with any certainty of judgment is rendered unlikely, not only by
inherent improbability, but also by three specific facts: the
tiresome succession of like stories which follow unendingly in the
wake of every popular success; the palpable fear of the editor to
attempt innovation, experiment, or leadership; and the general
complaint against "magazine stories." In truth, the American
editor plays safe, constantly and from conviction; and playing
safe in the short story means the adoption of the "formula," which
is sure to be somewhat successful; it means restriction to a few
safe themes. He swings from the detective story to the tale of the
alien, from the "heart-interest" story to the narrative of "big
business." When, as has happened recently, a magazine experimented
with eroticism, and found it successful, the initiative of itseditor
was felt to be worthy of general remark.

If one reduces this imperfect sketch of existing conditions to
terms of literary criticism, the result is interesting. There are
two great schools of criticism: the judicial and the
impressionistic. The judicial critic--a Boileau, a Matthew
Arnold--bases his criticism upon fundamental principles. The
impressionistic critic follows the now hackneyed advice of Anatole
France, to let his soul adventure among masterpieces, and seeks
the reaction for good or bad of a given work upon his own finely
strung mind. The first group must be sure of the breadth, the
soundness, and the just application of their principles. The
second group must depend upon their own good taste.

The American editor has flung aside as archaic the fundamental
principles of criticism upon which judicial critics have based
their opinions. And yet he has chosen to be dogmatic. He has