August 31st, and the introductory section, were alike unworthy of a literary paper and of the pen of a gentleman. The charges of self-advertisement are insulting and untrue. There are few writers who owe as little to the paragraphist as Miss Corelli, while the flouts and jibes flung at her because her books sell extensively are merely stupid. The size of an edition of any book depends on the publisher's knowledge of the demand that awaits it. It might be better, in the interests of literature, to keep commerce and literary merit in separate compartments, but as long as such critical organs as The Bookman make a regular feature of tables of sales from Provincial and Metropolitan booksellers, it is neither logical nor brave to pour vials of scorn on one writer because her publisher announces that the first edition of her book will be large.
The subject of Miss Corelli's book seems a legitimate one; "If I were King" has appealed to the moralist, the fictionist, and the dramatist time out of mind. When a biography of this popular writer is called for, the critic may then be personal and impertinent if it seem good to him, but in connection with the discussion of a book personalities regarding its author are unfair and in the worst possible taste.
As an interested reader of the critical opinions in the Sunday Sun since the first issue of that paper, I consider myself entitled to protest when a journal of such eminence descends to methods that are neither amusing, informative, nor well-bred. Even a popular writer is entitled to fair treatment, and it is of the utmost importance to every branch of literature that those who undertake to form public opinion should remember that the rostrum has obligations as well as privileges.
E. Rentoul Esler.
the Heath, Dartford.
