
(while the brain sleeps) answers its stereotyped appeal.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59