The news scimitar. (Memphis, Tenn.) 1907-1926, 1920-12-30
Literary Fads and Fashions.

wide, full sweep beloved Of Sir Wal
ter Scott. What he called the big
bow WOW strain" Just now the me-
| TEDIOUS minutae popularized by Ar
mold Bennett in his Five Towns"
stories seems to be the thing. SIN
clair Lewis in Main Street" goes
Bennett one better. It is the crowded
canvas of Tenlers and with just as
great a glorification OF the common
place. In this book. Carol Kenni-
colt. the heroine. whenever afflicted
| with mental brainstorm looks out
of window to hide her feelings,
whereupon the author describes with
great pains everything that comes
within her range of vision-and
misses nothing whatever in his mem
tai photograph. For instance:
There was a dangerous edge of
personality to his voice. She was
offended and agitated. She turned
her shoulder on him. stared through
the back window. studying this typi-
cal center Of a typical Main block a
vista, hidden from casual strollers,
The backs of the chief establish
mcnts In town surrounded a quad
rangle neglected dirty and incom-
parably dismal. From the front
Rowland & Gould's grocery was
SNUG enough, but attached to the
| rear was lean-to of storm -streaked
pine lumber with sanded tar roof
"a staggering. doubtful shed behind
which was a heap OF ashes, splln-
tered packing boxes. shreds Of excel
sior crumpled strawboard. broken
olive bottles. rotten fruit and utterly
disintegrated vegetables: orange car
rots turning black and potatoes with
ulcers"
Many modernists take to this
apotheosis of the commonplace, but
suppose our old favorites had writ
ten on such lines? Perish the
thought! However. IL they had no
doubt Whitman would have spawned
something like this;
Hail, cameradoes, l salute you!
also salute the cuspidor. the coal |
scuttle, the frying pan and the |
dishraE.
Nor do | forget the washtub filled |
with soapsuds or the cracked |
kerosene oil lamn.
What to me are the paintings of |
wornout Europe when | can |
sing and celebrate the worm |
out chromos Of America?
How / love them! Female ones espe- |
ciRlly.
Who walk the streets with false
hair. paint. powder and |
patchouli.
salute everybody and everything: |
the sputtering coffee Dot the |
greasy skillet and the stove |
that can not draw.
I have sympathy with 1t, for l once
tried to draw two aces. but, |
alas! l could not.
Therefore while the stove smokes l |
borrow sniDe from Bill and |
smoke too
Hail--or snow, II matters not-cam- |
eradoes, | salute Won"
No doubt Daniel De Foe would
have limped something like this:
Robinson Crusoe beheld human
footprints in the sand and was pro-
foundly touched-he had often been
touched before but that was before
he was pitched on a desert island.
His gaze wandered over the long,
wet beach. Near him was frayed
size 76, cast up by the sad
sea waves. Adjoining this was a
whisky flask lying cheek by jowl
with a brown beer bottle-not two
per cent but real beer; not step
from these were a battered pipe and
n well-smoked snipe. The waves
sang a tender requiem that was
monotony to his unwashed
ears. Near the beer bottle, half
buried in the sand, was a WORKOUT
powder puff, a pad of false hair and
a set OF false teeth. Crusoe gazed
on all these evidences of civilization
with moist eyes, swelling heart and
tremulous lips. Then, his gaze COM
ing back to the footprints before
him he exclaimed in lambert tones:
We'll. that guy sure does wear a
wicked hoof'"
Charlotte Bronte in Jane Eyre
would waste white paper thusly:
Rochester seemed touched and
softened by my words. He looked
cut of the window of Thornfield hall
His eyes fell upon a houseboy dart
ing into the ancestral stables from
whence in a moment arose calls from
A spirited game Of craps He raised
his eyes. Rocks were flying lazily
around and uttering strange. raucous
cries. They saddened him, remind
ng him Of the dear, dead days when
he had lost three and sixpence at
the wild and wicked game named
after the sable birds. /
"A servant passed with one string
inl0tched in her left shoe. She
imped for, true woman that she was
If only a servant--they were three
sizes too small for her A butter
,up raised its golden chalice in the
wall near the hidden. 1t caught his
we and he frowncd for it reminded :
him that the best creamery was now
i've and thrippence a pound A far
ncr in a white smoCk with a patch I
,ver the left shoulder, stitched in
With gray thread, one end still dang
ing over the seam an inch in length.
'ame up the long walk. Rochester
smiled, for it was old CATER Gum
nidge come to pay his rent The
'mile was only for a moment. With
sudden return Of his usual manner
lie kicked the cuspidor down the