The New York herald., 1922-07-30
By H. L. PANcBoRN.

youth who has just under
gone the ordeal Of the college
entrance examinations showed me a
list of books read in preparation for
the English test. i remarked that
I'd hate to be obliged to make list
OF all the books had had to read
during the past year, to which the
youngster retorted, "Yes-but the
books / have been reading are Lit
eraturcis
The implied distinction is nice
one. But it raises a question. 1t
leaves doubt. May it not be that
even lin the humble capacity of a
mere book reviewer and editorial
hack-have also. perhaps, been read
ing something that may some day
be called Literature, with a large
rL" even by the compilers of fu-
ture college entrance boards list?
M. Jourdain, one reflects. was nat
,rally surprised to learn that he had
been talking prose all his life. with
out being aware Of it, but ought we
to be content with an almost equiv
alent naivete as to the printed word !?
] note that on this sub-freshman's s
list appears the DIARY of Madame
dsArblay," and i wonder was Fanny
Burney any more maker of Litera-
ture than, let us say. Mrs. Watts or
Mrs. Deland? Going farther on that
list, 1 meet the late Oliver Goldsmith
'(for whom, confess, I have an al
most affectionate liking-he was
such a snuffily human person., and
i wonder again is THE Vicar of
Wakefield" as vitality classic" as
1.-THE History of Mr.. Polly?" Indeed,
what is literature?
OF course, it is easy to give an
answer that is really an evasion by
simple classification and a few
formal definitions: there is a small
body of universally accepted Great
Ones who have made literature,
Shakespeares Homer, Goethe, Rabe-
lais and a dozen or so more (most
of whom are but scantily read now
adays), and behind these a much
larger company Of traditionally ac-
cepted Secondary Greatnesses, such
a
Emerson noble army whose Works
call for capital and who, beyond a
reasonable doubt. produced litera-
ture. Behind these again is an ac-
cepted class of what may perhaps be
called accidental. or near great ones,
whose writings are preserved and
venrated as literature because of
some association with history or be-
cause they are held to be illumina-
lively typical" of their era. The
author of "Evelina" belongs in that
family; but there remains the puz-
zle: why is "Evelina" occasionally
read, and even enjoyed to-day, while
Mrs. Radcliffe, who was immensely
popular in her time, is utterly for
gotten and no living youth of to-day
could go further step and actually
read "Thaddeus of Warsaw" In
fact, as to the tertiary and lower
strata, and even as to some of the
secondary, the traditional classifica-
tons give us no answer in explana-
ton Of the instinct that led my
youngster to set aside the current
product Of the printing press as
literature while according that dis
tinetion to certain respectfully en-
balmed books.
But it isn't necessary to be dead
In order to be recognized as a maker
OF literature. Even a professor of
English in a fresh water college will
admit that Kipling is guilty of writ
ing literature. Some will even recog-
nize III. G. Wells as an immortal in
the making. Any one who reads
French will not hesitate over Anatole
France. Maybe one could add a few
more names. but beyond that the
going gets harder, and there is an
increasing tendency to shy. The
reader and the reviewer and profess
sional critic becomes more and more
skittish and uncertain-is this new
book literature or just reading mat