Part 48 (1/2)

Articles about flying machines may or may not be ”literature” but they are small doses of information highly desirable to persons who have not time enough, nor money enough, to read books.

If you have time, you can go to the libraries. If you have money, you can order from your dealer.

If you have only ten cents--no, fifteen, it takes in these days of prosperity--you can with that purchase a deal of valuable and interesting matter, coming on fresh every month--or week.

Sweeping aside all the ”instructive” articles as hopelessly without the lofty pale of literature, we have left an overwhelming ma.s.s of fiction.

This, too, is ruthlessly condemned by the austere upholder of high standards. This, too, is not literature.

What is literature?

Literature, in the esoteric sense of lofty criticism, is a form of writing which, like the higher mathematics, must be free from any taint of utility. Pure literature must perforce be a form of expression, but must not condescend to express anything.

To write with the narrow and vulgar purpose of saying something, is to be cut off hopelessly from the elect few who produce literature. This att.i.tude of sublime superiority as an art is responsible for our general scorn of what we call,

”The Novel With a Purpose.”

Have any of us fairly faced the alternative? Are we content to accept delightedly the ”Novel Without a Purpose”?

Do you remember the Peterkin Papers? How Solomon John, the second son, thought he would like to write a book? How Agammemnon, the oldest son, and Elizabeth Eliza, the sister, and the Little Boys, in their beloved rubber boots, as also the parents, were all mightily impressed with the ambition of Solomon John? How a table was secured, and placed in the proper light? How a chair was brought, paper was procured, and pens and ink? How finally all was ready, and the entire family stood about in rapt admiration to see Solomon John begin?

He drew the paper before him; he selected a pen; he dipped it in the ink and poised it before him.

Then he looked from one to another, and an expression of pained surprise spread over his features.

”Why,” said Solomon John, ”I have nothing to say!”

(I quote from memory, not having the cla.s.sics at hand.)

There was great disappointment in the Peterkin family, and the project was given up. But why so? Solomon John need not have been so easily discouraged. He was in the exact position to produce literature--pure, high, legitimate literature--the Novel Without a Purpose.

In the effort to preserve the purity of the Pierian Springs, those guardians of this n.o.ble art, who arbitrate in the ”standard magazines,”

condemn and exclude what they define as ”controversial literature.”

Suppose someone comes along with a story advocating euthanasia, showing with all the force of the art of fiction the slow, hideous suffering of some helpless cancer patient or the like, the blessed release that might be humanly given; showing it so as to make an indelible impression--this story is refused as ”controversial,” as being written with a purpose.

Yet the same magazine will print a story no better written, showing the magnificent heroism of the man who slowly dies in year-long torment, helpless himself and steady drain on everyone about him, virtuously refusing to shorten his torments--and theirs.

What is a controversy? A discussion, surely. It has two sides.

Why isn't a story upholding one side of a controversy as controversial as a story upholding the other side?

Is it only a coincidence that magazines of large circulation and established reputation so consistently maintain that side of the controversy already popularly held as right?

Time pa.s.ses. Minds develop. New knowledge comes. People's ideas and feelings change--some people's. These new ideas and feelings seek expression ion the natural forms--speech and literature, as is legitimate and right.