Letters to The Little Review

What an insouciant little pagan paper you flourish before our bewildered eyes! Please accept the congratulations of a stranger.

But you must not scoff at age, little bright eyes, for some day you, too, will know age; and you should not jeer at robustness of form, slim one, for the time may come when you, too, will find the burdens of flesh upon you. Above all, do not proclaim too loudly the substitution of Nietzsche for Jesus of the Little Town in the niche of your invisible temple, for when you are broken and forgotten there is no comfort in the Overman.

One thing more: Restraint is sometimes better than expression. One who has learned this lesson cannot refrain from saying this apropos of the first paragraphs in the criticism of The Dark Flower. Do not give folk a chance to misunderstand you. Being a woman, you have to pay too high a price for moments of high intellectual orgy.

Forgive all this and go on valiantly.

Sade Iverson. Chicago.

I am greatly indebted for a copy of The Little Review. I take this opportunity of stating that the publication is one of the cleverest and best things I have seen. It deserves success, for it contains stuff which will compare very favorably with the best that is being written.

G. Frank Lydston. Chicago.

Will you allow me to congratulate you on your magnificent effort in bringing out The Little Review?

I have found it very refreshing after having suffered for so long by reading the so-called book review magazines that have no right to more than passing notice.

You have accomplished wonders, and if your efforts of the future come up to those put into the first number of The Little Review, your success is assured.

The best wish I can offer is that its path may be covered with roses and bordered with the trees of prosperity.

Again congratulating you, I am, with every good wish, very truly yours,

Lee A. Stone, M. D. Chicago.

The Little Review came this morning! And I have read it all! And I love it! Much more than I expected, to be perfectly honest! I feared something too radical—too modern—if that is possible. If it had been like The Masses—well, I can never express my contempt for that sheet. But you’re perfectly sane, intelligent, readable, and enthusiastic—gloriously so!

Your description of Kreisler is worth much to me. It is precisely what I have always felt about him. Paderewski, too. But I think the Mason and Hamlin reference a little too commercial. I realize you want The Little Review to be straightforward, honest, intimate, etc., but I fear that kind of thing will be taken as advertisement and not as a personal belief and enthusiasm.

If I should never know anything more of Mr. George Soule than his sonnet and New York letter I should have to like him. The man who could feel and write that last paragraph is a splendid type.

But the whole thing is beautiful, and worth while, whether you agree with it all or not. A thousand congratulations!

Agnes Darrow. Dayton, Ohio.

[Of course our remarks about the Mason and Hamlin violated all journalistic traditions. But traditions are so likely to need violation, and diplomacy and caution are such uninteresting qualities! What we feel and tried to say about that piano is that it’s as definitely a work of art as good poetry or good music. Why not say so, quite naturally? We know something of the man who is responsible for its quality of tone; he’s as authentic an artist as those musicians who create on his foundations. Is there any reason why such an achievement is not to be mentioned in a journal that means to devote itself to beauty? Is anything vital ever gained by a cautious regard for “on dit”? Above all, if one can discover no importance in journalistic tradition of that type, why defer to it?—The Editor.]

I haven’t got over your beautiful magazine yet. Don’t let anybody keep you from making it a truthful expression of yourself—but you won’t.

First of all, it’s beautifully made. You couldn’t have done better typographically. It’s the most inviting magazine published. I like the color and the paper label.

Second, its spirit blows keen and with a pure fragrance. If you can continue to show such freshness you will have gone far toward achieving the goal Mr. Galsworthy urges—that “sleeping out under the stars” which cleans our hearts of all things artificial.

With sincerest congratulations,

Henry S. New York.

I am very much pleased with the first issue of The Little Review. I am very glad to know that such a thing should be started, and it should be both a cause and an effect of better times in literature. I shall do everything I can to make it better known.

William Lyon Phelps. Yale University.

When I found that the local bookstores had sold out their first orders of The Little Review I was delighted; for it meant folks were interested in the fledgeling. The first number deserves the praise and congratulations of everybody interested in literature; everything in it is fine, even unto the composition of the “ad” pages. With its fresh, cheerful note The Little Review very fittingly comes forth on the first day of Spring. Long may it spread sweetness and light.

W. W. G. Chicago.

There are so many things that I admire in the first issue of The Little Review that I find it difficult to decide just where to begin. It was like taking up a copy of the Preludes of Debussy for the first time; after playing them over and over again I found it difficult to know whether it was what he said or the way he said it which held the greater charm for me. I congratulate you most sincerely on the distinct personal quality which is so evident in your magazine and you may count upon me to rejoice with you if it meets with anything like the great success which it so distinctly merits.

F. L. R. Chicago.

Your new publication has just fallen into my hands. The vital thing!

I cannot begin to tell you what its pulsating, teeming import means to me. I know nothing today in magazine form that will mean so much to busy, thinking people.

Nannie C. Love. Indianapolis.

Please let me offer my sincerest congratulations and my warmest wishes for the continued success of The Little Review. There are numerous points in the first issue that I should like to discuss with you; I must warn you that you are tempting your readers and must not be surprised if you are overwhelmed with letters, questioning, approving, and criticising.

The foreword strikes such a splendid note! I hope no criticism will influence you to change it.

You agree, evidently, with the point that The Dark Flower suggests a Greek classic; so do I. But, conceding that, how could you have been surprised that countless people care nothing for it? Don’t you know that the majority of people in the world do not really “possess” the Greek classics? Without the background of the world’s thought, ages ago, and its progress—unless we agree with Alfred Russell Wallace that we have made no progress—can’t you see that The Dark Flower could genuinely startle many people? So I beg for less sharpness toward those who do not feel the wonder of it. The tragedy is in their lives.

For just the same reason Jean Christophe belongs to a few, comparatively. If you had never before felt the power of a great epic, could you really grasp this one? Modern as we claim to be—and independent—must there not be some foundation? Oh dear!—I do want to tell you why I think Vanity Fair is greater than Succession and why Ysaye’s music is inspired—when I listen, at least. But one can’t go on forever.

Since the “Critics’ Critic” expressed a doubt about that quotation from Euripides and since you insisted that it sounded like a Gilbert Murray translation, you may be glad to know that it is both. But you quoted it wrong. It is from Aeolus, a lost play, and this is the correct version:

I do agree that “a million, million changing things” is somehow more perfect; I even agree now, though not at first, with the order of attributes: “She brings more joy than any god, she brings more pain.” On a re-reading of Aeolus I am taken with the way you misquoted it. Joy was surely first in the Greek’s life. And of course the human beauty of the thing made me think immediately of the way Mrs. Browning “struck off” Euripides:

Katherine Tappert. Davenport, Iowa.

... I don’t know when I’ve read anything so inspiring as that letter from Galsworthy. Can’t all of you who are helping to make the magazine arrange to march up to it mentally and present your “copy” for approval before you decide to print it?

I like the article on Paderewski and the one about The Dark Flower. But do be careful of “beauty” and “passion.” It’s easy to make them commonplace. Also spare your adjectives a bit; you don’t need an adjective for everything. I realize that your abbreviations are made in the interest of readableness, but however informal you want to make it you only succeed in sounding hideously colloquial. It doesn’t read well, and it makes me feel that you’re trying to achieve through the style what ought to be achieved quite simply through the material itself. Not that I approve of anything stilted, but you can easily overdo the other side of it. And wouldn’t it be better to leave some of the things unsigned? People who don’t know that the various Anderson contributors are unrelated will think it’s rather a family monopoly.

The Ficke poems are exquisite; and how I love Nicholas Vachel Lindsay’s! Also I like the New York letter very much, but George Soule’s Major Symphony could just as well be unwritten. Poetry has to be so much better than that to be real poetry. Another thing: I think your quotations from Succession weren’t as efficient as you hoped. It’s a book that can’t well be quoted except to one who knows it.

You wanted frankness, so here it is. Otherwise, I have nothing but praise for the whole glorious undertaking!

Lois Allen Peters. Philadelphia.

[Being a sister of the editor, Mrs. Peters speaks her mind with a freedom that enchants us. It also helps us—though we want to shake her for one or two of those remarks. However—may her letter serve as a model to timid but opinionated readers!—The Editor.]

If you will allow me to be perfectly frank about your first issue, I should like to tell you that The Little Review seems rather too esthetic in tone and spirit to avoid being “restrictive”—a wish you expressed in your editorial. There is not enough variety in it, for one thing. For another, some of its critical judgments are too personal—are too largely temperamental judgments—to be of any permanent value. You seem to have set out to exploit personalities; and there’s a juvenility in many of the articles that I’m afraid you’ll all blush for in ten years.

A Well-Meaning Critic.

The first number of The Little Review came as a delightful surprise and I have enjoyed reading it. I particularly appreciate the spirit of appreciation running through the pages, which I believe will be of inestimable service to young writers, if you are able to keep it up.

M. K. New York.

The Little Review looks very interesting. I hope to have the pleasure of reading it through very soon, but at the moment my small sister is devouring it and refuses absolutely to give it up. If you are as successful in pleasing women generally as you have been in pleasing her you need have no fear for the success of the magazine.

J. C. P. New York.

Professor Foster’s essay on The Prophet of a New Culture is magnificent—a soul-searching, heart-breaking bit of writing, fiery and tragic. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay’s How a Little Girl Danced is a delightful thing—airy, high-minded, and full of his burning spirit. In fact, The Little Review is full of things that one reads with a keen zest.

W. L. C. Denver.

The Little Review came to hand promptly, but I was unable to read it until last night. That is where I made my first mistake, as I had been denying myself a very pleasant two hours. My second mistake was in having read it at all, as it has now become one of those eight or ten journals which are always welcome and more or less necessary. Ten journals each month (and some weeklies), quietly yet insistently urging me to take them up, are like those good friends who tempt me with an outing in Spring when work is crowding. So with The Little Review. It has with one reading become a distinctly individual friend.

W. M. L. Philadelphia.

Your Little Review has just reached me. I took it home for leisurely examination on Sunday. I congratulate you upon launching and hope that you’ll meet no adverse trade winds in your voyage. Its atmosphere is certainly anything but editorial, and you’ve put plenty of your own personality into it. And what a delightfully charming letter is that from Galsworthy!

I should take sharp issue with you on one or two slight points could I face you across a lunch table, but as it is, I tuck my differences away, with a sigh of envy at your enthusiasm, and the sincere wish that you may always keep it.

With best wishes for your good luck.

Beatrice L. Miller. Boston.

I think your first number very interesting indeed, and congratulate you on your fine start. I am always delighted with every new manifestation of the life and enthusiasm in Chicago!

With best wishes for your future.

Alice C. Henderson. Chicago.

... I’ve fallen in love with M. H. P., “The Critics’ Critic.” She’s just the sort of person I’d like to go and talk with this afternoon. Please ask her to write a letter properly sitting on Agnes Repplier for her Atlantic essays. A very delicate, cultured, polite little woman sitting behind a tea-table in her aloof apartment, and given over to well-bred sneering at things she doesn’t know anything about—that’s how I picture Miss Repplier.

A Contributor.

The Little Review is here, and I have so enjoyed going over it.

It is a great first number and sets a pace that would have made most of us breathless before we started; but anyone can know it isn’t so with you, from that last paragraph of your announcement. It was lovely!

I loved the Paderewski, too. Was there anything more wonderful than the glory of the Funeral March as he played it the afternoon of his first recital here this winter? I know you heard it from the way you write of it. An emotion that brings the tears and makes the sobs struggle in the back of your throat is always worth living through, and I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds.

With the best of good wishes.

Mabel Reber. Chicago.

I want to tell you how very good the first issue of The Little Review is. I don’t know what the succeeding numbers will be like, but you have set a pace in this one that will demand some vigorous effort to keep up. After that “gripping” announcement no one will doubt the real purpose of the Review and the fine optimism that is behind it. I don’t have to believe everything you are going to print, but if those who write it do, by all means keep them together. And don’t let George Soule get away.

It’s too early to make suggestions, but I should say that Number One is well balanced and very readable, and I like the trick of throwing the light on from different angles—like the Galsworthy and Nietzsche discussions. The tone is high, and I am quite sure I never read more intelligent reviews anywhere.

Good luck to The Little Review!

J. D. Marney. Springfield, Ill.

Will you let me thank you for giving me a very pleasant experience in reading the first copy of The Little Review? There are many things in the first number which arouse one’s interest, though I am not sure that I would at all agree in all the critical judgments which are there pronounced. Anyway, you will let me wish you all success, and wave you my hand with the hope that The Little Review shall be the biggest review in the country.

D. W. Wylie. Iowa City, Iowa.

Congratulations must be pouring in on you from all sides, but I want, just the same, to add my voice to the chorus of “Bravos” that surrounds you.

The Little Review is a triumph. It even outdoes my picture of it; and that is saying much, for I have known it was to be something exceptionally nice.

It is a delight to look at, showing somebody’s good personal taste; and the contents—well, I like them lots more than I could say adequately or put in this space.

Blessings on you and the heartiest congratulations to all concerned in the making of The Little Review.

Margaret T. Corwin. New Haven, Conn.

I am pleased with its general appearance, and the contents are inspiring—full of the spirit of youth. I wish The Little Review every success.

Georgia M. Weston. Geneva, Ill.

The initial number of The Little Review has impressed me so favorably that I want some of my friends also to share in its appreciation.

You surely have made a fine beginning and, in my judgment, cannot do better than to adopt as the creed of The Little Review the sound and encouraging advice given in Mr. Galsworthy’s inspiring letter.

Albert H. Loeb. Chicago.

From the first page to the last book announcement I have read The Little Review with pride and delight.

Its sincerity attracts me even more than its obvious literary merit, and its comprehensiveness and quality will appeal to all who read at all—especially to those who go below the surface.

Alethea F. Grimsley. Springfield, Ill.

Thank you so much for The Little Review! I liked it from the moment I saw it, both outside and in. I like particularly the personal note you put into your writing. It’s as though you were really talking to me and telling me how you feel about The Dark Flower and Paderewski and dear Little Antoine with his bad room that was “pretty but stupid for the sound.”

With best wishes to you in your beautiful, big undertaking.

Zetta Gay Whitson. Chicago.