practice of direct marketing, because of its effect not so much on the individual, as on the whole writing profession. While the honorable practice of giving careful consideration to every manuscript submitted is still being scrupulously observed by editors, the "weeding-out" must now be turned over to a corps of staff readers. These people, however excellent judges they may be of the quality of the stuff they read, cannot take upon themselves the authority to encourage or make suggestions to anyone who submits an unsatisfactory manuscript. That is the function of the editor alone. The direct result of this flooding, then, is the loss of that personal contact between editor and young writer which has in the past contributed so much to the development of many of our leading authors.

From the above, it appears that there are serious objections to the unrestricted employment of direct marketing methods under modern conditions and that there is a very real reason for the setting up of some sort of experimental organization to attack the marketing problem from a new angle. Remembering that Mr. Johnson's objection to the existing machinery is based soundly on human nature, and remembering also that the evil which has thrown the literary bureau into disrepute is a scrambling of functions, we might reasonably expect that relief might come through a sharper definition of functions.

The first-class literary agent has made a place for himself. He will retain it because he is a real economic unit. There is, no less, a place for the manuscript critic, so long as he

claims to be nothing more. There also appears to be room for another new type which might be called the Marketing Counsel. There are plenty of free-lance writers around New York who have had sufficient editorial experience to qualify as marketing experts. There must be some who would be willing, for a small fee based on the number of words in a manuscript, to read it and recommend to the writer the possible markets. If the manuscript were so poor as to be unsalable, the Counsel should so state frankly, possibly recommending that it be sent to a manuscript critic. If he believed it salable, he should submit a list of the likeliest markets in order of preference, leaving to the writer the task of mailing it to these markets. When he received a manuscript so good that it appeared subject to competitive bidding among editors, he should refer the writer to a literary agent, expecting as a return courtesy that the agent would refer to him those who submitted unsolicited manuscripts.

It appears that the establishment of such a unit as the Marketing Counsel in the machinery — perhaps in the form of a loose organization of four or five men - would benefit (1) the writer by saving his time for productive work, (2) the editor by cutting down the number of unwanted manuscripts, (3) the literary agent by providing a non-competitive dumping ground for unsolicited material, (4) the manuscript critic by furnishing a selective feeder of clients.

The experiment seems at least worthy of a trial.

FIFTH READER. By McGuffey. New York: American Book Company. $.68.

In McGuffey's Fifth Reader the modernist school of novel-writing reaches its logical culmination. Here at length the shackles of plot are courageously cast aside, the superstition of unity is discarded, and at a stroke this fearlessly modern writer rids us once for all of the pitiful devices employed by the outmoded Victorianism of our contemporary grandparents. Even the limitations of prose have been transcended. McGuffey alternates his prose with verse of the most unimpeachable respectability.

In the crude ruggedness, the shrewd mastery and power of his book, Mr. McGuffey at times suggests that he is following in the footsteps of James Joyce, though I do not think that he quite attains the joyous abandon of Ulysses certainly the most abandoned book ever written.

But McGuffey's Fifth Reader employs several devices which not even Joyce has ever attempted, to say nothing of Marcel Proust. Mr. McGuffey, for example, explains all words that are hard, or even unusual. Thus the narrative pauses from time to time to make room for a paragraph which the novelist

with that delicious wit which is so peculiarly his own - calls "Definitions." In it we are told that a "rift" is "a narrow opening, a cleft," that a "height (pro. hite)" is "an elevated place," and that "petals" are "the colored leaves of a flower." Again, "Marines"

are described as "soldiers that serve on board a ship." Many a modern novelist has written tales that might better have been told to the marines; but Mr. McGuffey is the first writer to define that justly celebrated corps. His method of treating it differs markedly from that of Mr. Laurence Stallings.

The McGuffey method of inserting definitions is one that Mr. Joyce might profitably have employed; for in Ulysses he unquestionably uses a number of words the definition of which would be of extreme interest. Though few of them can be called unfamiliar, their definition would add immeasurably to his success in dealing with those aspects of life which he has made characteristically his own. Here is one point in which the great author of Ulysses—it is as much as a critic's literary life is worth to deny his greatnessmight have learned from the McGuffey method. Perhaps he did. Who can tell?

And yet there are a few points of dissimilarity not very many between McGuffey's Fifth Reader and Joyce's Ulysses. It is hardly to be denied that in Ulysses, il y a des longueurs. In McGuffey's there are no longueurs everything, in fact, is exceedingly short. Variety is the spice, not only of life, but of McGuffey's Fifth Reader. And here again it is like Ulysses.

Another resemblance. In that remarkable work there were a number of distinct reminiscences of earlier literary style. There were passages reminiscent of Homer. There were

others imitated from the great Elizabethans. There were still others which were clearly imitated from nothing, since they were like nothing under the sun.

Now precisely this is true of McGuffey's Fifth Reader. Here are passages whose style vaguely recalls passages in Hamlet — a play a play by the Elizabethan playwright, Shakspere. And there are two daringly modern dramatic passages in which the human skull is unblushingly brought into the narrative. In Victorian times such exhibitions were relegated to the medical profession. But the daring modernism of McGuffey nowhere shows to better advantage than in his fearless facing of the facts of life. If a skull is not a fact of life, what is? McGuffey is, of course, deeply touched what truly vital writer of fiction is not? by the World War; and the reflections of his character, old Caspar, on the war dead are gallantly pacifistic. Equally virile is the scene in which a grave digger exhumes the skull of a certain Yorick, who appears to have been in Y. M. C. A. work as an entertainer behind the lines.

The sex problem as affected by the war is unflinchingly faced in the story of faithless Nelly Gray. McGuffey is entirely modern in his frank handling of the sex problem. He does not hesitate to face the vital facts of human existence, and in a rich and sensuous Oriental passage in verse describes the extraordinary adventures of his hero, Abou Ben Adhem. Here, I think, McGuffey misses a chance to employ the Freudian psychology. It would certainly be interesting to hear a psychoanalytic interpretation of Abou Ben Adhem's dream. Surely there is no better place for psychoanalysis than fiction, for where is there so much fiction as in psychoanalysis? McGuffey does, however, attack the population problem and in one unforgettable line writes frankly of Abou Ben Adhem "may his tribe increase" a piece of intellectual honesty that in the Nineteenth century would have damned a writer forever. Nor is the Oriental influence, which is so marked in postwar literature, lacking in McGuffey. The at

mosphere in which the adventures of Abou Ben Adhem are unfolded affords clear evidence of that.

In the contest for a multiplicity of themes which is now engaging the best efforts of modern novelists, modern novelists, Mr. McGuffey easily snatches the lead from his contemporaries. In two, or at most four, pages he is able to dispose of a theme of vital and gripping interest. So important is the advance in the art which he makes in this direction that one is tempted to quote at length from the first chapter. The theme unquestionably is "Elocution Omnia Vincit" and here is the way he develops it:

I. THE GOOD READER

1. It is told of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, that, as he was seated one day in his private room, a written petition was brought to him with the request that it should be immediately read. The King had just returned from hunting, and the glare of the sun, or some other cause, had so dazzled his eyes that he found it difficult to make out a single word of the writing.

2. His private secretary happened to be absent; and the soldier who brought the petition could not read. There was a page, or favorite boy servant, waiting in the hall, and upon him the King called. The page was a son of one of the noblemen of the court, but proved to be a very poor reader.

3. In the first place, he did not articulate distinctly. He huddled his words together in the utterance, as if they were syllables of one long word, which he must get through with as speedily as possible. His pronunciation was bad, and he did not modulate his voice so as to bring out the meaning of what he read. Every sentence was uttered with a dismal monotony of voice, as if it did not differ in any respect from that which preceded it.

4. "Stop!" said the King, impatiently. "Is it an auctioneer's list of goods to be sold that you are hurrying over? Send your companion to me." Another page who stood at the door now entered, and to him the King gave the petition. The second page began by hemming and clearing his throat in such an affected manner that the King jokingly asked him whether he had not slept in the public garden, with the gate open, the night before.

5. The second page had a good share of selfconceit, however, and so was not greatly confused by the King's jest. He determined that he would avoid the mistake which his comrade had made. So he commenced reading the petition slowly and with great formality, emphasizing every word, and pro