The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1915-10-16
By SAMUEL MERWIN

DR.. Cor Mr.) Garnet stirred up a
hornets nest. That Is plain.
But the hornets instead Of pursuing
our British critic are frantically sting
Ing one another. All these months and
morths we have all been saying again
for him that American fiction writing Is
In a bad way. 1t seems to me that
! recall saying something like that my
self in the Times just "A few weeks ago.
Only Meredith Nicholson and, | think,
Florence Finch Kelly have paused in
their inquiries into our literary Ill
health to remind the gentleman that the
walls of his British house nave a GU
r'ously vitreous appearance to our eyes.
Owen Wister got SO disturbed as he
thought about all u bad novels that h"
ended by c~ondemning our habits and
traditions. our history, almost our soil.
Nicholson thinks We would he all right
II we would only write more about
America. He imagines a Mrs. Wharton
ccaled exclusively in Plttsburg for her
literary cruises. a Henry James fed on
nothing but Chicago Impressions, a Mr..
Howells moored for life to the banks
OF the Ohio. far away.
1t doesn't seem to me that geography
has much to do with 1t: or that de-
mocracy Is to be blamed. excepting as II
has widened the literate market and
made more books-bad and good
necessary. What We need in America
is Il Man or two, a Woman or two, who
will see straight and write Straight
There are to-day only a few even partly
clear honest thinkers writing in Amer
lea. Every one else. including all our
most popular and some of our most re-
nowned. is just arranging and rear
ranging the old stuff. And then. OF
course. a few, not ov~ercompctent OF
overequipped. are making "A desperate
100 q ~tl .l~, all xa .AAI 10 fTtut N
Nicholson says one good thing
What the American novel really needs
Is a Walt Whitman to proclaim a bar
barrie yawp."
But when that Walt Whitman come
Nicholson very likely won't get arounc
to read him, Wister. to Judge from hi'
amazing self-revelation regarding Gals
worthy's most delicately honest Oh
servation of life, will stab him to deatl
with "A fountain pen. our libraries viii
undoubtedly snap shut at the faintes
whisper OF his name. Those estimthi'
lady writer's who have built dienihc'
fortunes out of orphan girls and freckle'
but honest little boys and poor bu
swee,ly philosophical washwomen am
perfectly. oh perfectly safe. little paste
beard love affairs will chant their melo
dious sorrow over the grave OF Litera
ture. THE sun Tn afraid, will seiz
upon him as "A gorgeous new mark 70
ridicule-especially II. he has an uncom
monplace name. The ErcntnD Post wi
certainly not know that he Is there
And the prcoooious hut really brillian
young men Of the Ncm Republic will GU
him a shade too haughtily and drear
palely again OF Harvard and Henri
James. =.
For that man "a woman) will writ
about men and women not ut all In tn
terms Of accepted literary and socia
convention. hut as they distrcsslngl,
gIoriously are, And sex-why a
course, nut not Sex: just sex, There
fore his work will not be passed. by Tn
!, National Board of Censorship. Prob
ably, ever in this day Of early cas-
regulations, he will starve to dealt
For that matter, perhaps he Is writin
=, now. And starving. Who knows
II vii, be Just a fresh eye Oh life. tina
is all. IRut hat Is enough, Pause ia
one moment. try to he honest. conside
how nearly. after all. your own pc
I discovery--the Spoon River Antholog,
Ernest Poole's good novel. or what 40
9 willis merely "A fresh statement or
3 new arrangement Of the old matcris
= and the old subconscious, tribal point
of view. with Just a little new stu
added. and you will begin to sense tn
. ! profound implications Of that dennitio