The Birmingham age-herald., 1921-09-19

People went to read about other people--real people-not marionett tics, whose actions depend on the pulling of string, but people with real req blood in their veins and the strength and weakness of mankind in their be- ing. The perfect cnaracter in fiction Is an insult to the readers intelli- senee. The wholly vile character is a repetition of the same oTense. The | best of real people are not without Fault; tn worst possess at least one redeeming trait
 50, for fiction to be convincing, it IS necessary that the characters have | hfe-that the reader know that he is l reading about living, breathing human beings without having to be told in | so many words. The Knowledge must come to him instlnctively, freely and easily, without exertion on his part. i One likes to find himself in the stories he reads. And unless he does l this he Is disappointed. It is natural that people base their opinions, their likes and dislikes on that with which | they are best acquainted. And human nature-one's own self---ls the au- thority to which every one instinc- lively turns when genuinely endea- voring to decide whether or not the i action of another Is rea1-life-like 1 The reader may not always realize that he Is putting fiction to this test. but nevertheless he Is doing 1t. Some thing akin to that sense which tells one he is being stared at. even though he may not see the offending party, l resents the implied insinuation that l the reader is a fool when the char acters do or say things which are for 1 eign to human nature.
 There are certain wax dolls which can be made to say Mama" or Papa by touching a spring. but no one SC addressed will acknowledge the rela- tionship. Just so the human mind refuses 10 accept as real, fiction which does not ring true.
 person picks up magazine to | read about real people--people like himself, even though they may occu- py a higher or lower social plane, realizing that Kipling's assertion that the Coloners Lady and Judy O'Grady are closely related is abso- lutcly correct.
 When instead of finding these peo- pie he discovers a collection os blood : less names doing unreal things mouthing meaningless nothings in 8 manner entirely unlike anyone he ever knew. the story strikes him as being false and a sense of imposition descends upon him.
 He feels as if the writer has said "I want a plot. It doesn't matter whether or not that plot is plausible or whether the characters in 1t ring true. I am writing for fools who | don't care what they get so long as it is a story. They are not worth the effort necessary to make this thing real. They are not intelligent, so why give them that which contains intelli- | gence?'
 When the reader has finished d | story he likes to feel that he has a certain acquaintance with the au- thor. This he finds impossible where the author is represented by set of bloodless, spineless, brainless names and at best he can only decide that the writer is like his characters person for whom he does not care.
 On the other hand when the char acters in a story stand out so clearly that they are easily visualized, people whom the reader can hear when they speak, see when they t!lile under stand when they frown, he become es interested in them, knows them, and through them, the author.
 Back in 1913 a name hitherto un- kfnown to the literary world com menced appearing In various smal magazines. This new author wrote of baseball, football, prize fights, love | romance. mystery-in fact on every subject with which humanity is con versant. And among the readers oi those magazines he soon had a fol 1 lowing which demanded that his | sfnriec xUt larlty The readers of his sport stories in the magazines devoted tc that class of fiction read his stories l with the same degree of interest as did the devotees to mystery who | watcher for his yarns In their favor ite publication. The stories, no mat ter what the subject, were human. I About five years later. like the light of a meteor across a cloudless sky but unlike the meteor this light was a permanent one, the name of Octavus Roy Cohen flashed from coast tc coast and even across the seas to ev- cry part of the civilized world where fiction is read. In 'aThe Missing Clink." Octavus Roy Cohen's first ne gro story ins the Saturday Evening Post thousands of readers of tha magazine learned what the readers ol other publications had known fo five years, that Octayus Roy CoheI Is absolutely human, than which nt higher tribute can be paid an, writer. That in his veins there flow. the real blood of life--that in his be ing there Is that understanding O humanity which gives him the pow el to make others see his characters a. he sees them. and know them as h, knows them. with the result that now ', h, le f~ttA lo L.. .t-
 highest paid short story writers il the world.
 It was those same human traits that same understanding of peopl
 which made his earlier readers like hi work, which caused the readers 0 the Saturday Evening Post to demand that that publication give them nor, and more of Cohen's stories, and nov after three years the Post is contin uing to publish them and continues to find that people want them.
 Octayus Roy Cohen Is one autho who can write equally we'll any typ, of fiction which he attempts. Ther are readers who laugh with the char acters In his humorous stories am shed tears with the characters Il others. It Is long jump from a yari like 'Mistuh Macbeth" one of hi Post yarns, to 'Duotones." which ap peared in the Pictorial Review som : time ago. yet both are masterpieces There Is a gulf just as wide betweei his novel, 'The Crimson Alibi," ant his story of the prize ring. The Pat of the Hurricane" which appeared il a recent issues of the Blue Book, ye there are those who believe each tn Frederick was getting better. H would surely give consent.
 It was sultry evening, and tn, windows of the library were opei