To these deep cravings of the heart must be added another of major
importance. I mean aspiration, the deep desire of all human
without exception sometimes to be better, nobler, finer, truer.
Stories of daring in the face of unconquerable odds, stories of
devotion, above all stories of self-sacrifice are made to gratify
this emotion. They are purges for the restless soul. Some critic
of our short story discovered not long ago that the bulk of the
narratives chosen for reprinting had self-sacrifice as theme. This
is precisely what one would expect of comfortable, ease-loving
peoples, like the Germans before the empire and the Americans of
our generation. When no real sacrifice of goods, of energy, of
love, or of life is necessary, then the craving for stories of men
who give up all and women who efface themselves is particularly
active. The hard, individualistic stories of selfish characters--
Ben Hecht's for example, and Scott Fitzgerald's--have been written
after a war period of enforced self-sacrifice and by young men who
were familiar with suffering for a cause. But most American
readers of our generation live easily and have always lived
easily, and that undoubtedly accounts for the extraordinary
popularity here of aspiring books. Reading of a fictitious hero
who suffers for others is a tonic for our conscience, and like
massage takes the place of exercise. By a twist in the same
argument, it may be seen that the cheerful optimist in fiction,
who Pollyannawise believes all is for the best, satisfies the
craving to justify our well-being. I do not, however, mean to
disparage this element of popularity. It is after all the
essential quality of tragedy where the soul rises above
misfortune. It is a factor in noble literature as well as in
popular success.