HOW TO STUDY
“THE BEST SHORT STORIES”

How to Study
“The Best Short Stories”

AN ANALYSIS OF EDWARD J. O’BRIEN’S ANNUAL VOLUMES OF THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF THE YEAR PREPARED FOR THE USE OF WRITERS AND OTHER STUDENTS OF THE SHORT-STORY

BY

BLANCHE COLTON WILLIAMS

Associate Professor of English, Hunter College of the City
of New York; Instructor in Short-Story Writing,
Columbia University (Extension Teaching and
Summer Session). Author of “Gnomic
Poetry in Anglo-Saxon,” “A Handbook
on Story Writing,” etc.;
Editor of “A Book of
Short Stories.”

BOSTON

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1919

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY

(INCORPORATED)

PREFACE

In this foreword, I wish first of all to thank Captain Achmed Abdullah, Gertrude Atherton, Edwina Stanton Babcock, Barry Benefield, Thomas Beer, Katharine Holland Brown, Maxwell Struthers Burt, Francis Buzzell, Donn Byrne of Oriel, Charles Caldwell Dobie, Theodore Dreiser, George Gilbert, Susan Glaspell, Armistead C. Gordon, Fannie Hurst, Arthur Johnson, Fanny Kemble Johnson, Burton Kline, Mary Lerner, Sinclair Lewis, Jeannette Marks, Walter J. Muilenburg, Seumas O’Brien, Vincent O’Sullivan, Albert DuVerney Pentz, Lawrence Perry, Mary Brecht Pulver, Harrison Rhodes, Benjamin Rosenblatt, Fleta Campbell Springer, and Julian Street. Each of these authors very kindly gave data which no one could have gleaned; and in so doing they have contributed largely to the usefulness of this study.[1]

[1] I must add to this list a former student, Pearl Doles Bell, who interviewed Mrs. Irvin Cobb and who read her notes to my summer class of 1916. (The interview was published, subsequently, in The [New York] Sun, October 1, 1916.) My assistant, Miss Shirley V. Long, collaborated in the analysis of Miss Hurst’s “Get Ready the Wreaths.”

Only the other day a student demanded, “Why can’t I get an author to tell me every step in the development of one of his stories?” Although, as I tried to point out, such a thorough proceeding is neither desirable nor easily possible,[2] yet the essentially valuable part of the author’s progress may be most illuminative, and it is obtainable. As one of these writers has said, the artist is not analytical beforehand and is not so, of necessity, after completing his work. But even from those who progress only, as they assert, by inspiration come clear and helpful statements concerning their starting points and developing processes. This generosity of successful writers augurs well for the future of fiction.

[2] Poe seems to be the sole writer who has asserted that he could call to mind the progressive steps of any of his compositions.

Charles Caldwell Dobie has said:[3] “Any man who has made a success of his business or profession always seems to consider it his duty to warn others off the field. The advice of both failure and success appears to be embodied in one and the same word, ‘Don’t!’ This is a curious paradox, and I shall not attempt to explain it. Perhaps it is because the roads to success or to failure are hard to distinguish, the sign-posts at the parting of the ways almost undecipherable. Yes, I think it must be this realization of the nearness of defeat that makes the successful one so anxious to dissuade others from the struggle. And yet, after all, there is a bit of egotism back of the kindly advice we offer, rather patronizingly, to our friends.

[3] The Silhouette, February, 1917.

“I would be the last person to warn the ambitious from literary endeavor, providing they would rather write than do anything else in the world; providing, also, they were equipped with three qualifications. Determination is the first; a hide at once sensitive and impervious ranks second; an hour—at least—a day to devote to the pursuit of their purpose. I say devote advisedly; the true lover is never niggardly.... If added to these virtues, one has a quiet room and no telephone, half the battle is won.”[4]

[4] Ellen Glasgow writes behind locked doors; Gertrude Atherton “rings down an iron curtain” between herself and the world.

And, further, by way of emphasis on work and study, hear Burton Kline: “As an editor I have a feeling that some of the writers who should be railroad presidents or bank directors are getting in the way of real writers that I ought to be discovering. In the long run it is probably better to have all the writing we can get. The wider the net is spread, the greater the chance of something precious in the haul. The teaching of writing, even if it finds only a few real writers, helps to sharpen the critical taste of the others and whet their appetite for better writing. And I believe that sharper appetite and more discriminating taste is beginning to be felt.... In the creation of a literature, an audience is as necessary as the performers themselves. And the more critical the audience, the more likely we are to have great performers. The opportunity invites and develops them....”

Speaking from the critic’s and teacher’s point of view, I not only believe that one can “learn to write”; I know, because more than once I have watched growth and tended effort from failure to success. Many would-be writers drop by the way; the telephone to pleasure is too insistent, or the creative process is not sufficiently joyful. Some students, however, need only an encouraging word and sympathetic criticism. Harriet Welles is an example of this sort. Her stories have been running in Scribner’s for some months; she worked only a year in my class at Columbia before producing finished narratives. Others must labor and exercise patience in order to accomplish a few—perhaps one or two—worthy specimens of the story-teller’s art. I refer, for illustration, to another student, Elizabeth Stead Taber, whose “Scar” attracted favorable comment and drew from Mr. O’Brien high praise in his volume of 1917. Others write prolifically, turning out story after story, before attaining the highest publications and prices—but not of necessity before attaining excellent construction and style. Marjorie Lewis Prentiss comes to mind as an earnest and careful writer of this sort, who is improving as steadily as she writes and publishes regularly. I need not refer to Frederick S. Greene—now in France—who has become well known through his stories, and who felt that he worked best under class criticism. He studied as he wrote, and his published stories, with only two exceptions as I recall, were produced, first, for the class-room audience. Even those who succeed only once, or who never succeed, have learned to evaluate the content and the manner of the printed narrative, and have added to the body of the intelligent fiction-public.

The great artist, let me add, hews his own way. But—! Gutzon Borglum once said that in his opinion there had lived only three great masters of art: Phidias, Michel Angelo, and Auguste Rodin. If these are the great names in sculpture and pictorial art, who are those in the world of fiction writing?

[5] Dodd Mead & Company, 1917. Third Edition, 1918.

[6] In quoting, I have used “short story” or “short-story” as written by the various authors. It will be seen that the forms are usually interchangeable.

To the student, I would emphasize the fact that studying these “Yearbook” stories, valuable as such study may become, will not make of you a writer; but from them, this little book, and the wealth of detail which Mr. O’Brien has accumulated, you can apprehend the elements of technique and learn, at the same time, what is successful from an editorial point of view. For every short-story writer must be both an artist and a man of business. If his work is not published, it is not. Much of it, early in the exercising stages, should die. But at the last there must be evidence of labor and of genius. Only one evidence is admissible: the product.

While you are learning, then, do not try to publish. “Do” your exercises, and practise much; master the principles, and express yourself. When you have become full-grown, put away childish things, and forget that you ever heard of technique.

Blanche Colton Williams.

New York City,
November 30, 1918.

CONTENTS

STORIES IN THE YEARBOOKS

1915, 1916, 1917, and 1918.

GENERAL SUGGESTIONS

Read the story before taking up the exercises.

Consult the biographical data in the Yearbooks for 1916, 1917, and 1918.

Observe to what extent the various authors have reflected the country or region in which they have lived. What conclusions do you draw?

Many of the stories conform to the laws of the “Greek Unities.” Name them.

The following list is composed of the stories which are best for structural study.

- “A Simple Act of Piety”
- “The Sacrificial Altar”
- “The Water-Hole”
+ “The Great Auk”
- “Boys Will Be Boys”
- “The Gay Old Dog”
- “The Knight’s Move”
- “In Maulmain Fever-Ward”
+ “A Jury of Her Peers”
+ “The Cat of the Cane-Brake”
- “The Bunker Mouse”
+ “T. B.”
+ “‘Ice Water, Pl——!’”
- “Get Ready the Wreaths”
- “Mr. Eberdeen’s House”
- “The Willow Walk”
+ “‘A Certain Rich Man—’”
- “The Path of Glory”
+ “The Waiting Years”
- “Solitaire”
+ “The Yellow Cat”
- “Down on Their Knees”
- “Ching, Ching, Chinaman”
+ “The Bounty Jumper”
+ “None So Blind”
+ “Half-Past Ten.”

The plus signs are prefixed to the titles of stories which present the action in a closely circumscribed time and place. Study the stories to which the minus sign is prefixed to see how the authors have managed an extended period of time and place, or of either. On what phase of the action has emphasis been placed? How has each author achieved unity of effect? Notice the definite plot stages in these narratives marked by excellence of structure. Although the technique of every writer may differ from that of every other, yet in his story he will see to it, consciously or unconsciously, that high points, “lights,” or climaxes occur. It is a far call from the Roman biga to the modern automobile; but wheels, body and motor attachment characterize each as a vehicle. From Poe to the present, the short-story vehicle has had, and will continue to have, certain type features.

The titles should be studied for their attractiveness, originality, suggestiveness and bearing on the story.

The title may be:

1. The name of the chief character—“Onnie,” “Chautonville.”
2. An epithet applied to the chief character—“The Great Auk,” “The Bunker Mouse.”
3. A place—“Mr. Eberdeen’s House,” “The Water-Hole.”
4. A suggestion of—1. An objective theme or idea—“The Excursion,” “The Wake.” 2. A subjective theme or idea—“The Sacrificial Altar,” “Boys will be Boys.”
5. An allusion expressed fully, in part, or conveyed by implication—“Vengeance is Mine,” “The Path of Glory.”

One of the most difficult titles to create is that which has a veiled suggestion, some bearing on the story that is clear or significant only after the story has been read; e.g., “Get Ready the Wreaths,” “The Interval.”

Group the stories according to dominant motives, observing with what frequence certain universal motive-themes occur. For example, the sacrifice motive is found in the following: “The Sacrificial Altar,” “Onnie,” “The Emperor of Elam,” “The Gay Old Dog,” “The Knight’s Move,” “The Bunker Mouse,” “Making Port,” “The Sun Chaser,” “Heart of Youth,” “A Certain Rich Man,” “Zelig,” “The Menorah,” “The Bounty Jumper,” “None So Blind.”

In each of the stories just named, what feeling or power prompts the sacrifice? What is the sacrifice? What is the effect of the sacrifice on the one making it? On the one for whom it is made? On the reader? On the final story-impression?

Study the following as the best examples of realism: “The Excursion,” “Ma’s Pretties,” “Lonely Places,” “The Silent Infare,” “The Big Stranger on Dorchester Heights.” What difference, structurally, do you observe between these narratives and those developed by the more “romantic” writer?

In every story try to find indications of the author’s theories about fiction or Art in general. For instance, in “Feet of Gold”: “Naturally, since all of us are artists, we seek the Truth through Beauty”; etc. (p. 309).

Characters may be described by the author. This, the so-called “direct” method, is not in reality so direct or vivid as the so-called “indirect” method. By the latter a character reveals himself through act, speech, gesture; he is also portrayed by what others say about him, and by their reactions toward him.

What difference exists in spirit, mood and tempo between the stories marked, respectively, by the direct and the indirect methods?

By how many stories are you attracted at the beginning? Does the drawing power lie in character, suggested action, the picture of a setting, the mood or atmosphere, in some bit of philosophy, or other appeal?

Do any of the stories fall below expectation first aroused? Why? How many fulfill the initial promise?

Which have the best endings? How many of these seemed inevitable from an early stage of the action? How many might have had diverse endings, altogether? How many might have used different incidents for the close, with the same general effect?

Which of the narratives seem to you most artistically representative of life?

According to the localities represented by these authors, try to arrive at the “short-story center” of the United States.

In the following studies, try to enter constructively into the processes indicated. Otherwise the exercises will lose part of their value.

STUDIES IN DETAIL

A SIMPLE ACT OF PIETY

Germinal Idea: Captain Abdullah, an Asiatic, but educated partly, and living altogether, in the Occident, finds himself at times, he declares, in the position, less emotional than intellectual and cultural, where he has to make a choice between the ideals of East, or West of Suez. In addition, his friends often ask him to explain certain Oriental characteristics, motivations and viewpoints.

“Due either to a vital difference in the acceptance and usage of basic standards, or to my personal inability of expressing with the spoken word what I feel tersely to be true, I have always been unable in these discussions to express the one truth which I know; namely, that all this talk about the Orient being romantic and mysterious and rather high strung is asinine drivel, that indeed the shoe hurts on the other foot, and that it is the West which is romantic, both as to life and motivation of life, while the East is as drab and grey and square as a question in abstract dynamics.

“I make this claim chiefly in regard to the Chinese, who are the Orientals par excellence. I consider them the most logical, the most straight thinking, and by the same token, the most civilized race on earth, not excepting the Latins, the Hindus, the Arabs, or the Anglo-Saxons. I believe them to be the only people who live up to the sound dogma that two and two make four, and never four and a quarter, or three and two thirds. I hold that they are the easiest people in the world to understand, that they carry their hearts on their sleeves, and that they always mean exactly what they say, and say exactly what they mean, in direct contrast to the Occidentals....

“The starting point of my tale, a whole series of Chinatown tales, directly due to a conversation I had in Chicago with Mr. Ray Long of the Red Book, who said that since I seemed unable to interpret the Sons of the Middle Kingdom with the spoken word I should try the written word, was therefore the fundamental prosiness and simplicity of the Oriental, the Chinaman, in contrast to the complicated, suicidal emotionalism and maniacal psychologizing of the Occidental—the latter characteristic including a painful trick of dissecting emotions to such a degree that they cease to be emotions. I know China and the Chinese intimately, and am fairly familiar with some of their dialects.

“From a primitive, Occidental viewpoint, murder and a wife’s faithlessness seem to be the most important things. From an as primitive Eastern viewpoint, the same two things are the most negligible things. The thing which matters most to the Oriental is honor and piety, including their correct, codified outer observances.

“Thence my story.”

Plot. Structurally perfect, the plot grows naturally out of character.

The order of presentation begins with the

Dénouement: Nag Hong Fah kills Señora Garcia.

Circumstances antecedent to the story action are next presented.—1. Fanny’s marriage to Nag Hong Fah indicated in “She was his wife,” etc. 2. Account of Fanny. 3. Nag Hong Fah’s operations preceding the proposal. (Note the introduction of a second line of interest in the relations between Nag Hong Fah and Yung Long, and Yung Quai.) 4. The incident of the proposal. (Notice the clues: Fanny claims a right to the streets, a pointer which is augmented by the addition made, under her breath, to her promise, “I’ll play square?”)

Initial Incident: Through Nag Hong Fah’s invitation to Yung Long, “Come! Have a drink!” Fanny and Yung Long have opportunity to appraise each other.

Steps toward Dramatic Climax: 1. Nag Hong Fah pays cash to Yung Long, whom heretofore he has paid on ninety days’ leeway. (What does this signify as to the relations of the two Chinamen?)

2. Birth of Brian, Fanny’s son; the bestowal of gifts upon Fanny by her Chinese husband.

3. The incident between Fanny and her friend Mamie Ryan (to indicate that the Chink is playing square, and therefore Fanny). Indications of Fanny’s happiness.

4. Fanny is impressed by Yung Long but holds to her “squareness.”

5. Nag Hong Fah acquires an option on an uptown restaurant for his second son.

6. Little Fanny is born, bringing a “change into the marital relations”; this time, no gifts are bestowed.

7. Nag tells Fanny he has given up the option. This information on his part leads directly to the

Dramatic Climax: First peak: the excellent scene between Fanny and Nag Hong Fah, where the racial struggle is best dramatized. Fanny’s imploring fails against the stony wall of Nag Hong Fah’s determination. All must be as he says; Little Fanny will be disposed of as he sees fit. With Fanny the greater wrong disappears in the lesser; she forgets her daughter’s education in recalling that she had received no presents at the child’s birth. “A bracelet.... That’s what I’m gonna get!” marks the beginning of the resolution of the complication, which has been so skilfully effected. The first peak of the climax is succeeded by the second peak: Yung Long in passing receives Fanny’s message, “Swell looker!”

Steps toward the Climax of Action: Summary repetitions of the dramatic climax scene emphasize the winning out of Nag Hong Fah. 2. Nag Hong Fah receives permission from the official head of Fanny’s family to beat her. 3. She becomes the submissive wife; the family seems a model of happiness.

4. Fanny exhibits an “imitation” bracelet.

5. Her apparent adherence to “the straight and narrow” is intensified by Brian’s report of the Finnish sailor episode.

6. Fanny comes down with pneumonia. (Does this seem logical or a too obvious device of the author?)

7. Nag writes to Yung Quai and sends money for her transportation to New York.

8. He indicates to the dying Fanny that he will educate her daughter, and from the sale of Fanny’s possessions—including the imitation bracelet.

Climax of Action in the first line of interest.—

Fanny, in a magnificent final flame of contempt and victory, declares the worth of the bracelet, and that Yung Long gave it to her. (Recall the allusion, page 4, to this point as the “dramatic climax” for Nag Hong Fah.)

Steps toward the Dénouement: The scene between Nag Hong Fah and Yung Long, wherein Nag conveys to Yung his knowledge of the gift, and “motivates” the real cause of the gift. Yung affirms Nag’s judgment, and further indicates that Señora Garcia might best be put out of the way. Nag Hong Fah agrees that it would be but a simple act of piety and goes to get his knife. (Do they here “mean what they say” or “say what they mean”?)

The struggle, then, in the first line of interest (the story of Fanny and Nag Hong Fah) is one between the Occident and the Orient. The Occident wins, in the person of Fanny. But because of the second line of interest (the story of Nag Hong Fah, Yung Long and Yung Quai), the victory gives way to the victory of the Orient. Study the story for the points of contact of these two lines, the complication effected, and the unification of the two interests.

Suspense: Suspense sets in at the beginning, when after the murder, the question arises, “Why did he kill her?” This question is accompanied by a desire to know more about the murderer. The story if it fulfils the implied promise will explain. Desire to know whether the murderer is apprehended is satisfied after the next hundred words or so, in the sentence, “For he is still at liberty.” Herein, also, lies an element of novelty; the more unoriginal story presents the crime, then arouses suspense as to whether the criminal will be caught, and justice meted out. (Study the story for further working of the principle of suspense. What question motivates your reading after Nag Hong Fah beats Fanny, for example?)

Suggestion: What is suggested to the reader in Fanny’s becoming a model wife? In Miss Ritter’s speech about “Real love”? In the “imitation” bracelet? How much of the business “off-stage,” after Fanny’s subsidence, is built up by the reader?

Characterization. The dominant character interest lies in the racial features, which are set off by contrast with each other. The author manifests skill in creating hybrid Fanny, a product of racial crossing. In order of importance, the main figures are: Nag Hong Fah, Fanny, Yung Long, Quai Long.

Nag Hong Fah is played up as the chief character through

A. His rôle; he is easily the most important by virtue of the part assigned to him.

B. Dramatic management on the author’s part.

1. He is the figure most constantly found on the stage.
2. He is the protagonist in the scenes presented.
3. He is frequently followed behind the scenes. (Purpose here being to create variety of effect, so far as is consistent with a larger unity.)

C. Stylistic management.

1. Giving to Nag Hong Fah the places of rhetorical emphasis—the beginning and the end of the story.

Study the story for concrete examples that illustrate the main points just made. Study, also, the proportion given to other characters. What is the greatest contributory value of Señora Garcia? Of Edith Ritter? Nag Sen Yet? The Chinese Soothsayer? Brian Neill? Little Brian? Mamie Ryan? Little Fanny? Compare the author’s ability to describe physical details with his skill in revealing mental characteristics. To what extent does the outer personality reveal the inner? Answer for each of the important characters.

Local Color.

A. Setting: The locality is conveyed in the first sentence. Where is it repeated, and how? What contrasts do you find in the larger setting? What details, for example, contribute to the Oriental characteristics? Which to the American? Value of the opium? of the schooner of beer? of the ivory sticks? Why is the flat (page 5) described in detail as to furnishings? (Give two reasons, from two points of view.) What is the value of the contrast between indications of wealth and of the neighborhood features?

B. Customs: What customs testify to Captain Abdullah’s intimate acquaintance with the Chinese?

C. Speech: Compare the Oriental matter, manner, and meaning with the American matter, manner, and meaning.

D. Dress: What bearing on character have the accessories of dress? Yung Long’s bowler hat, his loose sleeves and fan, Fanny’s furs, the earrings of jade, and the bracelet—all serve what purpose?

Atmosphere: Captain Abdullah says (page 4) “the tale is of the Orient.” Note that he has secured the Oriental feel, or atmosphere, modified slightly by the American intrusion, through the harmonizing of character, speech, dress, customs,—above all, by emphasizing the things “which matter most to the Oriental.” Contrast to similar Occidental characteristics is subordinated to the intensification, and is, therefore, contributory to the larger impression.

As to the short-story, Captain Abdullah thinks that length has nothing to do with it. “It can be seven hundred words long, or seventy thousand. As to the latter length, I consider Frank Swinnerton’s Nocturne a short-story.” And he offers as a tentative definition this: “The short-story is a story grouped logically about the same character and characters, every bit of plot and action working together to affect, influence, and make a background for the same character and characters, eliminating, in contrast to a novel, all side issues.”...

THE SACRIFICIAL ALTAR

Germinal Idea. “It is so long since I wrote ‘The Sacrificial Altar’ that I am rather hazy. My impression is that I set out to draw a born artist hampered by certain disabilities, and one of these being a disinclination for life and utter absence of the love instinct, all the forces of his nature concentrated upon his art, until they reached the point of obsession. It was not until after he had written the last book that he reacted to the normal instincts he had inherited and which had been automatically developed by the most normal bourgeoisie on earth.”—Gertrude Atherton.

Analysis of Plot.

Initial Incident: César Dupont persuades Louis Bac to meet Berthe. (Note, even in the single incident, the struggle—one of wills—and the argument which wins the younger man.)

Steps to the Dramatic Climax: 1. Louis meets Berthe and “feels nothing.” 2. “—a daring idea sprang ... darted into Louis’s relaxed brain.” 3. Louis goes to the Dupont mansion, steals to the girl’s room, sees her asleep. “He gazed resentfully at that diminished beauty.... Why not give her a fright?” He seizes a pillow and presses it against her face. “She made a sudden downward movement, gurgling. With a quick, cat-like leap he was on her chest.”

Dramatic Climax: His soul and passions are liberated. “The body lay limp and flabby at last.”

Steps to the Climax of Action: 1. Louis takes pains to divert suspicion from himself. 2. In the next three months he writes his book. (Note that this is the climax of action in the artist’s struggle, that the murder is the turning point after which he succeeds artistically. But the climax of action for the man is yet to come.) 3. At the end of the three months, he hears that another has been hanged as the murderer. 4. He confesses to M. Dupont. 5. Dupont refuses to believe the story. 6. Louis writes his confession.

The Climax of Action: He walks to the Catholic cemetery and shuts himself into the family vault.

Dénouement: Left to the reader. By a clue on page 16 one would gather that Bac drank poison or cut his wrists.

Study the development of this plot, as to scenes, summaries, condensations, accelerations, gaps, and omissions with reference to the artistic effect. For example, the initial incident is presented dramatically, the characters act it before the reader. The steps to the dramatic climax are presented partly in retrospect, from Louis’s point of view; those nearest the climax are given dramatically.

Study the plot, also, with respect to the struggle. What details are “for” Louis’s artistic success? How are they related to those “against” his physical being?

Is the plot, in connection with the development of Louis’s character, probable? What logic has the author employed to make it seem so? Mrs. Atherton’s own testimony is valuable by way of reflecting the artist’s temperament. As she herself says, although she has never been impelled to murder and has had always a consuming interest in life, yet until the war, she never permitted anything to interfere with her work.

Characterization. What value is there in Louis Bac’s being French? Mrs. Atherton plays up Louis by making him the spot-light figure and by presenting the story from his angle. The invasion of his mind results, incidentally, in the reader’s seeing the setting, situation, and characters as he sees them.

Study the author’s description and exposition of Louis Bac, then his speeches and his acts. What do the other characters think of him? Observe how the various methods of portraiture strengthen one another in the finished portrait.

Berthe is lightly touched. The reader must “believe” in her as a beautiful young girl, but must not give her too great sympathy. Overmuch attention to her would have detracted from the character unity of the narrative.

César Dupont is the contemporary representative of the confidant, offering opportunity for dramatic form (in the scene work) and consequent interest. Unity of action and effect is conserved by making him Berthe’s uncle; moreover, probability and verisimilitude are gained by the relationship. Madame Dupont, M. Jules Constant, Louis’s servants, and others, are the background characters, carefully subdued so as not to interfere with the chief action and consequent story unity.

Note every reference to San Francisco, then ask yourself how strongly the setting works toward the securing of the reader’s credulity. Try telling the story, mentally, without allusion to locale. What is lost? “On a pedestal was a vase that had belonged to Napoleon, wired and fastened down,” etc. What is the value of this sentence in the direction of capturing belief? Study the management of the time element.

Atmosphere. Study the feeling of the story in connection with the place. The first sentence of the narrative strikes the tone “gray,” and gives the setting. “Lone Mountain” conveys what impression? The cemetery, used so powerfully in the climax of action, deepens the gray note to its most somber hue. This increased depth of tone works integratively with the action to the powerful climax. Point out all the words and phrases that intensify the atmosphere.

Presentation of the Action. The narrator is the author who knows all, sees all, and exercises omniscience over Louis’s mind.

Tell the plot without adhering to Louis’s point of view, placing every event in the order of its occurrence. Note the loss in suspense and cumulative effect.

Details.

Suspense: Where does the story first grip you, and why? At what point does the cause for suspense change, and with what bearing on your interest?

Clues: Make a list of clues to the tragic conclusion; e.g., “If I am awake” (page 33).

Proportion: How much of the narrative is devoted to antecedent circumstances? Notice the long preliminary, the logical necessity for an accurate disclosure of character at the beginning, and compare it with the fine art which leaves the dénouement partly to the reader.

Suggestion.—At what points did you unconsciously create incidents or summarize them?

General Methods of Mrs. Atherton. “I rarely have the solution of a story or novel in mind, merely the principal character, the central idea, and the mis-en-scène. I prefer to let the story work itself out. Else, where would be the fun in it? Writing to me is an adventure, and if I knew beforehand how it was to turn out I should take no more interest in it than I should take in the following year if I knew what was to happen every day. Nevertheless, I would reject any finale that I did not think logical. An arbitrary ending for the sake of dramatic effect or conciliating the public makes the whole book or story worthless artistically.”

THE EXCURSION

Germinal Idea, or Starting-Point. “The ‘Excursion’ was written from the humorous delight I have always felt in excursions; it was started merely as humorous description of certain inevitable excursion types. I put the ‘story’ into already written appreciations of sartorial and millinery triumphs as demonstrated on any well-developed excursion.”—Edwina Stanton Babcock.

Classification. A study in realism, wherein the general picture and all the excursionists are of quite as much importance as the few predominant characters.

Plot. Loosely interpreted, plot may be termed a summing up of the “story,” a recapitulation. Technically, the plot is the underlying plan “of which no part can be removed without ruin to the whole”; it is the development of the struggle or conflict which every “short-story” possesses in common with the drama.

What in “The Excursion” is the struggle? What part does the dialogue between the two sisters play in the revelation of the struggle? If the struggle were made dominant, what lamentable result would follow for the “situation” value of the whole narrative? Is there a hint near the conclusion that the struggle may have an outcome? Is the plot finished, then, as the author has left it? What is the embryonic dramatic climax or turning point? (Find the moment when the feelings of the passengers change toward Mrs. Tuttle.)

Characterization. What types are represented in Mrs. Tuttle? Mrs. Cronney? Mrs. Tinneray? Mr. Tinneray? Mrs. Mealer? Mrs. Bean? The “lady in a purple raincoat”? “A mild mannered youth with no chin?” Miss Mealer? Hypatia Smith? Test the economy and effectiveness of Miss Babcock’s portrayal by asking yourself what further things these people would do or say. Are the types such as would be found in the same boat?

Compare the few figures of prominence with those of the background. Are they in “high relief” or “low relief”?

Atmosphere. Realistic; it has the “feel” of the typical American excursion. To achieve it, were necessary the author’s keen observation, sane vision, and sense of humor.

Accessory Details. Enhancing and emphasizing the reality of the occasion are the features, objects, and acts associated with excursions. The crunch of peanuts, the search for chewing gum, the squinting through ivory-headed canes,—such details of the composition indicate meticulous workmanship on the part of Miss Babcock. Notice whether these features appeal rather to sight, to hearing, or to other senses. What do you deduce?

General Methods of Miss Babcock. “To me, in writing, the story is keyed by a face, the note of a man’s or a woman’s voice, a bit of lonely moorland, a scene in a railway station, some little amusing bit some one tells me. Then comes incubation for an absurdly uncertain time. Then I dress up in a mass of what seems to me related detail the significant centre, trying usually to thrust in a few bits of humor for the simple reason that life is made of it and the huge wonder is that the whole world does not ‘grin like a dog and go about the city.’... I love to paint things I’ve seen—particularly natural things....”

CRUELTIES

Starting Point. Edwina Stanton Babcock says that “Cruelties” was written around the figure of the spinster, Frenzy, at whom she has had peeps for nearly eighteen years. Her formal and carefully elaborate English,—her garden, and her worries over it—all are drawn from what Miss Babcock considers story material “for any one.” Mrs. Tyarck and Mrs. Capron were painted in contrasts, and “little Johnny Tyarck and what went on inside of his wispy head at prayer meeting was put in because of my own ceaseless wonder as to what goes on inside the heads of the Johnny Tyarcks of this world.”

“Cruelties” took a long time to crystallize and it seemed to me that the dénouement never really consummated. I longed to have the wayward girl more of a person, but the confines of the story would not allow it. I wrote four drafts of it, cutting out quantities each time.”

Plot. Compared with “The Excursion,” this story possesses a framework more substantial and of better architecture. Though most readers will be interested in the personality of the characters, rather than in the action, nevertheless they will enjoy the steady and perceptible progress to the solution of the slight complication. This complication the author has effected through the entangling of two interests. The first is the one-sided struggle which arises between the women, Mrs. Tyarck et al, and Miss Giddings—one-sided, inasmuch as the former are active, while the latter is passive. It is motivated by Frenzy’s attempt to rid her roses of worms. (Is this motivation sufficient to account for the animosity? What circumstance abets it? What value has the fact that Mrs. Capron is a tract distributor?) The second line of interest has to do with the young girl’s downfall and rehabilitation. The fact that Miss Giddings becomes her champion increases the petty animosity. The outcome of the complication shows Frenzy triumphant, in the scene between her and Mrs. Tyarck.

Are you satisfied with this dénouement? Why?

What motivation has Miss Babcock employed to explain the girl’s taking refuge with Miss Giddings? Is it adequate and convincing?

Initial Incident: Two phases, each suggesting an individual line of interest. 1. Scene in Frenzy’s shop; the women see the girl pass. 2. Scene in Frenzy’s garden, emphasizing the struggle between Frenzy and insects. (What significance has the fact that the ladies enter into relations with the fly-paper? What symbolic part has the cherry tree?)

Steps toward the Dramatic Climax: Mrs. Capron prays the Lord to “keep us from needless cruelties.” The author summarily indicates that Frenzy becomes the butt of petty spite.

Dramatic Climax: First phase, as narrated, lies in Miss Giddings’s metaphorical burial. Her enemies are at the highest peak of their mean triumph. The second phase, intensifying the first, indicates the girl’s downfall. (Point out the forecast to this dramatic climax.)

Steps toward the Climax of Action: 1. The incident of the girl’s return. 2. Miss Frenzy keeps her, as an assistant. 3. Mrs. Tyarck, in disapproval, takes her patronage to the “other” store; Mrs. Capron bestows tracts.

Climax of Action: Frenzy turns the tables in completely routing her enemy. (Scene between Mrs. Tyarck and Frenzy.)

Dénouement: Frenzy’s conjecture about the cherry tree closes the story.

(What does the author lose in summarizing, rather than in dramatizing, her dramatic climax? What does she gain in relative values by its subdual?)

Characterization. By emphasizing physical traits Miss Babcock has differentiated her characters unmistakably, if a bit obviously. Frenzy’s stiffly refined diction (in contrast to the slangy speech of coarse Mrs. Tyarck), and Mrs. Capron’s hawking illustrate her method. Tabulate the characteristics of the chief figures.

How has she individualized them by their acts? In connection with your study of personal appearance, evaluate the use: 1. Of the “two large pins of green ... like bulbous, misplaced eyes”.... 2. Of the wing on Mrs. Tyarck’s hat. 3. Of the girl’s red sweater.

The only masculine figures who appear on the stage are little Johnnie Tyarck and Mr. Bloomby. Is the fact that their male presence contributes to background, or to realistic effect, a sufficient gain for shifting to their respective points of view?

Which of the characters is most frequently found in every day life?

Local Color. To what extent do the details of setting (including customs, dialect, dress) typify any American rural community? Can you justify the full paragraph on the buttons?

Time Element. How has the author handled the flight of months without seeming unduly to prolong the action or to break the unity of effect?

Atmosphere. Realistic, it reflects the mood of the author who sees life as it is, rather than of the author dominated by so-called “temperament.” She sees characters and events, for the most part, through the kindly glow of humor.

What double cause for smiling exists in the title of the tract delivered in the first scene? Point out other examples of humor.

“Usually in beginning a story,” Miss Babcock says, “the first paragraph sets a sort of mechanism going in me and controls the tone and atmosphere of the story. Thus, you see, I almost have to begin with a paragraph a little long. My great difficulty is my love of description and painting of pictures—I despair of characters because I know that one really never gets the whole character into the story, any more than one gets it in life. I think the writer must make the character act like its description. A spit-curl character must have spit-curl ideas and behavior. The more I write the more I am convinced that the writer is a slave to two contradictory convictions; that is, that he must give the truth of the story as he has visioned it, and that there is no truth but that the story-telling art has its very beginning in creating illusions.”

ONNIE

Classification. Onnie is a story of character; the trait exploited leads to the tragic dénouement.

Germinal Idea. “The genesis of ‘Onnie’ was a desire to record the dialect of one Patrick Qualey, a gardener, now extinct. Patrick had preserved to the age of seventy his Celtic fibre quite unimpaired. I think he rather prided himself on the act, and, perhaps, embroidered the garment of his speech a trifle. He died very tamely of pneumonia, and Forest County, Pa., was not his abiding place. As for Onnie, I confess that I am weary of lovely Irishwomen, and a witty Irishwoman I have never met....”—Thomas Beer.

Characterization. Read the story rapidly, and immediately ask yourself, “What impression have I received of Onnie, physically, mentally, and spiritually?” Go over the story again, making note of every mention of Onnie, and observe how forcefully, yet adroitly, the author has emphasized details. What is the value of having different characters observe her monstrousness and her homeliness?

Notice that Onnie’s superstition makes her say, “The gifts of children are the blessin’s of Mary’s self,” but that her “odd scapular” has a sinister significance throughout. Is this sinister suggestion in harmony with the final sacrifice? Estimate the number of words in the story, then the number emphasizing Onnie; finally, the proportion devoted to the main incident and preparation for it. What is the length of time over which Onnie’s devotion to San extends? The length of the “story” part of the narrative? If the proportion were reversed, what would be the effect on the character work? On the poignancy?

Name in order the other characters of the narrative, and notice the proportion given to each. Study the ways in which the author makes San a lovable youngster. Take account of his acts, his speeches, what his father thinks of him, what the men do for his protection. In the same way, take stock of the ways whereby Percival is presented as a villain of the lowest type.

Are there too many characters in “Onnie” for best short-story effect?

Plot. Notice that the development of the struggle lies in the latter half of the story. Define this struggle for yourself. With whom do you immediately take sides? Show how the main line of interest (Onnie’s love for San) combines with the second line of interest (the one growing out of the struggle) to make the complication. Is the entanglement logically effected? Give examples. What is the first preparation for the main incident? (See page 34.) “He put in your new bath-tub and Onnie jumped him for going round the house looking at things.” This statement reveals the motivation for Percival’s dislike of Onnie (whom every one else loved) and rationalizes his insult on page 36; it also explains how the villain knew the arrangement of the rooms.

The first developed incident, leading toward the climax, covers pages 35 and 36, beginning with the approach of Percival and ending with his punishment by Sanford.

Study the introduction of the knife and all references to it. What instruments of death in other stories of these collections have plot value?

The climax of the action is told with fine brevity. Study the dénouement, beginning page 42. “He sat up, tearing the blankets back.” The last paragraph is marked by artistic restraint. Compare it with the end of “The Sacrificial Altar.”

Setting. How is the Pennsylvania background integrated with character and action to make the story? Over how many years does the entire action extend? By what devices of transition and by what proportion has the author subdued the time element?

Atmosphere. The latter half of the narrative presents contrast to the first half, in spite of the plot clues. What is the value of this contrast in moods? Has the rain a contributory value? Find other instances in these stories of weather conditions emphasizing the impression. Point out all the instances of dramatic forecast, particularly those which serve to unify the earlier and later portions of the narrative (e.g., “And anything could happen there,” page 28).

MISS WILLETT

The Starting-Point. Mr. Benefield states that it has been so long since he wrote “Miss Willett” that the processes of growth have gone out of his memory. He is sure, however, that the story had its origin in a show-window exhibit on a street in New York, where a negro woman of a most evil expression used to demonstrate a folding bed. “I probably noted the exhibit in a book, left it for weeks or months and then one day when I needed an idea I opened the note-book, turned over the pages, stared at the scribbled note, and the elements of the story as written floated to the center of consciousness and joined in a more or less rough but complete whole. After that it was merely a matter of chiseling it into shape.”—Barry Benefield.

The expression “floated to the center of consciousness” seems to imply an inspirational writing force, much as does Mrs. Pulver’s statement, “My crew will come to me ready named, ready behavioured” (see page 169).

The striking relation between Mr. Benefield’s original idea and his subsequently developed story is one of contrast. It is noteworthy that character dominates in each; incident is subordinate.

The Development. The principle of suggestion, by which this author has conveyed more than he could express, works powerfully. Observe the first effect created by the face of the sculptured Christ. “She noticed that the long white dress of the infant,” etc. (page 40). What are succeeding effects?

The Action. Miss Willett’s fortunes are in the descendant at the beginning of the story. Where do they take a turn? Is this dramatic climax motivated by the influence of the face? (“Yesterday you had nothin’; to-day you got everything.” This speech clinches, for the reader who prefers the mystical interpretation, the influence of the sculptured Jesus. To the non-mystical reader, this logic alone is satisfactory: loss of job had meant an unconscious spur, the spur of desperation, with unanticipated success.) What is the sequel to the day’s success which marks Miss Willett’s continued interest in the face behind the green-slatted window? State in order the steps leading to the discovery. What is the climax of action? Does it constitute a surprise for the reader as for Miss Willett? What is the dénouement? With the dénouement, dawns the realization of what underlying theme?

The Main Character. According to the mystical interpretation the chief character is the sculptured figure. Otherwise, Miss Willett is the principal. According to the two interpretations, the two become active and passive, reciprocally.

What is the fundamental impression you receive of Miss Willett’s physical person? What, to a writer, is the advantage in choosing a very large or very small person as a main character? Recall classic examples. Note all references to Miss Willett’s big blondeness, and study the economy with which she is kept before the reader.

Details. Where is the gray kitten first mentioned? What is the value, to the plot, of this introduction?

Glance over the narrative for words of color, light, and sound. Which are predominant? The effect on the story and on its verisimilitude? Color-value of the red geranium with its single flower? Value for effect of reality?

Study the easy manner in which the setting is given to the reader.

SUPERS

Classification. A single scene sketch; it is like a charcoal drawing.

Plot. The plot, concealed beneath the picture, lies in the objectifying of the eternal struggle for bread and meat.

Setting. The place is the street near the theatre door: like a magnet it draws the individual human beings, who cohere in the mass until the attracting power is removed.

Characters. This mass, or aggregate, emphasizes the individual struggle, at the same time it engulfs individual personality. What does the name “Supers” indicate, literally? Figuratively? What part does Red Beard play? How does he, too, contribute to the larger unity at the same time he offers a note of contrast?

Atmosphere. Sordid, drab realism, uncompromising in its ugliness.

BUSTER

Opening Incident. Emphasis falls at once on the society which the hero disconcerts. The correctness of living, the tranquil setting, provide the formal serenity he is to break. “Lucien forgot himself completely,” note the effect of the impeccable chauffeur’s exclamation as testimony to the “demon boy.” The reader, startled with the characters into attention, catches the epithet up with interest and expectation.

Are the recounted escapades and the antecedent scene necessary? or, in the wealth of instance which follows, does the recountal seem extensive? Is the relaxation so effected pleasant? Does the rehearsal of the antecedent episode slow the tempo and hold the story back unnecessarily? Besides revealing Buster, the material permits the cousin’s mental distress to accumulate in effect and allows time for the race to and from Boston.

Within the economy of the first picture, Buster’s manner, the striking factor of his aspect, and his adolescent growth are suggested. Notice that the following scene enlarges the same points. Notice that in this scene and the others between Buster and his aunts, Buster does the talking. The aunts interpose, occasionally, protest and reasoning. Do the scenes lack excitement other than Buster’s excitement? There is not the vigorous clash of speech with speech; for that, the characters are too well mannered. If the struggle wants intensity, is there compensation in the naturalness of the futile boyish tirading? Buster seems to fume?

The trouble at the bakery serves to remind the reader that Buster, in the apparent lull, is intent on his own purposes. It serves, also, to divert the reader’s mind from the preparation for the aeroplane incident.

The Bazaar at Dawn Towers: The personnel for this scene is usual; there are the usual élite and the climber from the West. (Notice the social status of Oklahoma and Montana!) The futurist palace is a relieving detail.

The incident caps the social crimes of Buster; it provides the climax for part one of the story, playing off the vitality of the boy’s contention against the vanities and half-sincerity of his Aunt’s set. Like Buster’s passionate repetition, “I’ve got to know,” it is dramatic forecast. Here is the significance of the story: youth struggling with convention for its destiny.

The latter half of the story is fulfilment and realization.

Does the timing of this part—“and yesterday at dusk”—injure the dramatic reality? The writer suggests this is an account, a diary, a rehearsal.

Episodic Plot. The incidents of the plot do not progress logically, as steps in action having a consequential relation. But they are instances making the same character point, having this unity. In the important scenes the events are held in combination further by their centralization about three characters: Dr. Lake, Miss Edith, and Buster stand out at beginning, climax and end.

Account for the animosity against Dr. Lake in the boy’s tone and the story tone. Does the writer in her characterization of him caricature the doctor? (the emphasis on his eminence and his shirt-front in the opening scenes, on his fright in the climax scene). Contrast his appearance in the two parts of the story; his self-importance in the earlier scenes with his eventual sacrifice. The traditions reveal in the crisis their underlying sanction. Does his geniality in the final scene convince?

Cousin Edith, if typical, is set apart from her environment by a quality of humor and by her angle—as sympathetic observer of Buster. Observe that Buster feels the difference in her character. Is there a note of affectation in her manner? Notice that, though she is influenced by the aviator’s tirade, she is sufficiently herself to remark his manners. Does Buster work in her the magic of complete conviction? Is her wordy “gush” when she first sees the unconscious boy natural in tone and sentiment? She sees, remember, the “death-like” face, at the sight of which “the limp, shivering doctor pulled himself together with all his weary might.” Her words “baby” the hero—does one “tuck” a brawny fist under his cheek?

Buster is pictured most completely in his unconsciousness. Do the stubborn chin there and the sulky under-lip of the first scenes indicate an unpleasant willfulness? Offset this impression by details in the summary of his escapades which suggest a sympathetic kindness. Does he show in the struggle with his Aunts a personal animosity? Is the democracy revealed in the sailor episode typical of his age? Compare Aunt Charlotte’s speech for German methods with the Brigadier General’s on the making of the hero. Do the aviator and the ambulance-driver in their recognition of him reinforce qualities in Buster which are representative?

“Concerning ‘Buster,’ he isn’t the portrait of any real flesh-and-blood boy. But he tries to be the composite portrait of the fourteen-year-olds that we all know, and most of us own by ties of blood,—the tempestuous darling, the pride and the despair of us. As for the story itself, it is a well-meant but probably futile attempt to convince the Average Parent,—to say nothing of the average Aunt Charlotte and Cousin Edith,—that the abysmal differences between the Busters of to-day and their own generation are not so many conclusive proofs that Buster and his tribe are essentially inferior. On the contrary! For to my eyes, the rising generation is a rising one, with a vengeance, and o’ertops its predecessors with a disconcerting splendor. So the story tries to make this conviction clear,—and very likely fails. For one of my nearest and dearest was grieving only the other day, because her own particular Buster insists that his life’s ambition is to be a fire chief. ‘When we want him to be a corporation lawyer, like his father!’... As to definitions—could there be a compact definition of the short-story? I doubt it. It’s a universal experience, put into a duodecimo edition, but it’s a thousand other things, besides.

“Some day, some one with authority will answer, I hope, this question: Should the short-story writer be a writer of short-stories and nothing more? Or—should he write stories when and where he can, in the intervals of other, far more absorbing, tasks?”—Katharine Holland Brown.

FOG

General. The first sentence in “Fog” serves two purposes. 1. It thrusts satirically at the commercializing of the short story. 2. It induces the reader to believe the inner narrative is a growth, not a construction. The author seems to have hesitated between leaving the supernatural story as one beautiful enough to stand alone, and building about it the humorous and even cynical external action. Or it may be that he saw best to set off the fragile inner narrative with the hard facts of a workaday world. Without the prelude to the story (which begins with “He was born a thousand miles from deep water”) and without the sentences after the asterisks on page 73, the narrative recalls “The Brushwood Boy.” And this is true, despite the rather homely dialect. If, however, the reader is duly influenced by the parts referred to, he cannot but recall Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s “Struggle for Life,” as a prototype.

Plot.

Initial Stages: Andy pins up the ship; his father blots it out; Andy is delirious; acquires name of Wessel’s Andy.

Steps toward the Dramatic Climax: Andy drifts east; seeing a model of the Lucky Star in Stiles’s place, he asks for a job; he gets it. He reveals that he has had “a ship behind his eyes,”—a schooner like the Lucky Star, and his knowledge that he belongs on board. This knowledge is attended by a fear: he does not know the cause for which he must go. He indicates that something holds him back from the sea, but refuses to disclose it. The immediate approach to the dramatic climax is made in the story told, to the fisherman from Gloucester, by old Jem Haskins. Andy learns the facts about Dan and Hope Salisbury. Later, he asks whether there is a picture of Hope in the village.

Dramatic Climax: Andy steals into Ed Salisbury’s house and finds Hope’s picture.

Steps toward the Climax of Action: Andy is happy now (he knows why he must go aboard the Lucky Star). He reveals the other vision which has been, always, back of his eyes. Hope Salisbury has the face of that vision. It is clear to him, now, that in going aboard the vessel he will meet Hope. He knows that the time is near. Immediately before the climax of action, Stiles walks down the beach. He sees a mist, blotting the blue water as it comes. Turning homeward, he sees Andy, on the edge of the beach, staring into the fog.

Climax of Action: As the surf closes over Andy, Stiles gathers himself to jump. Then he sees the Lucky Star, and Hope. Andy goes aboard....

Is the “inevitable” quality of the narrative increased by making Andy “a queer one”? See Georgie, by way of contrast, in “The Brushwood Boy.”

Where does suspense first operate? Where do you suspect, first, that Hope is meant to be Andy’s bride?

Observe that Andy’s last act might have been that of a deluded brain, and that Stiles’s vision of the Lucky Star might have been one of hallucination. The more imaginative reader will regard the ghost-ship as objective, and will “believe” in the delayed union of Hope and Andrew.

Read Richard Middleton’s “The Ghost Ship,” for a frankly humorous treatment of theme. What other stories in Mr. O’Brien’s collections have an element of the supernatural?

Try presenting this story in pure English, from the author’s point of view. Use the objective method, abstaining from entrance into the mind of any character. Take up the narrative at the point of Andrew’s arrival at Stiles’s, and let his “queerness” emerge through his acts and speeches.

How much creative work must you accomplish to make a consistent character of Stiles? (Here, Stiles, the narrator, must be studied through the story he presents. In the dramatic presentation of the story, he will become more objective.)

THE WATER-HOLE

General Method. The immediate story of the water-hole is unfolded by the “rehearsed” method. What gain results from telling in a city restaurant an experience of the wilderness? Study the easy and natural way in which Hardy’s story is brought forward. “You’ve got a concrete instance back of that” (page 18) signifies that the narrator will cite a case to prove his point. Recall other stories told for similar purposes; e.g., O. Henry’s “The Theory and the Hound.”

Study the value of the two “I” narrators in the same story, with respect to increasing verisimilitude and making the reader “believe.” Kipling’s “The Courting of Dinah Shadd,” for example, uses the same tactics.

Try re-telling the story by the dramatic method. Omit the enveloping city setting; transfer Hardy from the first to the third person, and keep the “spotlight” on him. Begin with the arrival of Hardy at the home of the Whitneys, and follow the course of events to their dénouement. What do you lose in richness and effectiveness? Do you gain anything in vividness or directness?

Plot. Having studied preceding plot analyses, the student will find small difficulty in settling upon the main struggle in the action, the complicating line of interest, and the climactic incident. The surprise ending, however, calls for comment, in that to achieve it the author used a natural and yet somewhat novel device. Hardy has been speaking of himself, of course, in the first person. When, therefore, he refers to the love that “one of the young engineers” had for Mrs. Whitney we do not suppose that he and the engineer were identical. Hence, we receive the shock in the final paragraph: “On the brown flesh of his forearm, I saw a queer, ragged white cross—the scar a snake bite leaves when it is cicatrized.” On reflection, one recognizes that Whitney’s slight deception arose from motives of delicacy, and is more than justifiable—it pleases, in that it refines Hardy’s character. Deception as a means, in general, to create surprise is common (See “The Mastery of Surprise,” Bookman, October, 1917); but it is given here a particularly excellent turn.

Observe, also, that the plot presents a variation of the familiar “triangle.” The love story, however, is buried beneath the greater theme; and therefore, although it terminates in a lack of so-called poetic justice, yet its combination with the main line of interest gives utmost satisfaction.

Characters. Mr. Burt has employed a favorite artistic aid, contrast, in depicting Hardy and Whitney. Does Hardy seem anywhere too modest or too egotistic for the first person narrator? What value have the friends who hear Hardy’s story in the full development of Hardy as a character?

A CUP OF TEA

Setting. Note the setting of this and “The Water-Hole,” “The Knight’s Move,” “The Weaver Who Clad the Summer,” “A Certain Rich Man.” In which of them is the outer setting a place for the rehearsal of the story which follows? In which is the setting that of the immediate story-action? What is the general value of a table scene to the writer who wishes to present his story in the “rehearsed” manner? How does a camp-fire compare with it? (Read, for example, Kipling’s “The Courting of Dinah Shadd.”)

Introduction, with Emphasis on Characters. Why is so long an introductory paragraph given to Burnaby?

Study the comment on guests and hostess, and observe that the English financier must have an important part in the ensuing action. “Sir John had inherited an imagination.” Is this stated characteristic proved by subsequent disclosures?

How is Burnaby’s entrance emphasized?

“She was interested by now” (page 48), an old device and an excellent one for catching the reader’s attention. The logic is this: “If that fascinating lady is interested, there must be a reason.” Sir Conan Doyle employs it often in the Sherlock Holmes stories, when Sherlock asks for a repetition of a situation supposedly just presented. It is thus put before the reader who assumes that it must be worth hearing once, if Sherlock will hear it twice.

What reason exists for Burnaby’s story as a predecessor to Sir John’s? Does it motivate the telling of Sir John’s? If so, does it also prejudice the reader in favor of one or the other men? Does it incite curiosity as to the squawman with a promise that curiosity will be satisfied? Suppose that some other cause produced Sir John’s story and the reader were left to surmise what became of Bewsher. Would sympathy be with Bewsher in an increased or diminished degree?

Why is Burnaby’s story briefer than Sir John’s? Would it be possible to reverse the comparative lengths with a new story-value? Try telling Bewsher’s story as he might tell it to Burnaby at the time of the tea incident.

How is point given to the squaw man’s name? What is the significance of the broken champagne glass? Have literary artists often fallen back on a broken glass by way of expressing emotion? Is it true to real life? Does it seem true in fiction?

Is there sufficient suggestion that Bewsher’s story is connected with that of Masters to justify initial interest in Sir John’s narrative? (See the dénouement of Burnaby’s.)

Where did you receive a hint that Masters is identifying himself with Morton?

The Heart of the Whole Story: Masters’ Story. Notice that Mr. Burt recognizes, as all artists do, the various climaxes of the narrative. This is indicated in what Sir John calls “high lights.”

The Initial Impulse (The “first high light”): Morton’s plan to cultivate the friendship of Bewsher.

Steps toward Dramatic Climax: The importance of himself comes home to Morton (“The second high light”). “The third did not come until fifteen years later” (Bewsher has been in India; Morton, in a Banking House in London): Morton desires a wife, luxury, and social standing. Bewsher turns up; he and Morton fall in love with the same girl. Bewsher leads, but he needs money. The “third high light,” then, after fifteen years, is Bewsher’s supplication. Morton makes him a rich man, but does not promise to keep him so.

Dramatic Climax: Bewsher forges a check, and hands it to Morton in part payment of his indebtedness. Morton subsequently shows the check to the girl and then burns it before her eyes. He thus wins her, not aware that her heart is broken. Bewsher disappears.

Climax of Action: “The fourth high light” Morton marries the girl.

Dénouement: He suffers the realization that he can never be a gentleman; he has learned that the girl does not love him.

What statement of Sir John indicates a recognition of the turning point in the rivalry between him and Bewsher? Show that this outer or external dramatic climax is the counterpart of the “third high light.”

Dénouement of the Enveloping Narrative: After Sir John and his wife motor away, Burnaby explains the relations between the real and the fictive characters. What is the significance of his appellation, “timber-wolf”?

What is the office of Mrs. Malcolm’s closing remark?

“We are told that all writing is a process of elision, but no one seems to go further and say that short-story writing is the process of ‘hitting the high spots’ plus the art of making the intervals between the ‘high spots’ not only interesting but of such a quality that the ‘high spots’ do not seem strained and unnatural. I find that this is mostly done by the turn of a sentence, or by an apparently adventitious aphorism, or a paragraph of general comment.

“I do prefer the ‘I’ narrator greatly. 1st. It does away with the ‘Smart Alec,’ omniscient atmosphere of the third person, which seems to me the bane of most American short-stories—the author gives an impression of groping for his story, just as a person in real life gropes when he narrates an incident. Conrad does this, and does it so beautifully. It seems to me that a ‘thickness’ is achieved that can be got in no other way. This, of course, does not apply to a novel, because in a novel the ‘thickness’ is achieved by mere length.

“Secondly, as you say, it enables one to handle surprise more readily.

“Thirdly, the story can be told in colloquial language, and not in literary language, which makes it, so it seems to me, more poignant. What experience I have had convinces me that the poignancy of life is invariably expressed by silences and by broken words. The French know so well how to use dashes, for instance.

“Fourthly, and this is not paradoxical, despite the colloquial language, one has a slight feeling of aloofness from the characters or sees them through the medium of a third person; and this, it seems to me, is the way one sees things in real life....

“The story ordinarily comes to me as an incident or a theme, sometimes as a character in a certain incident. Then usually nothing happens for a long time. If I try to think about it too much, so much the worse. In about a month, I’ll think about it again and then, as a rule, it begins to evolve. A great deal of the incident occurs to me while I am actually writing.”—Maxwell Struthers Burt.

MA’S PRETTIES

General. “Realism isn’t popular—is it?” Half assertively this inquiry comes from a certain fiction writer. It is, perhaps, in proportion as the story has obvious significance. This sketch about “Ma’s Pretties” reflects in miniature the whole of an American community, but in a manner which escapes him who seeks and appreciates only surface values. It is the kind of writing which acquires relative importance when placed alongside examples which reflect other communities, other nationalities.

The narrative is not a short-story, in the technical sense. Mr. Buzzell feels this to be no adverse criticism, since he says himself, “I am not particularly concerned about the short-story as such. I am using a short narrative form as a means of expression simply because this form seems the most natural to me. There are many things which I wish to record from my own particular slant. It is to accomplish this, rather than to produce short-stories, that I am writing. Naturally, then, I am not particularly concerned with the technique of the short-story, but on the other hand I am very much concerned with the technique of effective writing and have spent several years of hard work trying to perfect my craftsmanship.”

Classification. A realistic sketch, with emphasis on the situation: Mrs. Brooks dies; her “pretties” are divided.

The Characters. What is the chief method of the author for revealing character? How is the character of the dead woman indicated? What can you say of the dialogue by way of indicating feeling over (1) “Ma’s” illness, (2) her death? Describe the daughters.

The Main Scene. Is the story aptly entitled with respect to the main incident? What universal theme is struck in this well-developed scene between the girls in “Ma’s” room?

“The things enumerated in ‘Ma’s Pretties’ as found in her clothespress were part of the things my mother found in my grandmother’s clothespress after the latter’s death. I had to reject many items of course, and rearrange those which I selected as typical. You may be sure I spent a couple of weeks of hard work before I was satisfied with this piece of writing.”—Francis Buzzell.

Subordinate Scenes. Which scene do you regard as second in importance?

“The building up of the scene in which Ben Brooks carries the earrings in to ‘Ma’ was also a bit of conscious technique. I worked on that paragraph many hours before I was satisfied with the names of the flowers and had my tonal values right.”—Francis Buzzell.

Compare this story with Donn Byrne’s “The Wake.” Apart from the narrative element, do you receive a decided impression of national contrast?

Study the list of “pretties,” as you studied the list of objects, etc., in Miss Babcock’s “The Excursion.” Try to discover, here as there, their value in the reflection of reality. Certain small objects connote what larger objects? “Ma’s” switch, for example? Apply this question to your consideration of each detail. Have these apparently insignificant details a value similar to that of synecdoche and metonymy?

LONELY PLACES

General. A technically well-wrought piece of realism, both in its adherence to the point of view, and in the rationalization of events. When it was first published, it bore the (editorial) sub-title, “A Story of Woman’s Inhumanity to Woman.” “I assure you,” says Mr. Buzzell, “that woman’s inhumanity to woman never entered my mind in writing this story. If readers find a moral in any of my stories they can have it without question; I didn’t put it there and I’ll lay no claim to it.” What does this statement indicate with regard to Mr. Buzzell’s ideas of art?

Starting Point, and Development. “The beginning of a poem, I assume from my own experience, is a mood, a state of feeling, in the poet. He is stirred by something and sets to work to express it. Well, then, this is the way a story begins in me. As a result, the first tangible thing I have is the atmosphere.... I remembered that there were in Almont (Romeo) a number of ‘grand’ houses, standing far back from the road, and occupied by lonely women. I saw these houses buried in trees in summer, smelled the wild honeysuckle, watched the wrens flying in and out of the old teapots hung in the vines of the dining-room porch. In the winter I saw these houses buried in snow.”

Mr. Buzzell then wondered why these women had never married and concluded that all the young men of their generation had gone to the city to work.

“The next step was to select a definite setting. For this I took an old house which I knew thoroughly—my Grandfather’s house—the Orin Crisman house in ‘Addie Erb and her Girl Lottie.’ In this house I placed a woman not quite forty years old and I named her Abbie Snover. Then I gave her Old Chris as a companion. I had reason for placing Old Chris in the house with Abbie aside from an actual plot requirement. I placed him there because I wanted to impress my reader in the beginning with the loneliness of Abbie Snover’s environment rather than with her utter lack of companionship. The actual beginning of plot, I think, was when I decided to take Old Chris away from her at the end, so as to accentuate her loneliness. In searching for a cause that would remove the old man I decided to resort to gossip. The next question was how to start the gossip. It seemed most natural to have the children begin it. But how start the children? Abbie Snover and Old Chris had lived alone in that big house for fifteen years without any gossip; something would have to happen to start it. So I decided that Abbie would have to antagonize the children in some way. To be able to antagonize the children would necessarily require some kind of personal contact with them, so I had the children form a habit of going to her door after cookies. Then I invented the orange tree to give Abbie a reason for driving them out of the house.

“The rest was simple until I sent Abbie out of the big house on her journey to Mile Corners. It wasn’t until I reached this point that I decided to let the reader know that Old Chris was dead; that Abbie’s journey through the snow was to be a fruitless one; that fate had robbed her of her victory. If I had been concerned with writing just a short story I would have given my readers the desired surprise by withholding Old Chris’s death from them until Abbie found it out. What I wanted to do was to make them feel Abbie’s tragedy every step of the way along that country road.”

The difference between the realist’s and the romanticist’s methods may be seen by a consideration of what a romanticist would have done at any stage of the action. For example, Abbie’s kindness to the children would have been the cause, not of her undoing, but rather (under other circumstances) of her rehabilitation. The business of the orange tree, again, might have been used to turn the youngsters against her, as Mr. Buzzell has used it, but in this event then the sender of the orange tree would have arrived on the scene and by his masterfulness properly subdued the gossip.... Again, the romanticist would have saved the surprise, undoubtedly, for the reader as well as for Abbie. He would have desired to create the shock, and leave reflection to each reader.

Try telling the story from Mrs. Perry’s angle.

What is the struggle? Is it active or passive, or does it pass from one to the other condition? Are the stages of the plot well-marked, from initial impulse to climax of action?

What is the atmosphere? What details of setting, character, and action harmonize in the totality of effect? What notes of contrast but serve to intensify the prevailing mood?

Has the author attempted to enlist the reader’s sympathy for Abbie? Is his work finer and truer, as a result?

THE WAKE

General. “The Wake” suggests and pictures the customs of the Irish following a death; at the same time it tells a story. For this latter reason it is superior, as a narrative, to “Supers,” which emphasizes the picture, the condition. Emphasis is placed on the situation, with a gradual heightening of interest as to a suggested outcome. The young wife of an elderly husband lies dead; she has loved and been loved by a younger man; the younger man (Kennedy) has declared, “If anything ever happens to that girl at your side, Michael James, I’ll murder you!” And now as Michael sits in dumb misery, he awaits the fulfillment of the threat. The passive situation is merged into the dramatic moment by the advent of Kennedy, who seeing the dead woman, foregoes his intention.

Setting. The locale, according to Mr. Byrne, is Ulster, North Ireland. What is the length of the action?

Germinal Idea. “I wished to write a story of an Irish wake which was neither utterly sordid, nor indelicately funny.” Is the resultant mood, atmosphere, in harmony with this intention?

The Action. Where is your interest first aroused? At what point does the principle of suspense operate to intensify interest? Is the dénouement satisfactory? Is the action that of a “triangle” story? Compare it, in this regard, with the action of “The Water-Hole.” How is the love interest submerged in “The Wake”? How is the hostility Kennedy bears James overcome? What bearing on the action and on the theme has the blind misery of James?

The Characters. From whose point of view is the story presented? Who is the main character and why? Is there in any way a suggestion that Death, as a character, controls? Or is the influence of the dead woman dominant?

The Theme. In stating the theme, refer to the germinal idea and comment on the author’s success.

Compare with this narrative, Chapter IX of Patrick MacGill’s “The Rat-Pit.” Mr. MacGill’s setting is also in Ulster: Donegal.

It should be added for the benefit of the student who resents, or finds hampering, an insistence on short-story type, that Mr. Donn Byrne believes there isn’t any such thing as the short-story. “A story is a story whether it’s a novel of 100,000 words or a short magazine affair. There is no difference in technic between a 4,000 word writing, like ‘The Wake’ and any of my big 15,000 worders—‘Sargasso Sea,’ for example, or ‘A Treasure upon Earth.’ Get a worth while idea and make your narrative interesting. That’s the only formula for any piece of fiction. The short-story is to the novel what the chip mashie shot is to the full St. Andrew Swing, the same identical stroke used effectively for shorter distance.”

Bring arguments to bear for or against Mr. Donn Byrne’s statement. Be sure you have read widely before drawing conclusions, and have studied the technique of the stories and novels read.

THE GREAT AUK

Setting. The locale is New York City; the most important scene, in the Scudder Theater. The time is the present.

One of Irvin Cobb’s most remarkable powers is that of picturing so vividly a setting that the reader cannot but read and cannot but remember. What is the explanation of this astonishing success? First of all, Mr. Cobb is a keen observer. When he is out with his wife, according to her he sees ten times more than she does, yet she thinks she is seeing all there is to see. “When he was writing ‘The County Trot’ Mrs. Cobb marveled at his life-like pictures of the Kentucky characters, all of whom he had really known. She asked him how it was possible for him to remember their faces and mannerisms after the lapse of so many years. He said: ‘Why, I can close my eyes and see the knotholes that were in the fence around that fairground.’” This quotation indicates a second requisite—accurate memory. The third requisite is hard work, a condition through which Mr. Cobb believes all success must come. “When writing a story his object is to draw sharp pictures that will never leave the reader. To do this, he thinks out the minutest details of that picture, not that he will use those details, but that he himself may really see the picture as he writes.” The fact that he will not “use all those details” which observation and memory have supplied means that he has the ability to select. And, finally, he knows how to handle an ample vocabulary.

Plot.

Initial Impulse: The need for a “grandfather” motivates the search of Verba and Offutt. (A search, a type of “chase,” serves for a strong story-backbone.)

Steps to the Dramatic Climax: 1. The cab-ride to Bateman’s old haunts. 2. Finding the Scudder theatre closed. 3. The visit to the wine-shop; the clerk’s account of Bateman. 4. The ragged boy volunteers information. 5. He leads them to the side entrance of the theatre, into the gloom and decay of which they make their way.

Dramatic Climax: The urchin whistles; the curtain rolls up; old Bateman appears. The search is now at an end. Bateman is found. The new cause of suspense lies in curiosity over ensuing events. To satisfy this curiosity, the author extends the dramatic climax moment. The whole scene at the theatre is a prolonged climax, gradually revealing the old man’s unfitness, even as it soars to a higher emotional climax. The story structure may be roughly indicated by the diagram:

That is, if M represents the dramatic climax moment, then MS represents the dramatic climax scene, which is the period of Bateman’s acting three parts. With S, comes the realization that Bateman is not in his “perfect mind.” Notice the impeccable workmanship by which this recognition is forced home to Verba in the last speech of Bateman, the lines from “King Lear.” SZ is the brief drop to the climax of action. See the story for details.