New-York tribune., 1903-01-11
Gbe Nelu;2Qotk Griba1ta&
ILLUSTRATED SUPPLEMENT-
SUNDAY, JANUARY IL, 1913.

veterans and some promising workers III the
ranks Among the former Zola has naturally
been given conspicuity, but it is curious tes-
timony to the doubtful value Of his Wrltihgs
that somehow, in spite Of the glory shed upon
his name by his share in the Dreyfus eplsooe
no one outside the circle of his sworn admirers
seems conscious of any serious loss to literature
in the cessation of his labors One feels quite
different regret in thinking of the late Eugene
Muntz. the historian of art, whose name Is
perhaps familiar to only one reader where ten
thousand have heard of Zola, but whose WORK
was far more useful and is much more likely
70 endure. Bret Harte and Frank Stockton
both died in harness. but while the first OF
these retained his gift almost to the end, the
second had been very uneven in his work long
before he died. Both from Frank Norris ana
from George Douglas Brown something finer
than either had produced might not unfairly
have been expected from both, had they lived,
though we question the certainty which some
have felt on this point. Paul Leicester foro
was more competent as an historical writer
than as a novelist, though 1t was his fiction
that chiefly served to make him known. Among
the poets the most significant figure lost In
1902 was Aubrey de We're.
The pause In the activities of the publishers
which, as we have recently had occasion 10
remark, always follows the close of the holiday
season, does not promise this year to endure
very long. Preparations for the spring season
are far advanced and new books are already
appearing More of them will be issued In
February and while a considerable amount OF
material will be held back for April there Will
be no lack of new books in March. The most
satisfactory element in the situation is the
v,ry111 fN0-
tions will not be the longest delayed. Many
of these will be published good while before
the hot weather begins. Fiction, Oh the other
hand, while always with us, does not seem
likely to put its best foot forward until spring
is much nearer than it is now. good many
books by the more justly popular authors in
this field will be withheld until April at least
There seems to be a tradition, doubtless not
without some foundation, that people read more
fiction in the summer than in the winter, though
we believe that weightier books are not half so
much neglected between June and October as is
commonly believed to be the case Poetry, by
the way, does not loom brilliantly upon the
horizon In some quarters this is explained
on the hypothesis that the public no longer
cares much, if at all, for verse. A recent writer
in 1.-The Chicago Dial" has found himself be-
wildered by the failure of what he calls "the
poetic product to Sell, and In 1.-The Academy
and Literature" commentator, similarly at
a loss, admits that poetry, except it happens
to be allied with more less topical matter,
is not a commercial success" 1t is a source
of continual wonder to this journalist that
really good contemporary verse is so little
read" We wonder at his wonder. The failure
of contemporary poetry to get itself read is not
in the least surprising. 1t may be really good,'
but, if we may say SO, it is not good enough.
A writer who is not, we fancy, a humorist,
has lately been talking in ''The Pilot about
1.-The Abuse of Humor." He thinks that eve
have come to value humor far above its proper
worth" We might observe, In passing, that
this is natural enough at time when true
humor is very far from being the commonest
thing in the world So rare is it, indeed, that
when found it is hailed as treasure as a
thing above rubies. But the truth is that what
animates most Of us who are constantly plead
ing fOr more humor is not by any means a
frivolous desire to be amused, but longing
for what we might call the subconscious play
of humOr in affairs not in themselves humorous,
the action of that sense of proportion which
is so essential ingredient Of humor and
which would keep many writer's interesting
who now are dull. The plague of contemporary
authorship is not that it runs to the cracking
of thOrns under a pot but that it takes itself
too seriously. Your budding author, with first