New-York tribune., 1920-04-16

"Writing of This Side of Para
dise,'" says M. B., "you say that the
man of that age (i. e., between eight
cen and twenty-ive) usually under
stands himself SO iinperfectly that he
is seldom qualified to describe himself.
"1t seems to me that men Of that
age are far more qualified to describe
themselves than men of your own age,
or older After twenty-five one usually
settles down into groove, enters some
kind of rutted profession, gets mar
ried, has Haywood Sd (perhaps), etc.
In this state it is impossible to under
stand the feelings of those about you
even if you want to. You've become
SO settled or unsettled that the emo
tions and struggles of those about you
seem vague and just trihe unreal.
AS for understanding yourself, the
older you get the less you know
"You say that the writing of This
Side of Paradise is self-conscious.
There you defeat yourself, for self
conscious people come nearest to un-
derstanding themselves The, moment
a man becomes unself- conscious he be-
gins to stagnate. He is out Of the
picture of life. He is doomed.
"Too many American novelsts are
old fogies, that's why This Side of
Paradise is such an absorbing story.
No wonder the fits of Fitzgerald make
the Howells how'll"
AS matter of fact. we are not
offering the theory that man becomes
wiser and more important as he grows
older. On the contrary, nothing which
happens to anybody after the age Of
eight or nine matters very much. The
And yet we have no great desire to
read the novels of eight and nine-year-
olders, and we are even doubtful of the
prowess of eighteen and twenty-three.
A man knows lot about himself at
that age, to be sure. The only trouble
is that most of it isn't so. We are
enough, of Freudian to believe that
the important things in a man are the
things of which he is unconscious.
The self-conscious person makes it
difficult to reach these unexplored
depths. He is anxious to justify him
self. He gives all sorts Of explanations
of his moods and his motives. Prac-
tically all of these are self-protective.
They are designed to throw himself
and everybody else off the trail. 1t is
only when a man, or a character in a
book, becomes easy and lets down his
guard that he gives you the informa-
tion which enables you to know him.
None of Fitzgerald's characters ever
puts his hands down for second.
There is too much footwork and too
much feinting for anything solid and
substantial being accomplished You
can't expect to have blood drawn in
any such exhibition as that.
Somebody gave II. Sd large doll the
other day, much to our CONSERVATION.
We were afraid it might develop a
maternal instinct and make him etfem-
mate. but yesterday we discovered him
joyfully pounding the head of the doll
against the floor, so we feel that up to
date his instinct toward the young is
healthy and properly paternal
The following anecdote comes from
the house Of Dorar.
Herbert Jenkins, the London pub
Usher, who occasionally tosses off a
book himself (his latest is John Dene
of Toronto, published in America BY
the George H. Doran Company, and in
London by Herbert Jenkins, Ltd, tells
the story Of how on one occasion, when
he was dining with an author and an
editor, the author suddenly called his
attention to a man sitting alone in q
far corner Of the restaurant.
"'That man. remarketlsf1hc author