Part 7

_An Island Outpost_, by Mary E. Waller. [Little, Brown and Company, Boston.] "I respect the clam," says Miss Waller; "it has certain reserves." She also says: "Liberty is the restraint of controlled intelligence," and she tells us that a million ideas unloaded on an unwarned public will cause befogment of its reasoning powers. Miss Waller in her _Island Outpost_ has not shown the reserve of the clam, nor the restraint of controlled intelligence, but has unloaded her "million ideas on a million subjects unannounced and uncatalogued." Socrates, Swedes, and Simians, Hull House and Helsingfors, Praxiteles and Plum Jelly, Clucking Hens and Chemistry, Philanthropic Frenzies, Psychiatry Astigmatic, Outlooks, and Intellectual Miasma overlap each other in "indecent haste"--and to cap all comes an analogy taken from old "turned carpets," suggestive of prehistoric methods of sanitation to a mere "Westerner."

_Gillespie_, by J. MacDougall Hay. [George H. Doran Company, New York.] A big story of heroic Scotch life by a new writer who has tremendous power. It makes that kind of profound personal impressions which a well-bred man refuses to discuss.

_Songs and Poems_, by Martin Schütze. [The Laurentian Publishers, Chicago.] The discriminating reader who is a bit wearied of the "free verse" of "free poets" will find refreshing contrast in this slender volume of Mr. Schütze. Here there is beauty combined with delicate craftsmanship; lines finely wrought, fresh rhythms, uncommon phrasing. The contents reveals a happy versatility: there are a variety of Songs, some Poems, Discourses, and Epigrams.

_When Love Flies Out o' the Window_, by Leonard Merrick. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] A pretty story of the love affair of a charming chorus girl and a novelist-journalist. It should make good late summer reading, for the route of true love is not over-smooth, and the end is happy. We recommend the earlier portion of the book as done in the inimitable Merrick fashion. It is rather too bad that this author's sustained performances fall so far below his short stories.

_The Man and the Woman_, by Arthur L. Salmon. [Forbes and Company, Chicago.] A comforting little volume for smug Victorian women of both sexes.

_Short Plays_, by Mary Macmillan. [Stewart and Kidd Company, Cincinnati.] Ten short plays deftly done, and sufficiently varied in theme to meet the diverse demands of the woman's club, the girls' school, and the amateur dramatic society.

_English Drama of the Restoration and Eighteenth Century_, by George Henry Nettleton. [The Macmillan Company, New York.] Interesting to academic students of the historical facts of the early periods of the modern English drama.

_Erna Vitek_, by Alfred Kreymborg. [Albert and Charles Boni, New York.] This further enterprise of a new and daring publishing house is an attempt, and a promising one at that, at the naturalistic American novel. But it is only an attempt. Mr. Kreymborg's style is marred by the very frequent use of journalese. He has an excellent plot, but the treatment has somewhat failed to do it justice. Also, it seems to us that the episode narrated in the book would have made a far better short story than a novel. Despite these defects of juvenility, the book gives promise of future work by this author that will surely count. Also one obtains a refreshing insight into the real New York Bohemia.

_A Stepdaughter of the Prairie_, by Margaret Lynn. [The Macmillan Company, New York.] Vivid impressions of pioneer life in the Missouri Valley by a writer who knows the wide prairies of that region.

_Business: A Profession_, by Louis D. Brandeis. [Small, Maynard and Company, Boston.] A book composed of the lectures, essays and discussions which gave rise to the efficiency idea in big business management. It belongs on the shelf with President Wilson's _The New Freedom_.

_London and Paris_, by Prof. John C. Van Dyke. [Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.] Two additions to the _New Guides to Old Masters Series_ that point out to conventional visitors the things that they should see when they look at the pictures in the famous galleries of London and Paris.

_Letters from a Living Dead Man_, dictated to Elsa Barker. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] Unimportant even if true, which they are alleged to be. Psychical researchers will salt this thing down with their "facts."

_Where Rolls the Oregon_, by Dallas Lore Sharp. [Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.] A group of delightful impressions of "the vast outdoors of Oregon" by an interpretative observer whose zestful phraseology is full of local atmosphere. A number of charming halftones are included.

_The Red Light of Mars_, by George Bronson-Howard. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] This philosophical comedy in three acts, which adds creditable variety and interest to _The Modern Drama Series_, will be staged this season. Being typically American in spirit, it lacks iron in the body of its thought.

_Bambi_, by Marjorie Benton Cook. [Doubleday, Page and Company, New York.] "_Bambi_" is altogether delightful. After marrying a writer of impossible plays, she endeavors to support him and to teach him to support himself. She becomes an author, and with her delicious vanity, and knowledge of her ability to wind men around her tiny finger, uses her own fame as a lever to place her husband among the successful playwrights. This sprightly midget is one of the most lovable characters we have met in many moons.

The Reader Critic

"_Gaudeamus_":

In these historic days I cannot think of your September issue in other terms than as of a Zeppelin hurling bombs into the enemy's strongholds. From the first to the last page (yes, even the letters!) I read the copy to an imaginary beating of drums, blasting of trumpets, fluttering of banners. When I reached the last line, I relaxed in nervous expectation of the results of the grandiose charge: Will there be no explosion, no earthquake?

I ask this question in dead earnest. THE LITTLE REVIEW has become definite in one point--in its uncompromising warfare against the rotten features of the existing order. In this one issue you have attacked with the fervor of unhesitating youth some of the stanchest fortified dunghills of American life and art. From _Armageddon_, that merciless bomb into the camp of provincial complacency prevailing in this country, through the execution of academical _Grocers_, through the venomous _Democrat_ that reveals the beauty of constructive hatred, down to the palpitating letter of the "Boy-Reader" who deals a tender death-blow to the despotic authoritativness of parenthood,--I scent war powder! And with hope and anxiety I put the question once more:

Will there be no response to the call of the clarion? Will your battle-cry not be echoed by young America, who for the first time hear a free unmercenarized word? Will your courageous gospel not stir the hearts of college men and women, those who have not yet been completely philistinized by their "vocational guides"; college men and women who in other countries have always been the torch-bearers, the advance-guard and martyrs in the fights for truth and ideals? Will THE LITTLE REVIEW not succeed in creating a _Drang und Sturm_ epoch?

A negative answer would spell a death-verdict for the future of this over-dollarized land.

_An Interested Reader, Chicago_:

THE LITTLE REVIEW bubbles over with enthusiasm and love of life. Here is an instance of a losing fight with life--perhaps it may interest you.

A childhood spent in the slums of a large city--not in the camaraderie spirit of the slums but within the close bounds of a little clean apartment presided over by an aristocratic-notioned mother. Absolute barrenness of childhood experience--not a toy, never even a rag doll, not a tree, not a flower, not a picture of any beauty--a household of petty quarreling and incessant scrubbing and cleaning, and strict adherence to duties. As the child, now grown, thinks back, she knows that there was always a subconscious feeling of revolt. She would often go off for many hours knowing that punishment would follow; she destroyed much that caused tears in her efforts to create, she craved and found affection where life was a little richer.

And then came books--avid, unsystematic reading. But life was never touched intimately and directly from any angle but one of barrenness, pettiness. A routined school course enriched living by a deep and lasting friendship. Continually the inner revolt and the outward conforming dragged along together. And then came a time of complete awakening, of burning whys, with realization of a dual existence and a desire for sincerity in living above all things. Life demands some sort of a medium of expression which has its beginning in childhood experience. A maturing mind just beginning on impressions that should have come in childhood is a sorry spectacle. Its desires are so out of proportion to its human possibilities that it flounders and does nothing. It finds in itself capacities dulled for want of stimulation, it looks on things and sees them out of relation to itself. One grows to despise human beings, to hate living--to see that there is beauty and radiance in the world only for the chosen ones who respond to it intimately and not only through day dreams.

Youth is not always synonymous with love of life; the gutter does not always hold a reflection of the sky, and a conversation or even understanding with one's parents but seldom solves the problem of soul imprisonment. Breaking the bars of immediate environment is not so wonderful a thing for an independent adult, but how is one to overcome the barriers of a wasted childhood?

_C. A. Z., Chicago_:

What splendid letters those are from George Soule! Every one has been really worth while and inspiring. Especially the advice and warning he gives in his last: "Let us go to the theatres next fall prepared to trace the beginnings of a new stage art in this country; in the meantime, however, not hoping to escape the flood of cheap and artistically vicious stuff with which the commercial managers will attempt to drown our sensibilities."

Perhaps after this warning one ought not become agitated or angry with any of the productions of those showmen who are frankly in the business for the sake of revenue. However, when the "super"-showman, who is said by the press-agent to possess unconquerable ideals, does something that is supposed to be the uttermost of stage production--and fails--well, then one can't help becoming irritated. In a production of _Joseph and His Brethren_ which I saw recently there is evidence that he is aware of the presence of new ideas in the theatre. But nowhere is it perfect enough or fearlessly new enough to be satisfying. What new ideas are used are swamped under, in their imperfection, by the mass of "excellent mediocrity" that Mr. Soule speaks of. In every act is present that hideous compromise--rank mixture of the old theatrical devices with a cautious lifting of some daring modernists' best ideas. But the pictures received applause. Most came for the scene that jarred most. It was a moon-light garden scene. The backdrop and sense of distance were perfect, but stuck prominently in the foreground, on either side of the stage, were huge clusters of pink blossoms. The applause for that was great--just as Soule predicted.

Mixing ideals--so-called--with the business of attracting the crowd for what it brings to the box-office may produce a super-showman and make of him a millionaire, but it does not advance the cause of the theatre. Not only is the production to be quarreled with, but the drama itself is of mongrel character. Everywhere is evident that catering to the ordinary theatrical taste:--entire speeches from the bible alongside those of modern idiom and thought together with re-arrangements and useless additions to the already satisfying detail of the scriptures.

After a "smashing" finale with the gorgeously garmented multitude waving dusty palms in a private house I decided to dismiss the entire show as fruitless, so far as the "new note" was concerned. However, one critic writes that the German and Russian moderns were suggested in some scenes and that the chief female character might have been costumed by Bakst himself! That arouses one to the danger of the thing. Is this the final word in the theatre and what we are to expect as the best this season?

_Marion Thayer MacMillan, Cincinnati_:

The July number of THE LITTLE REVIEW is before me, and the demure brown cover brings a smile as I recall the stimulating sparkle and scarlet audacities hidden beneath. After Nietzsche's notion of the Wagnerite, it is at least interesting to read Mr. Brooke's description of pâte de foi-gras at the opera. The talk of Dr. Brandes and the tedious speaker is a gladsome thing, but most of all I was held by _The Renaissance of Parenthood_. It is a large subject for one article and too large for a letter; nevertheless I must quarrel with one of your implications. I refuse to admit that one can deduce anything whatever from the writings of Mr. George Bernard Shaw. Don't mistake me: I feel sure that I agree with everything you think about him--"aye more." But I deny that you can justly follow any statement of his with "hence." When a man takes his authorized and adoring biographer and tells him "Lo! here is the house where I first saw the light," and, when the adoring and authorized one comes a cropper because he deduces from this remark that the self-same house is the birth place of his idol, it behooves one to walk warily with this God! No doubt to read the profound and playful prophet philosopher is to conclude that he believes "the old-fashioned game in which the mother sacrificed everything was unfair and unnecessary and wasteful." Equally, however, there is no doubt that G. B. S. himself holds an entirely opposite point of view since he emphatically affirms: "When others thought I should be working to support my mother, I made her work to support me. Five years after I was entirely capable of earning a living, I kept her at it so that I could learn to write English"; and, to prove his rightness, he cries: "And now look who's here!"

To Serve an Idea

There is no more vivid thing in life. All those people who are vitally interested in THE LITTLE REVIEW and its idea, its spirit and its growth, may want to become part of a group which has just been suggested by several of our contributors and readers. An attempt to influence the art, music, literature, and life of Chicago is an exciting and worthy one, and should have its opportunity of expression. Such an opportunity is planned in a series of gatherings--the first to be held in 917 Fine Arts Building at eight o'clock on Saturday evening, October 10. For further details, address The Little Review Association, 917 Fine Arts Building, Chicago.

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MEDITATIONS ON VOTES FOR WOMEN

By Samuel M. Crothers

This book is not an argument for equal suffrage, but rather a quiet consideration of the subject. The book is in no way controversial, but preserves throughout the lightness of touch and urbanity of tone for which Dr. Crothers is so well known. $1.25 net.

A BEACON FOR THE BLIND

By Winifred Holt

A vivid and readable biography of Henry Fawcett, the blind Postmaster-General of England, which should attract wide attention in this country as well as in Great Britain. Illustrated. $2.50 net.

THE READING PUBLIC

By MacGregor Jenkins

The author writes in a whimsical fashion of the public in its pursuit of literature in the home, at the club, and on the suburban train and trolley. 75 cents net.

SONGS OF THE OUTLANDS

By Henry Herbert Knibbs

Mr. Knibbs' "Songs of the Outlands" tell in swinging verse stories of Western characters, or celebrate the life of mountain and plain with vividness and zest. A little group of poems of the great North woods, which Mr. Knibbs knows equally well, adds to the variety and charm of the volume. $1.25 net.

THE ARCHITECTURE OF HUMANISM

By Geoffrey Scott

A spirited as well as a learned defense of Renaissance architecture. The author's wide outlook, and his large and imaginative treatment of the subject will render the book delightful to the general public as well as to architects. $2.00 net.

IMPRESSIONS AND COMMENTS

By Havelock Ellis

Observations on life in England and on the continent, reflections on books and art, and curious speculations on the subjects with which Mr. Ellis's name is usually associated. $1.50 net.

OPEN-AIR POLITICS

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This unique pseudonymous book is absorbingly interesting, and provocative of serious thought. Probably no more suggestive discussion of syndicalism and allied topics has recently appeared. $1.25 net.

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CLEAR WATERS

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PRINTS

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ROUND THE WORLD IN ANY NUMBER OF DAYS

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Mr. Baring, author of "Lost Diaries", "Diminutive Dramas", etc., has made within the last two years a leisurely voyage around the world, and here tells of his experiences and adventures in a pleasant, discoursive fashion. Illustrated. $1.25 net.

THE ABOLITION OF POVERTY

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This authoritative and brilliant little book analyzes acutely the various causes of poverty and suggests a programme, not so much for its cure as for its prevention. 75 cents net.

The Postage on each of the above is Extra

Boston HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY New York

THE NEW POETRY

Sword Blades and Poppy Seed

By Amy Lowell

Author of "The Dome of Many-Colored Glass." etc.

Of the poets who today are doing the interesting and original work, there is no more striking and unique figure than Amy Lowell. The foremost member of the "Imagists"--a group of poets that includes William Butler Yeats, Ezra Pound, Ford Madox Hueffer--she has won wide recognition for her writing in new and free forms of poetical expression.

Miss Lowell's present volume of poems, "Sword Blades and Poppy Seed," is an unusual book. It contains much perhaps that will arouse criticism, but it is a new note in American poetry. Miss Lowell has broken away from academic traditions and written, out of her own time, real singing poetry, free, full of new effects and subtleties.

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WINTERING HAY. By John Trevena.

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A big and powerful story of a man's struggle to escape the consequences of an early sin, a sin whose causes have their roots deep in his own nature. From Dartmoor he comes to London (whose underworld Trevena depicts with a realism that savors of Dostoievsky) and finally expiates his fault, but not until he has drained the cup of suffering to the dregs and altered not only his own life but also the lives of those he loves.

SLEEPING WATERS. By John Trevena.

$1.35 net

There is an old Dartmoor legend about the waters of Nymphala, which bring forgetfulness to whoever drinks of them. A young priest comes to this spring, drinks and encounters, under romantic circumstances, Petronel, spirit of the moor. An unusual and very beautiful love story springs from this meeting, which ends in an unexpected but logical and wholly satisfying manner.

ALTOGETHER JANE. By Herself.

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This is not a "literary" book. It is just the straight-forward, unadorned story of a fine, big-hearted woman. Jane gives an intimate picture of the life that is lived by most women the world over, and you will follow her narrative with breathless interest. It will impress you always with its humor, its kindliness, but, above all, with its essential truth.

LIFE'S LURE: A NOVEL. By John G. Neihardt.

$1.25 net

A brisk and vigorous story of life in a Western mining camp. Mr. Neihardt shows you men (and women) stripped of the frills and trivialities of our civilization and reduced to their more fundamental and primitive selves. Always the lure of life, the mere desire above all else to live dominates them.

A big-hearted book this, rich with pathos and with humor, with homely good nature no less than with hideously cruel realism. You will not quickly forget Sam Drake, torn with hunger, crawling on his hands and knees back to camp: nor great-hearted Ma Wooliver and Pete: nor poor little Punkins (who should never have left the folks at Johnson Corner), dreaming everlastingly of nuggets such as no man ever found. Mr. Neihardt knows such people as these; he knows our Western country, and "Life's Lure" rings true from cover to cover.

ORTHODOXY: A PLAY IN ONE ACT. By Nina Wilcox Putnam.

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Do you always say what you really think? Of course you don't; no one does. Only consider--you meet a stranger--"How do you do?" you say, "I'm so glad to meet you." But are you? More often than otherwise you are not. Mrs. Putnam has exposed in a satiric, though not too bitter spirit this most common of all of our little hypocrisies. In "Orthodoxy" her people say exactly what in their hearts of hearts they are thinking, though they act as we all do. The result is--to say the least--startling.

FATHER RALPH: A NOVEL. By Gerald O'Donovan.

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This novel of present-day Ireland enjoyed an immense success when it appeared in London something over a year ago. Mr. O'Donovan writes delightfully and possesses a style of real distinction. "Father Ralph" presents a faithful picture of the life of the Irish people of today--particularly of their religious life, which is analyzed with shrewdness, insight and humor. But the book has, first of all, those enduring qualities that characterize all good fiction.

DRIFT AND MASTERY: AN ATTEMPT TO DIAGNOSE THE CURRENT UNREST. By Walter Lippmann.

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THE LITTLE KING: A ONE ACT PLAY IN VERSE. By Witter Bynner.