The Cream of the Jest - James Branch Cabell (life changing books to read TXT) 📗

entirely. And I certainly never spoke of her to any human being, except of course to Muriel Allardyce.⁠ ⁠… But I would not be at all surprised if I had involuntarily hypnotized myself, sitting here staring at this shiny piece of lead⁠—you read of such cases. I believe I will put it away, to play with again sometime.” XII Of Publishing: With an Unlikely Appendix

So Kennaston preserved this bit of metal. “No fool like an old fool,” his common-sense testily assured him. But Felix Kennaston’s life was rather barren of interests nowadays.⁠ ⁠…

He thought no more of his queer dream, for a long while. Life had gone on decorously. He had completed The Audit at Storisende, with leisured joy in the task, striving to write perfectly of beautiful happenings such as life did not afford. There is no denying that the typed manuscript seemed to Felix Kennaston⁠—as he added the last touches, before expressing it to Dapley & Pildriff⁠—to inaugurate a new era in literature.

Kennaston was yet to learn that publishers in their business capacity have no especial concern with literature. To his bewilderment he discovered that publishers seemed sure the merits of a book had nothing to do with the advisability of printing it. Herewith is appended a specimen or two from Felix Kennaston’s correspondence.

Dapley & Pildriff⁠—“We have carefully read your story, The Audit at Storisende, which you kindly submitted to us. It is needless for us to speak of the literary quality of the story: it is in fact exquisitely done, and would delight a very limited circle of readers trained to appreciate such delicate productions. But that class of readers is necessarily small, and the general reader would, we fear, fail to recognize the book’s merit and be attracted to it. For this reason we do not feel⁠—and we regret to confess it⁠—that the publication of this book would be a wise business enterprise for us to undertake. We wish that we could, in justice to you and ourselves, see the matter in another light. We are returning the manuscript to you, and we remain, with appreciation of your courtesy, etc.”

Paige Ticknor’s Sons⁠—“We have given very careful consideration to your story, The Audit at Storisende, which you kindly submitted to us. We were much interested in this romance, for it goes without saying that it is marked with high literary quality. But we feel that it would not appeal with force and success to the general reader. Its appeal, we think, would be to the small class of cultured readers, and therefore its publication would not be attended with commercial success. Therefore in your interest, as well as our own, we feel that we must give an unfavorable decision upon the question of publication. Naturally we regret to be forced to that conclusion, for the work is one which would be creditable to any publisher’s list. We return the manuscript by express, with our appreciation of your courtesy in giving us the opportunity of considering it, and are, etc.”

And so it was with The Gayvery Company, and with Leeds, McKibble & Todd, and with Stuyvesant & Brothers. Unanimously they united to praise and to return the manuscript. And Kennaston began reluctantly to suspect that, for all their polite phrases about literary excellence, his romance must, somehow, be not quite in consonance with the standards of that person who is, after all, the final arbiter of literature, and to whom these publishers very properly deferred, as “the general reader.” And Kennaston wondered if it would not be well for him, also, to study the all-important and exigent requirements of “the general reader.”

Kennaston turned to the publishers’ advertisements. Dapley & Pildriff at that time were urging everyone to read White Sepulchers, the author of which had made public the momentous discovery that all churchgoers were not immaculate persons. Paige Ticknor’s Sons were announcing a new edition of The Apostates, a scathing arraignment of plutocratic iniquities, which was heralded as certain to sear the soul to its core, more than rival Thackeray, and turn our highest social circles inside out. Then the Gayvery Company offered Through the Transom, a daring study of “feminism,” compiled to all appearance under rather novel conditions, inasmuch as the brilliant young author had, according to the advertisements, written every sentence with his jaws set and his soul on fire. The majority of Leeds, McKibble & Todd’s adjectives were devoted to Sarah’s Secret, the prize-winner in the firm’s $15,000 contest⁠—a “sprightly romance of the greenwood,” whose undoubted aim, Kennaston deduced from tentative dips into its meandering balderdash, was to become the most sought-after book in all institutes devoted to care of the feebleminded. And Stuyvesant & Brothers were superlatively acclaiming The Silent Brotherhood, the latest masterpiece of a pornographically gifted genius, who had edifyingly shown that he ranked religion above literature, by retiring from the ministry to write novels.

Kennaston laughed⁠—upon which side of the mouth, it were too curious to inquire. Momentarily he thought of printing the book at his own expense. But here the years of poverty had left indelible traces. Kennaston had too often walked because he had not carfare, for a dollar ever again to seem to him an inconsiderable matter. Comfortably reassured as to pecuniary needs for the future, he had not the least desire to control more money than actually showed in his bank-balances; but, even so, he often smiled to note how unwillingly he spent money. So now he shrugged, and sent out his loved romance again.

An unlikely thing happened: the book was accepted for publication. The Baxon-Muir Company had no prodigious faith in The Audit at Storisende, as a commercial venture; but their “readers,” in common with most of the “readers” for the firms who had rejected it, were not lacking in discernment of its merits as an admirable piece of writing. And the more optimistic among them protested even to foresee a possibility of the book’s selling. The vast