Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-02-16
THIS AND THAT
BY CHARLES E. TRACEWELL.

| was the life Of Napoleon, would much
rather be that mighty man, with all hi
| faults, his failures, his interesting life
his success, his unhappy end, than the
| simplest peasant who ever lived. Man.
kind is made like that, and no one
knows it better than Mr.. Wells-Wher
he isn't writing about Napoleon.
The ultimate necessity, in reading, Is
not that one should agree with what
the writer says, or even that one should
enjoy what he says, but simply that he
should respect what he says.
Lack of respect is manifest in many
a reader when he begins to denounce
some writer whose latest book does not
please him. Such a reader literally
strips the other of all integrity Of pur-
pose, leaving him not rag. Then
lows honesty of purpose, he proceeds tc
stick pins in him, the while looking
around for applause.
He deserves none.
He, as a reader, has overthrown the
integrity of his own mind. He Is no
longer master of himself, but a helpless
intellectual pinwheel, blown first In
one direction and then in another by
any wind that may blow out of the sails
of any book.
Every reader should stand firm be-
fore every book. Let 1t be said that
no book gets the best of him. Let him
keep in mind the supreme beauty OF
plain thought, and prove to himself,
before all, that he is its custodian.
y X X ~
One should read book IN the way
he goes through a strange town in his
car He does not stop the vehicle at
the court house, and launch forth into
a public denunciation of the architect
who created the structure.
He does not assemble a gathering OF
the natives in the square and proceed
to tell them that the traffic regulations
of their one-horSe town are vile, their
streets badly in need of repair and their
mayor evidently sap of the first water.
No. he does nothing of the kind. He
may see all these things and he may
want to be so aSSertlve, but the chances
are exactly 100 to nothing that ne VIII
merely keep his eyes and ears wide
open, be interested In everything ne
sees and hears and go on about his
business, that of getting out Of town
to the next one.
Reading a new book Is somewhat
similar. A book is a journey, which,
once taken can never be taken again
in its exhilarating newness, It's pristine
colors, its excitement, It's ViVldness' us
commonplace drama.
No matter how fine book may be,
or how much one may enjoy its second
reading, or it's third or fourth reading,
there can never be but one first time
with 1t, and, this being true, one Is a
fool to spoil it by talking, or snorting,
or tuning, in his own behalf.
Leave all those things to the writer.
whose business they are. Agree with
him or not, just as you please; that Is
your business, but do him the justice
to hear him, to listen to him, to at
tempt to understand his position, why
he wrote, why he takes the attitude he
does, why he did not do as you might
do, II you were writing on the same
theme.
This way lies reader satisfaction.
And that way only, will he achieve in
tegrity of thought. Is getting red in
the face integrity of thought? Does
violently denouncing a man simply be-
cause one does not agree with him show
much regard for the sacred character
of the human mind?
One had rather be plain fellow
sitting by the cottage door with book
in his hand, a book which he respects
and whose author he Is willing to let
say his say, than be that incarnation
of an egotistical idiot, the man who
won't let writer write as he wants, but
hops up at the tenth page with fire in
his eyes and "Scoundrel!' on his lips.