…
Since the Committee confess to catholicity of taste, the chosen stories reveal predilection for no one type. They like detective stories, and particularly those of Melville Davisson Post. A follower of the founder of this school of fiction, he has none the less advanced beyond his master and has discovered other ways than those of the Rue Morgue. "Five Thousand Dollars Reward" in its brisk action, strong suspense, and humorous denouement carries on the technique so neatly achieved in "The Doomdorf Mystery" and other tales about Uncle Abner.
The Committee value, also, the story about animals: universal interest in puzzles, in the science of ratiocination, is not more pronounced than the interest in rationalizing the brute. "The Mottled Slayer" and "The Elephant Remembers" offer sympathetic studies of struggles in the animal world. Mr. Marshall's white elephant will linger as a memory, even as his ghost remains, longer than the sagacious play-fellow of Mr. Gilbert's little Indian; but nobody can forget the battle the latter fought with the python.
For stories about the home the Committee have a weakness: Miss Ferber's "April Twenty-fifth As Usual," cheerfully proclaiming the inevitableness of spring cleaning, might be published with the sub-title, An Epic of the Housekeeper.
They were alert for reflections of life—in America and elsewhere. The politics of "Gum Shoes, 4-B"; the local court of law in "Tom Belcher's Store"; the frozen west of "Turkey Red" seemed to them to meet the demand that art must hold the mirror up to nature.
In particular, the Committee hoped to find good stories of the war. Now that fiction containing anything of the Great Struggle is anathema to editors, and must wait for that indefinite time of its revival, it was like getting a last bargain to read "Facing It," "Humoresque," "Contact," "Autumn Crocuses," and "England to America." In these small masterpieces is celebrated either manhood which keeps a rendezvous with death, womanhood which endures, or the courage of men and women which meets bodily misfortune and the anguish of personal loss. Leon Kantor of "Humoresque" and the young Virginian of "England to America" will bring back, to all who read, their own heroes. It is fitting that Miss Montague's story should have received the first prize: poignant, short in words, great in significance, it will stand a minor climactic peak in that chain of literature produced during the actual progress of the World War.
* * * * *
In the estimation of the Committee the year 1919 was not one of pre-eminent short stories. Why? There are several half-satisfactory explanations. Some of the acknowledged leaders, seasoned authors, have not been publishing their average annual number of tales. Alice Brown, Donn Byrne, Irvin Cobb, Edna Ferber, Katharine Gerould, Fannie Hurst and Mary W. Freeman are represented by spare sheaves. Again, a number of new and promising writers have not quite attained sureness of touch; although that they are acquiring it is manifest in the work of Ben Ames Williams, Edison Marshall, Frances Wood, Samuel Derieux, John Russell, Beatrice Ravenel and Myra Sawhill. Too frequently, there is "no story": a series of episodes however charmingly strung out is not a story; a sketch, however clever or humorous, is not a story; an essay, however wisely expounding a truth, is not a story. So patent are these facts, they are threadbare from repetition; yet of them succeeding aspirants seem to be as ignorant as were their predecessors—who at length found knowledge. For obvious reasons, names of authors who succeed in a certain literary form, but who produce no story are omitted.
Again, some stories just miss the highest mark. A certain one, praised by a magazine editor as the best of the year, suffers in the opinion of the Committee, or part of the Committee, from an introduction too long and top-heavy. It not only mars the symmetry of the whole, this introduction, but starts the reader in the wrong direction. One thing the brief story must not do is to begin out of tone, to promise what it does not fulfil, or to lead out a subordinate character as though he were chief. … Another story suffers from plethora of phrasing, and even of mere diction. Stevenson believed few of his words too precious to be cut; contemporary writers hold their utterances in greater esteem. … A third story shows by its obvious happy ending that the author has catered to magazine needs or what he conceives to be editorial policies. Such an author requires a near "Smart Set" sparkle or a pseudo-Atlantic Monthly sobriety; he develops facility, but at the expense, ultimately, of conventionality, dullness and boredom.
According to the terms which omit foreign authors from possible participation in the prize, the work of Achmed Abdullah, Britten Austin, Elinor Mordaunt and others was in effect non-existent for the Committee. "Reprisal," by Mr. Austin, ranks high as a specimen of real short-story art, strong in structure, rich in suggestion. "The Honourable Gentleman," by the mage from Afghanistan, in reflecting Oriental life in the Occident, will take its place in literary history. Elinor Mordaunt's modernized biblical stories—"The Strong Man," for instance—in showing that the cycles repeat themselves and that today is as one of five thousand years ago exemplify the universality of certain motifs, fables, characters.
But, having made allowance for the truths just recounted, the Committee believe that the average of stories here bound together is high. They respond to the test of form and of life. "The Kitchen Gods" grows from five years of service to the women of China—service by the author, who is a doctor of medicine. "Porcelain Cups" testifies to the interest a genealogist finds in the Elizabethan Age and, more definitely, in the life of Christopher Marlowe. The hardships of David, in the story by Mr. Derieux, are those of a boy in a particular Southern neighbourhood the author knows. Miss Louise Rice, who boasts a strain of Romany blood, spends part of her year with the gypsies. Mr. Terhune is familiar, from the life, with his prototypes of "On Strike." "Turkey Red" relates a real experience, suited to fiction or to poetry—if Wordsworth was right—for it is an instance of emotion remembered in tranquility. In these and all the others, the story's the thing.
Some of them, perhaps, were produced because their creators were consciously concerned about the art of creation. "Blue Ice," by Joseph Hergesheimer, proclaims itself a study in technique, a thing of careful workmanship. "Innocence," by Rupert Hughes, with "Read It Again" and "The Story I Can't Write" boldly announce his desire to get the most out of the material. "For They Know not What They Do," an aspiration of spirit, is fashioned as firmly as the Woolworth Tower.
Just here it may be observed that the Committee noticed a tendency of the present day story which only the future can reveal as significant or insignificant. It is this: in spite of the American liking for the brief tale, as Poe termed it—the conte, as the French know it—in spite of an occasional call from magazines for stories of fewer than 5,000 words, yet the number of these narratives approaching perfection is considerably less than that of the longer story. Whether the long short-story gives greater entertainment to the greater number may be questioned. To state that it is farthest from the practice of O. Henry invites a logical and inevitable conclusion. He wrote two hundred stories averaging about fifteen pages each. Whether it may be greater literature is another matter; if it escapes tediousness it may impress by its weight. If the Committee had selected for publication all the longest stories in the list of thirty-two, this volume would contain the same number of words, but only half the titles.
The Honorary Committee expressed, some of them, to the Committee of Award certain preferences. William Marion Reedy wrote: "I read and printed one very good story called 'Baby Fever.' I think it is one of the best stories of the year." John Phillips, though stating that he had not followed short stories very closely, thought the best one he had read "The Theatrical Sensation of Springtown," by Bess Streeter Aldrich (American, December). Mrs. Edwin Markham commended Charles Finger's "Canassa" (Reedy's Mirror, October 30). W. Adolphe Roberts submitted a number of stories from Ainslee's: "Young Love," by Nancy Boyd; "The Token from the Arena," by June Willard; "The Light," by Katherine Wilson. He also drew attention to "Phantom," by Mildred Cram (Green Book, March). That the Committee of Award, after a careful study of these and other recommendations, failed to confirm individual high estimates is but another illustration of the disagreement of doctors. To all those of the Honorary Committee who gave encouragement and aid the Committee of Award is most grateful.
There remains the pleasure of thanking, also, the authors and publishers who have kindly granted permission for the reprinting of the stories included in this volume. The Committee of Award would like them to know that renewal of the O. Henry prize depends upon their generous cooperation.