CONTENTS[1]

Page
[Introduction. By the Editor]xvii
[The Excursion. By Edwina Stanton Babcock]1
(From The Pictorial Review)
[Onnie. By Thomas Beer]20
(From The Century Magazine)
[A Cup of Tea. By Maxwell Struthers Burt]45
(From Scribner's Magazine)
[Lonely Places. By Francis Buzzell]70
(From The Pictorial Review)
[Boys Will Be Boys. By Irvin S. Cobb]86
(From The Saturday Evening Post)
[Laughter. By Charles Caldwell Dobie]128
(From Harper's Magazine)
[The Emperor of Elam. By H. G. Dwight]147
(From The Century Magazine)
[The Gay Old Dog. By Edna Ferber]208
(From The Metropolitan Magazine)
[The Knight's Move. By Katharine Fullerton Gerould]234
(From The Atlantic Monthly)
[A Jury of Her Peers. By Susan Glaspell]256
(From Every Week)
[The Bunker Mouse. By Frederick Stuart Greene]283
(From The Century Magazine)
[Rainbow Pete. By Richard Matthews Hallet]307
(From The Pictorial Review)
[Get Ready the Wreaths. By Fannie Hurst]326
(From The Cosmopolitan Magazine)
[The Strange-looking Man. By Fanny Kemble Johnson]361
(From The Pagan)
[The Caller in the Night. By Burton Kline]365
(From The Stratford Journal)
[The Interval. By Vincent O'Sullivan]383
(From The Boston Evening Transcript)
[A Certain Rich Man—." By Lawrence Perry]391
(From Scribner's Magazine)
[The Path of Glory. By Mary Brecht Pulver]412
(From The Saturday Evening Post)
[Ching, Ching, Chinaman. By Wilbur Daniel Steele]441
(From The Pictorial Review)
[None So Blind. By Mary Synon]468
(From Harper's Magazine)
[The Yearbook of the American Short Story for 1917]483
[ Addresses of American Magazines Publishing Short Stories]485
[ The Biographical Roll of Honor of American Short Stories for 1917]487
[ The Roll of Honor of Foreign Short Stories in American Magazines for 1917]506
[ The Best Books of Short Stories of 1917: A Critical Summary]509
[ Volumes of Short Stories Published During 1917: An Index]521
[ The Best Sixty-three American Short Stories of 1917: A Critical Summary ]536
[ Magazine Averages for 1917]541
[ Index of Short Stories for 1917]544

INTRODUCTION

A year ago, in the introduction to "The Best Short Stories of 1916," I pointed out that the American short story cannot be reduced to a literary formula, because the art in which it finds its concrete embodiment is a growing art. The critic, when he approaches American literature, cannot regard it as he can regard any foreign literature. Setting aside the question of whether our cosmopolitan population, with its widely different kinds of racial heritage, is at an advantage or a disadvantage because of its conflicting traditions, we must accept the variety in substance and attempt to find in it a new kind of national unity, hitherto unknown in the history of the world. The message voiced in President Wilson's words on several occasions during the past year is a true reflection of the message implicit in American literature. Various in substance, it finds its unity in the new freedom of democracy, and English and French, German and Slav, Italian and Scandinavian bring to the common melting-pot ideals which are fused in a national unity of democratic utterance.

It is inevitable, therefore, that in this stage of our national literary development, our newly conscious speech lacks the sophisticated technique of older literatures. But, perhaps because of this very limitation, it is much more alert to the variety and life of the human substance with which it deals. It does not take the whole of life for granted and it often reveals the fresh naïveté of childhood in its discovery of life. When its sophistication is complete, it is the sophistication of English rather than of American literature, and is derivative rather than original, for the most part, in its criticism of life. I would specifically except, however, from this criticism the work of three writers, at least, whose sophistication is the embodiment of a new American technique. Katharine Fullerton Gerould, Wilbur Daniel Steele, and H. G. Dwight have each attained a distinction in our contemporary literature which places them at the head of their craft.

During the past year there has been much pessimistic criticism of the American short story, some of it by Americans, and some by Europeans who are now residing in our midst. To the European mind, trained in a tradition where technique in story-writing is paramount, it is natural that the American short story should seem to reveal grave deficiencies. I am by no means disposed to minimize the weakness of American craftsmanship, but I feel that at the present stage of our literary development, discouragement will prove a very easy and fatal thing. The typical point of view of the European critic, when justified, is adequately reflected in an article by Mary M. Colum, which was published in the Dial last spring: "Those of us who take an interest in literary history will remember how particular literary forms at times seize hold of a country: in Elizabethan England, it was the verse drama; in the eighteenth century, it was the essay; in Scandinavia of a generation ago, it was the drama again. At present America is in the grip of the short story—so thoroughly in its grip indeed that, in addition to all the important writers, nearly all the literate population who are not writing movie scenarios are writing or are about to write short stories. One reason for this is the general belief that this highly sophisticated and subtle art is a means for making money in spare time, and so one finds everybody, from the man who solicits insurance to the barber who sells hair-tonics, engaged in writing, or in taking courses in the writing, of short stories. Judging from what appears in the magazines, one imagines that they get their efforts accepted. There is no doubt that the butcher, the baker, and the candle-stick maker are easily capable of producing the current short stories with the aids now afforded."

Now this is the heart of the matter with which criticism has to deal. It is regrettable that the American magazine editor is not more mindful of his high calling, but the tremendous advertising development of the American magazine has bound American literature in the chains of commercialism, and before a permanent literary criticism of the American short story can be established, we must fight to break these bonds. I conceive it to be my essential function to begin at the bottom and record the first signs of grace, rather than to limit myself to the top and write critically about work which will endure with or without criticism. If American critics would devote their attention for ten years to this spade work, they might not win so much honor, but we should find the atmosphere clearer at the end of that period for the true exercise of literary criticism.

Nevertheless I contend that there is much fine work being accomplished at present, which is buried in the ruck of the interminable commonplace. I regard it as my duty to chronicle this work, and thus render it accessible for others to discuss.

Mrs. Colum continues: "Apart from the interesting experiments in free verse or polyphonic prose, the short story in America is at a low ebb. Magazine editors will probably say the blame rests with their readers. This may be so, but do people really read the long, dreary stories of from five to nine thousand words which the average American magazine editor publishes? Why a vivid people like the American should be so dusty and dull in their short stories is a lasting puzzle to the European, who knows that America has produced a large proportion of the great short stories of the world."