The Borzoi 1920/Postscript
POSTSCRIPT
A number of books are scheduled for publication in October. Some will doubtless be delayed, as manufacturing conditions are still difficult and transportation none too certain. However, I am bound to have out before the holidays three unusually charming gift books.
Van Vechten's "The Tiger in the House" is the only complete account in English of the domestic cat. It is Carlo's magnum opus and I have made in it, I think, quite the handsomest of all my books. A large octavo bound in half canvas with purple Japanese Toyogami sides stamped in gold. The text is set in Caslon old style type, and printed on India Tint Art Craft laid paper and since no more of this is to be manufactured till the indefinite future—if then—the edition for 1920 consists of only two thousand numbered copies. The book runs to almost four hundred pages, with bibliography and index and there are thirty-two full pages of the most charming cat pictures you ever saw. The price should be seven-fifty.
I am peculiarly proud to offer "Seven Men" by Max Beerbohm—the "incomparable Max." These five stories were published in London last year by William Heinemann, but my edition will be different. For "Max" has given us an inimitable appendix and six drawings to illustrate it and neither text nor pictures have ever been printed before. Thus the Borzoi "Seven Men" becomes a real "first" and an item for collectors. On this account and because in order to give the book the odd shape (square octavo) I wanted I had to have the paper specially manufactured, the first printing consists of just two thousand numbered copies. It will probably be impossible to make further copies before next year. The probable price—four dollars.
W. H. Hudson's "A Little Boy Lost" is now accepted, I fancy, as a classic for children of all ages. Dorothy P. Lathrop, whom many of you will remember for her delightfully imaginative pictures done last year for Walter de la Mare's "The Three Mulla Mulgars," has illustrated the Hudson book con amore. The result is a singularly fine large octavo wholly successful, I think, as to paper, printing, and binding. I hoped this would not cost more than five dollars, but I fear the price must be set at six.
(By the way, I should like readers to realize this: that I try to make Borzoi Books as well as I know how. Then I base the price on what they cost to make. I do not fix the price first and then try to trim the quality so as to come within that price.)
Joseph Hergesheimer's "San Cristobal de la Habana" is not fiction. It is about Havana full of the colour he loves and of which he is a master—and Joe himself. It will please and interest his friends; it will probably enrage his enemies. But so engaging and candid a book will certainly be read. The first edition at any rate will be printed on Warren's India Tint Olde Style paper and bound in half black cloth, with Chinese Orange board sides spattered with gold. Three fifty is the price and there will be a hundred numbered copies printed on Shathmore Laid paper, specially bound and autographed at seven-fifty.
I planned Mencken's "Prejudices" to be an annual affair and the second series will be ready in October. It will be as provoking (and I hope and believe as popular) as its predecessor, though it will deal less with books and more with the ideas underlying them. The price will remain, for the moment anyway, two dollars.
"The Gate of Ivory" is Sidney L. Nyburg's latest and by far his most ambitious novel. The scene is the Baltimore of not so many years ago, and the story of Eleanor Gwynn, irresponsible, but brimful of audacity and charm, and Allen Conway, is close enough to the facts of a famous Maryland scandal to start it fairly on the way to the success I think it deserves. Two twenty-five, but as is likely to be the case with many books, the price will have to go up with subsequent editions, as a considerable increase in binding costs is expected this fall as well as some increase in printing.
I have the greatest confidence in Floyd Dell. He's a different fellow, though, and doesn't seem to have anything like the same kind of confidence in himself. But anyway last year I got him to write "Were You Ever a Child?"—essays on education as charming as their title, and now—at long last—I have his first novel. "Moon-Calf" is a real book or I'm sadly mistaken. It's by far the best first novel by an American that has ever been offered me. The scene is our Middle West, and the story—obviously autobiographical—shows the influence of H. G. Wells in a way that marks, I think, a new note in our literature. Anyway I recommend "Moon-Calf" to every reader who cares a damn for my opinion of a novel; I want the book to sell so that Floyd Dell may be amply encouraged to do its sequel (when you read it you'll see it has to have one). Probable price two-fifty.
Andre Tridon's "Psychoanalysis and Behavior" is rather more of a real book than his first. It has a more organic unity—reads easier and is all in all a more finished product. Incidentally—though Tridon told me once that he was going to rewrite his first book every year for a different publisher—"Psychoanalysis and Behavior" duplicates none of the material in "Psychoanalysis." The price is two-fifty.
The Atlantic Monthly occupies a unique position among our magazines, and most publishers, I think, realize the recommendation that serialization in it carries to readers of books. I am particularly glad, therefore, to say that Mr. Sedgwick printed several instalments of "Letters of a Javanese Princess" by Raden Adjeng Kartini in his magazine, where they aroused a good deal of interest and discussion. The original manuscript was very long and contained much indifferent material, so under our direction the translator, Mrs. Symmers, cut it down and prepared a careful, informing, introduction about Kartini, who, by the way, was the youngest daughter of a Javanese regent and probably the first feminist of the Orient. Then at the suggestion of Mrs. Knopf, whose favourite book this is, I asked Louis Couperus, the great Dutch novelist, to write a special introduction for our edition. His pages, few, but wholly charming, are an interesting feature of the book. A square octavo: probable price, four dollars.
I have reason to believe that "The Foundations of Social Science," by James Mickel Williams, is a book that one can justly term epoch-making. Anyway, the work represents almost ten years out of the author's life—years spent teaching in a small college rather than a large one, because only there could he hope to have sufficient time to devote to it. The manuscript was read for the author, and offered me for publication by an authority in whom I have the very greatest confidence—Charles A. Beard, formerly Professor of Politics at Columbia University and now director of the Bureau of Municipal Research in New York. In his book Professor Williams explains the human element in the motives of respect for law and the causes of increasing disrespect; the economic and political attitudes of employers on the one hand and labour on the other; progressive and reactionary judicial attitudes, especially with respect to labour legislation; the causes of national feeling and international rivalry and the difficulties in establishing a League of Nations. Ought not such a work prove of value and interest to intelligent citizens today? It will be a large octavo running to over five hundred pages and the price will probably be six dollars.
Last year Mr. Mencken got for me, and I published in his The Free Lance Books, "Ventures in Common Sense," by E. W. Howe, of Atchison, Kansas. Immediately afterwards most enthusiastic letters reached the author from the big editors in the country—such men as Edward Bok, late of The Ladies' Home Journal, John M. Siddall of The American Magazine, Don C. Seitz of The New York World, as well as letters from the presidents of very large corporations telling of their admiration for Mr. Howe's philosophy. It seemed to me then as it does now that whether or not you agree with him and more than likely you will disagree—Mr. Howe should be more widely known, particularly in the East. His unique little monthly is read almost exclusively by the really important people of the country, but the average man or woman would find it highly entertaining. For "Ed " Howe is the Middle West and the plain American incarnate and in his new book, "The Anthology of Another Town," he presents a panorama, really, of a typically middle western small town. The price is two dollars.
A very important event in the book world will be, I think, the publication of a translation of Knut Hamsun's "Hunger." It is difficult to say why Hamsun is not known, really widely known, in the United States. A translation of one of his books was published a few years ago. But those who know Hamsun in the original seem to agree that "Shallow Soil" was the worst possible novel to select for launching him in America. I have been told of the greatness of Hamsun for a full five years now and at last I am stirred to action. There can be no question whatever that he is far and away the leading Scandinavian writer of the day, and if one may judge from the acclaim with which "Growth of the Soil" has been received in England, one of the very greatest writers of our age. You can read about him in The Encyclopoedia Britannica and you will learn there that "Hunger" is the book that first made him famous—almost a generation ago. This competent translation was first published in England in 1899, but Edwin Bjorkman's informing, useful introduction, was specially written for me.
Many who read this have doubtless already seen the little printed fall announcements that went out from my office some months ago. In some respects this announcement is inaccurate. For example, I shall not publish de Bekker's "Cuba." Mr. de Bekker was delayed in getting the manuscript written and as the book required elaborate and special handling from an advertising point of view—it was to carry much advertising matter—I decided finally that since he was able to get another publisher it would be better so.
Over a year ago I persuaded Dr. A. A. Goldenweiser of The New York School for Social Research to undertake to write a good general introduction to anthropology—for the average reader. This was announced as "The Groundwork of Civilization," but as Dr. Goldenweiser has only just delivered his manuscript, the book must go over until next year.
*****
And now I would like to say something about my plans for 1921. In a general sort of way I want to give more attention to the work of American authors and publish more American books. American publishers show, I believe, altogether too much deference to work that reaches us from England. Obviously most of the time the young English novelist is a better craftsman than the American, but there are springing up all over the United States—in Detroit, St. Louis and Washington as well as New York, men and women who do know how to write and who have observed to advantage the life about them. To bring forward work of this kind shall be my chief aim. However, we must give the devil his due even if he be a foreigner, and I am quite sure that the feature of our spring list (I cannot be positive of this because at the time of writing negotiations are still in progress) will be our representation in America of the great Danish house of Gyldendal. Gyldendal were established in Copenhagen in 1770 and control today the majority of the best books published in Denmark and Norway. Not long ago they opened a branch in London especially for the publication of English translations of the books they control. I plan next spring to bring out the first of these, as follows:
"Growth of the Soil," by Knut Hamsun. H. G. Wells has written Messrs. Gyldendal as follows regarding this novel:
Easton Glebe,
Dunmow,
June 18, 1920.
Dear Sirs:
I have not yet written to thank you for sending me "Growth of the Soil" and making me acquainted with the work of Knut Hamsun. I am ashamed to say I have never before read a book by this great writer and indeed I did not know of his existence until now. It amazes me that he has so long been kept from the English reading public and the sooner you give us more of him the better I shall be pleased. I do not know how to express the admiration I feel for this wonderful book without seeming to be extravagant. I am not usually lavish with my praise but indeed the book impresses me as among the very greatest novels I have ever read. It is wholly beautiful; it is saturated with wisdom and humour and tenderness; these peasants are a triumph of creative understanding. I have seen no reviews here that do justice to this work. But I find my friends talking of it and, as it were, getting up their courage to appreciate it at its proper value. Give us one or two more books by Hamsun in English and our sluggish but on the whole fairly honest criticism will begin to realize the scale he is built upon—I say as much.
Very sincerely yours,
(Signed) H. G. Wells.
"The Song of the Blood Red Flower," by the Finn, Johannes Linnankoski—a poetical tale of love which has created a veritable furor on the continent.
"Grim," from the Danish of Svend Fleuron, a remarkable nature story—the life of a pike.
"Jenny," by a Danish woman novelist, Sigrid Undset—to my mind an intensely interesting feminist novel—honest, convincing and moving.
"The Sworn Brothers," a stirring tale of ancient Iceland, by Gunnar Gunnarsson, the leading Icelandic novelist—and a man who will bear watiching. (His "Guest the One-Eyed" will follow.)
Once these books are out I expect that Gyldendal will send me over four or six new ones each season.
There will be two new detective stories by J. S. Fletcher, entitled probably "The Chestermarke Instinct" and "The Borough Treasurer," as well as "The Wine of Life," a novel of the studio and the stage by Arthur Stringer, author of "The Prairie Mother," etc. Late in the season I expect to publish a new book by E. R. Punshon, whose "The Solitary House" was so well received two years ago. "Old Fighting Days" is an exciting tale of adventure and of the ringside in England in the days of Napoleon. These are books for entertainment pure and simple, but the volume of animal stories, by Hal G. Evarts, author of "The Cross Pull," should be more than just that;—in fact, of universal and compelling interest.
January second should see the appearance of George Jean Nathan's new book, "The Theatre, the Drama, the Girls." It will be very similar to his last, "Comedians All," quite his most successful—so far. At the same time John V. A. Weaver's book of poems in the American language, should be ready. We are calling it "In America," and it ought to attract a great deal of attention. The poems tell for the most part, good stories in the fascinating American vernacular.
This will be followed after an interval with a book (as yet unnamed) of characteristic light verse by "Morrie" Ryskind. "Morrie" is one of the best-known contributors to F. P. A.'s famous The Conning Tower in The New York Tribune, and F. P. A. himself has had not a little to do with the getting together of this book.
For a great many years all sorts of people whose opinions I respect have been talking to me about the novels of E. M. Forster. Finally Mr. Galsworthy, when he was last over here, told me about "Where Angels Fear to Tread," which had never been published in the United States. I issued it last year, and although it did not have the sale I had hoped for, I am going right on reissuing Mr. Forster's novels. The next will be "Howard's End," which has been out of print for a number of years. The regard which competent critics have for Mr. Forster's work is very striking. A number of them, in fact, feel certain that it is only a matter of time before Forster's work will be revived as has been that of Samuel Butler. We shall see. Meanwhile I have two other novels by Forster in line for publication, one of which has never been published in America.
Early last year I published "The Secret Battle," a first novel by A. P. Herbert, a young Englishman. The book to me is still, as it was then, the very finest English novel that has come out of the war. Mr. Herbert has written a second novel entitled "The House by the River." It is not, like "The Secret Battle," the overflow of an intense emotional experience—it has nothing to do with the war. It is, in fact, a first rate murder story and of a very unusual kind. But the style of the first book is there,—my, how the man can write—the style that The Westminster Gazette said was "in many ways reminiscent of Defoe's ... the model of the plain tale ... in which no artistic method of purpose obtrudes itself, but which nevertheless makes a single decisive artistic effect on the reader."
Some other poetry will be Richard Aldington's "Medallions in Clay," translations mostly from the Greek; Conrad Aiken's "Punch: the Immortal Liar"—a splendid title I think—and a volume by Michael Strange to be illustrated by John Barrymore.
Andre Tridon will have a new volume entitled "Psychoanalysis, Sleep and Dreams," Joseph Hergesheimer expects to gather into "The Meeker Ritual" those stories which attracted so much attention when they appeared in The Century, and H. L. Mencken's "In Defense of Women," at present out of print, will be reissued—reset from an entirely revised manuscript. Mencken's "The American Language," by the way, greatly enlarged, revised and entirely reset, will be published (probably in two large volumes) in the fall of 1921.
Other books that I expect to have ready in the spring are "Deadlock," the sixth volume in Dorothy Richardson's now famous Pilgrimage Series, a fifth volume in Mencken's The Free Lance Books, "Democracy and the Will to Power," by James N. Wood, and a unique anthology of Devil Stories for which the editor, Dr. Maximilian J. Rudwin, formerly of Johns Hopkins University, has drawn on the literature of many countries. Dr. Rudwin has planned a series of diabolical anthologies of which this is to be the first.
I could go on, I suppose more or less indefinitely unfolding my plans for the future—they lay, didn't Clarence Day say earlier in this book, "like onions on rafters"—but one must stop sometime and so I will speak only of two other books, both of them really unusual.
One, "In the Claws of the Dragon," is a novel dealing with the marriage of an aristocratic young Chinaman—one of the bureaucrats—to a well-to-do French girl. The author, George Soulie de Morant is one of the most famous of French Sinologists, and his book presents as well as a fascinating and exciting story, a striking picture of life and customs in the country of Po-Chui.
The other book, "Children of No Man's Land," introduces another young English novelist, G. B. Stern. The manuscript was sent to one of my most trusted and capable readers. Here is his comment: "This book is the most brilliant and perfect study that exists of 1, the ultra-modern studio crowd, and 2, the hyphenate in war time; and it touches with wonderful deftness a variety of other matters—the Jews and Zionism; patriotism and internationalism; marriage and free love; heredity, convention and revolt." I shall say no more, but I reproduce here a little sketch made by H. G. Wells after reading "Children of No Man's Land":
52, ST JAMES'S COURT,
BUCKINGHAM GATE. S.W. 1.
