“They do not count,” she said emphatically, “because we will not admit them to the ranks of literature, and they must go to the wall in time. The literary pages of the high-class newspapers, and the weekly and monthly bulletins never paragraph them, never refer to them, except in the reviews which advertising exigencies compel. Then we kill them by sneers, not abuse—which always excites a lamentable current in human nature. They are quietly brushed aside, and the real jewels of American literature forced into even greater prominence.”
“Suppose one of these outsiders equals the elect in literary quality?”
“He cannot, because matter and manner are really one. They are too strong, too bold and unpleasant, therefore they shatter and deface that fine exquisite thing called style.”
“Your style. Cannot you conceive the possibility of any other standard being as correct?”
“Certainly not. It is a subject to which we have given years of earnest and analytical thought.”
“What of the very different standards of England, France, Germany, Russia? The novels of all countries seem to be issued by your American firms—and, presumably, read.”
“Oh, we are quite willing that each country should have its own standard. Those old states, indeed, could not imitate us, for they have not the same material. Therefore when a successful European novel treats of things that no well-bred American will discuss, we are generous enough not to be hyper-critical of a race which differs from us in every particular. The older nations are naturally coarse, and allowance should be made for them. But there is not one of our elected authors who would dare or care to treat a subject in the same way. And why should he deal with nasty passion? He has the brilliant kaleidoscopic surface of American life to treat.”
“And you cannot conceive of a day when the standard will change?”
“Certainly not.”
“The minority of one generation is usually the majority of the next,” I said, now warmed to the theme. “Your people of the world—and I know that you have that class—have chosen as their favourites the very authors you have tabooed, and whose works do not reach, I am told, the great public you instruct. As these few authors set their faces against emasculation they offend your aristocratic middle-class, and as they are not erotic your unspeakable sub-stratum will have none of them; but they deal truthfully with that world which those of your country who have enjoyed superior advantages can stand reading about.”