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answer to the question which it raises still in the balance, and then "flashes back" to explanatory matter, there are very few examples, indeed, of the story of decision, that is of pure decision, told chronologically.

In order that you may understand why this is so, it is necessary only that you realize that of the various kinds of struggles which may be used as the Body scene of any story only one of these is strictly usable in the story of decision because it deals with a mental conflict. It deals with the attempt of a character to make up his mind as to which among a number of courses of conduct he is to pursue.

If you will go over the stories which you have read and examine them closely you will find that those stories which contain scenes of mental conflict, and of physical conflict, and of oral conflict or argument you were ordinarily more interested in those which contained the oral or physical as opposed to those containing the mental conflict; and that the mental conflict was the one which more than any of the others you were inclined to skip. The reason for this becomes clear upon any close analysis.

The whole purpose of fiction is to appeal to the emotions, and the appeal to the emotions can be made ordinarily only through images and through appeal to the senses, since the emotions are the sum of the observer's sensations. The process must be more an intellectual than an emotional one; and since the purpose of fiction is to appeal to the emotions and to leave the intellect out of the question as much as possible, then the task of the short-story writer who essays a story of decision is very hard. He has these limitations clearly before him all the time. For the interest of the story, that is the Body of the story, he is confined to a single scene, which because it is an appeal to the intellect, must be very short or it must run the risk of losing the reader's interest. It is the scene which must be bolstered up by pictorial detail. Yet, provided it is short, its importance will justify it. But the approach is likely to be slow. The ordinary refuge, then, of the person who pro

poses to write a story of decision is to open with this main situation, to show the choice of conduct before the main character or to show that a certain choice of conduct must be made even though the various possibilities are left indefinite. Thus he captures the reader's attention by showing that a decision is essential, and piques the reader's curiosity by delaying that decision. Meanwhile he flashes back in point of time and tells the reader of other crises or situations, minor situations which confronted the character at former turning-points of his life, turning points similar to those of the big turningpoint or main situation of the story. As a result of these minor encounters the hero is shown as possessing definite character-traits from which the reader is able to deduce his actions in the main crises and to foretell to some extent the decision which he will make in this main crisis or main situation. This is the method used by John Galsworthy in "The Mummy" which I analyzed in THE WRITER for November last. This flash-back method of telling the story of decision is a very inviting one, because it looks easy. However, its appearance is deceptive. Still it is easier than the story of decision told chronologically. My observation shows me that the story of decision told chronologically presents the greatest of all difficulties to the writer. It is a difficulty which most writers balk by turning the explanatory matter which precedes the main situation into a situation of accomplishment and you have instead of a story of pure decision a story which begins with accomplishment and ends with decision.

It is therefore a great pleasure to come upon a story which is one of pure decision told chronologically. That is why this particular story, "A Point of Honor" by Wilkeson O'Connell, is so interesting as an example in craftsmanship. The main character of the story, Sir Henry Clinton, has to come to a definite decision—whether he is to give up Benedict Arnold to the Americans or sacrifice his friend Major André. In order to save his friend he must go back upon a promise made

to General Arnold to protect him from the revenge of the Americans. Two choices of conduct confront him. They are clearly cut and decisive.

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Unlike the story of accomplishment the story of decision has a narrative-question which is not "Can - succeed in?" but "What course of conduct will choose?" In this case "What course of conduct will Sir Henry Clinton decide upon when a point of honor is involved?" This main narrativequestion is clearly set forth by the author in lines 367-374.

""Colonel Flint,' promptly replied the American, 'there is but one man in British hands who would be acceptable as an exchange for Major André.'

a chair and buried his face in his hands. He was not mourning his lost aide. His teeth were clenched." From line 427-436 we get the sequel of that decision. Sir Harry Clinton hears the voice of Arnold prove vain and plausible through the still open door to the morning room. His reaction to that voice is shown on lines 437-439. "Oh God, Oh God' groaned Sir Harry. 'To have lost André André -to get that.'" In addition to this sequel and to showing the effect upon the characters involved, lines 440-445 contain the significance of the story given in the words of the author, "But to do Sir Henry Clinton justice, it never occurred to him that he might actually redeem John André by a dishonorable expedient. For, according to his own.

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"And that man is?' cried Sir Harry, lights, Sir Henry Clinton was an honorable his face lighting with a vast relief.

""He whom I hear conversing in the next room.'

In this story there are 445 lines. The Beginning of this story occupies the first 374 lines. It contains the main situation, together with the explanatory matter necessary to the reader's understanding of that situation. Only at line 375 is the reader aware that Sir Harry Clinton must decide between surrendering Benedict Arnold to the Americans and keeping his word to protect that man. The Ending of the story is on lines 418-447. It includes the decisive act, which is the speech of Sir Harry Clinton, beginning on line 417 and running through line 419: "General Arnold is under the protection of Sir Harry Clinton,' said Sir Harry stiffly, 'and that protection is inviolate.'"

Just as the Beginning of the story is concerned with setting forth the main situation and its explanatory matter, so the Ending of the story is concerned with setting forth the conclusive act and its explanatory matter. This explanatory matter is concerned with showing the effect of that decisive act upon the characters involved. On line 420 we learn that "Capt. Ogden bowed and left the room." In lines 421-423 we see the effect upon Sir Henry Clinton: "Sir Henry Clinton sank into

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With the Body and Ending thus accounted for there are left only lines 375-416 for the Body of the story. It is in this Body of the story that its only weakness appears. The story might have been better pictorially had the writer shown the effect of Captain Ogden's taunt upon Sir Henry Clinton through his expression or through some other clearly pictorial reaction. In this way the mental struggle could have been indicated. Instead it is left to be implied by the reader.

It is quite obvious that as soon as the reader becomes aware that Sir Henry Clinton has to decide between keeping his word to General Arnold and rescuing Major André his interest is aroused and he will certainly read from there to the end of the story. But the explanatory matter in the first 374 lines is all necessary. It is in these first 374 lines that the writer is faced with his most difficult task. He has to keep the reader interested for the length of time necessary to read those 374 lines.

It is because Mr. O'Connell is a first-rate craftsman and because he understands the depiction of character that he is able to make a good job of this most difficult story. He understands the laws of interest. He knows how to arouse the curiosity of the reader and he knows further, that once having aroused

the curiosity of a reader, it is necessary that that reader be kept interested through seeing forces in action, by seeing two forces meet. In this case, the forces are two human beings. First, Sir Henry Clinton and Captain Delland. Finally Sir Henry Clinton and Captain Ogden. Every writer knows either consciously or subconsciously that the only two ways in which the Anglo-Saxon interest in narrative may be aroused, is by a minor situation of accomplishment or decision and he therefore introduces at the earliest possible moment a minor narrative-question in order to hold the interest of his reader until the main situation or the main narrative-question is clear in that reader's mind.

Mr. O'Connell loses no time in doing this. On line 3 the reader is aware that something is to be accomplished. He is aware of somebody with a narrative purpose and he is also made aware that there is somebody else who holds an opposing view. It is quite clear to the reader on line 3 that Captain Delland is trying to persuade Sir Harry to adopt a course of conduct, and from then on to the end of that encounter the two forces are clashing. The clash is not very vigorous but it is still clash. Wherever there are two forces at variance there is a clash. That is all that it is necessary for any writer to remember in keeping the interest of his reader until he arrives at a main situation. Structurally then, the Beginning of Mr. O'Connell's story is firstrate. It begins with an encounter, switches into another episode or meeting, resumes with an encounter between the soldier from West Point, Captain Ogden, and Sir Harry Clinton. The first of these encounters consumes the first 158 lines. Lines 159-208 are an episode between Sir Harry Clinton and the soldier who comes to announce the arrival of General Arnold. Lines 209-225 are another episode between Sir Harry Clinton and Capt. Delland. It will be noticeable that at the end of each of these meetings there is a definite crisis in the narrative. The first one, at the end of the encounter between Captain Delland and Sir Henry Clinton, makes clear

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to the reader that there is no way of rescuing Major André. This crisis which comes at the close of the episode between Sir Harry Clinton and the soldier makes clear to the reader that Benedict Arnold has arrived and that Sir Harry Clinton is called upon to assume a course of conduct. At line 226 which follows the episode between Captain Delland and Sir Harry Clinton it is evident that Sir Harry Clinton has the utmost disgust for General Arnold. We learn on lines 223-225 "Yet Sir Harry's mouth was puckered in sour disgust as he hearkened to them" (The words of General Arnold.) The result of each of these meetings is a crisis, but in the case of the first meeting the result is a minor crisis. But in the case of the meeting between Sir Harry Clinton and Captain Ogden the main crisis or turning-point, that is the main situation, becomes apparent at line 375.

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An analysis of this story will show that in the story of decision the interest is kept in the explanatory matter by presenting to the reader a number of meetings from which result definite crises or turning-points which indicate the character of the person who is being called upon to make the decision. It is obvious that these turning-points or crises must be the result of real characterization. It is because the characterization in this story is first-rate that Mr. O'Connell has been able to hold the interest of his readers for 374 lines, - an extremely difficult task for any craftsman, one which very few craftsmen essay and one which only a very limited number are able to carry through to a successful completion. This is no task for the amateur. Of course the story is unique in the fact that much of the explanatory matter necessary in an ordinary story is not needed here because of the knowledge which most readers possess of the facts in this story. Everybody knows about the betrayal of West Point. Everybody knows who Benedict Arnold is and who Sir Harry Clinton is, yet even if more explanatory matter were added it is almost certain that Mr. O'Connell is a sufficiently good craftsman to have added it without in any

way detracting from the interest of his story. The real reason for his success in securing and holding the reader's interest is that not only does he fix definite character-traits in each of the people involved but his method of presentation is extremely well chosen. Wherever possible he uses the dramatic method, allowing the story to come to the reader in the words of the character. His own words are used only to interpolate the essential detail which the characters themselves could not give to the reader in their own words without awkwardness or without appearing artificial. It is in covincingness that this story is so good. The language of the speakers is the very diction of the eighteenth century. It is not only the diction of the eighteenth century but the diction of the English officer of that period.

The pictorial effect might have been heightened had the writer given us a slight thumbnail description of at least Sir Henry Clinton. As good a description, for example, as that which appears on lines 231-236, in which the American officer, Captain Ogden, is introduced thus: "He was a squarely-built man in the height of middle age, broad of shoulder, brow and jowl, with stern gray eyes under square gray brows, and a mouth as hard and impassive as if it had been carved of granite." I suppose that Mr. O'Connell felt that everybody knew just how Sir Henry Clinton looked and that no description of him was needed to make him a real personality. This I take particularly to be the case because he does give the description of the American officer whom nobody could have known about particularly, even to the extent of mentioning his dress on lines 243-246: "Captain Ogden opened a scrupulously-brushed, if somewhat shabby dragoon's coat, and took some papers from the inside pocket."

The reason I have analyzed this story is that I wish to bring to the attention of all

people who are interested in creative writing through following this series, the problems that are involved in writing the pure decision type of story when it is told chronologically. The explanatory matter necessary to the understanding of any situation includes the character of the persons involved. The Beginning must introduce them and it must fix a certain trait in the main character or, if possible, more than one trait which will give the reader some inkling as to his possible conduct in the main crises, without indicating too definitely just how he will act, — this reservation being to keep the interest of suspense through uncertainty as to the outcome. The Beginning must also give the time, the place and the social atmosphere in which these happenings are taking place. It must also give the circumstances leading up to the necessity for this decision and it must show beyond question the immediacy and the urgency of the decision. It must show that there is no escape from a decision and it must show further (in the ideal story of this type) that whichever course of conduct the main character pursues, there is likely to be little definite gain. In the story of decision the main character must be in the state of the young man who appealed to the old philosopher asking him whether he advised him to get married or to stay single. The philosopher replied, "Young man, whichever you do, you'll regret it." Quite evidently Mr. O'Connell has shown Sir Henry Clinton to be in just such an undesirable position, but he has fixed his trait so that he has made the result seem inevitable. In short, he has done a first-rate job of craftsmanship, one which is worth the attention of every serious student of creative writing, particularly in that form which we now call "the modern short-story," and more especially in that special division of the form which presents the story of decision told chronologically.

THE SAUNTERER

BURGES JOHNSON

"That was a horrible story! The author had no right to harrow my feelings in such fashion." "A disgusting play! The dramatist had no right to draw from such sources."

"Who questions my right?" says the writer. "The world is mine to draw from, the goodness and the badness of it; I may seek my truth from the muddiest depths, if I choose. Stop me by force and Art suffers."

Of course the author is right, and yet I do not believe that the whole broad question can be dismissed so summarily.

Several years ago a young writer brought three sketches to a certain classroom and read them aloud to her associates. They were not especially well written. Doubtless they displayed many weaknesses of structure or diction. I remember little about that. Yet I do remember the ideas in all three of them vividly, though a thousand manuscripts good and bad have flowed through the mill since that time; and I remember that her small audience sat hushed and tense while they were read. Let me recall two of them; perhaps the author herself who has done much writing since that day will see these words and smile reminiscently. They were about animalsand children. In one of them a child was carrying a kitten home in a paper bag. It was a little kitten and a little child, and she held the bag high as she ran. Some teasing small boys saw, and thought that food was in the bag. So they urged their dog after her and laughed to see it leaping for the treasure. They themselves were too young to understand the utter terror in her screams. Finally the dog jumped high enough, seized the bag and tore it and its contents to pieces before her eyes.

The other told of a farmer who drowned a

litter of kittens. Some perverted sense of the grotesque led him to put the dead bodies back in their basket while the mother cat was away. Just as she was returning to her young a bull-dog approached and she faced him in defense of her family, and was killed.

Pretty fancies, were they not! The immediate and general comment was that the author "had no right" to offer them. Yet by what right could anyone attempt to stop her?

Let me try to present this question in a totally different way. I have seen a group of amateur actors presenting tragedy. As actors they were stilted; they mouthed their lines badly; and what should have been dramatic became melodramatic and caused a laugh. Yet when death itself made its presence felt upon the stage the audience was hushed for a time. Death is a stately, dramatic figure, garb him how you will. He is well known; he needs no interpreter. Let Death stalk across any stage and a hush will fall; and poor actors, misled by it, might say to themselves, “Now we are good!" I think anyone will agree with me that it would have taken more skill to enact the commonplace and bring a moment's hush upon an unruly audience.

Surely the tests of art are tests of interpretation. It is what the artist contributes to his theme which is the test of his power. "Death shall be one of my characters" says the young playright; "He shall act for me and thrill my audience." But of course He will not come unless He is brought; that is, He must be handled somehow or other. And can this young playright handle Him? What does he know of Death? But though he siezes Him awkwardly and dresses Him crudely, the stately figure stands there, humiliated; and again the hush falls.

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