That Public simply does not exist.
For instance, the publisher will say, as though he were talking of some
monster, "The Public will not buy Jinks's work. It is first-class work,
so it is too good for the Public." He is quite right in his statement of
fact. Of the very small proportion of our people who read only a
fraction buy books, and of the fraction that buy books very few indeed
buy Jinks's. Jinks has a very pleasant up-and-down style. He loves to
use funny words dragged from the tomb, and he has delicate little
emotions. Yet hardly anybody will buy him--so the publisher is quite
right in one sense when he says, "The Public" won't buy Jinks. But where
he is quite wrong and suffering from a gross illusion is in the motive
and the manner of his saying it. He talks of "The Public" as something
gravely to blame and yet irredeemably stupid. He talks of it as
something quite external to himself, almost as something which he has
never personally come across. He talks of it as though it were a Mammoth
or an Eskimo. Now, if that publisher would wander for a moment into the
world of realities he would perceive his illusion. Modern men do not
like realities, and do not usually know the way to come in contact with
them. I will tell the publisher how to do so in this case.
Let him consider what books he buys himself, what books his wife buys;
what books his eldest son, his grandmother, his Aunt Jane, his old
father, his butler (if he runs to one), his most intimate friend, and
his curate buy.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170