JOURNALISTS & AUTHORS

Evening Star, Issue 19615, 22 July 1927, Page 5

JOURNALISTS & AUTHORS

FAMOUS EDITOR'S REFLECTIONS THE “REAL BEST SELLER" Sir Robert Bruce, editor of tlio Glasgow ‘ Herald,’ was the special guest at the last fortnightly dinner of the Authors’ Club in London, in responding to the toast of the evening, ha inquired what had authors to do with journalists or journalists with authors. Not so long since authors, ho said, would have had no hesitation in answering nothing, f Authors were—well, authors, and journalists undesirable felJows, down at heel, smelling of stale tobacco, and other habits. (Laughter.) Even to-day some authors were sup posed to exist who professed to think that Fleet street should be scheduled as a slum area, aud cleared out to make room for respectability, which might not altogether Do surprised if,.as was probable, their Press-cutting service had ceased to provide any evidence of the existence there of a reputable—or, at least, an appreciative—community. (Laughter.) But, of course, there were exceptions which proved the rule, As a rule in these latter days authors and journalists recognised that more or less they were bound together in one brotherhood. (“Hear, hear.”) The more and the less gave room for individuality. If a man thought he was rather more than a journalist, no doubt he was so in his own mind, no matter what the world might think. (Laughter.) If a journalist admitted he was rather less than an author, it was a pose which fitted in with his easy-going temperatment, he knowing wejl that in the end it was his pen that guided opinion in the appraisement of pretention and real achievement in letters. A DIFFERENCE OF THE JVER. But looking at the production rather than the producer, what difference, he asked, was there between literature so called and the work of journalists? “ A series of articles appears in, our morning paper,” he proceeded. “ The series is topical as well as brilliant. . . . In due course the articles are collected, aud, appear as books. As such they reach the newspaper review department and are dealt with as literature. What has happened? The substance has not been changed. Body and soul, if there be a soul in the thing, are what they were. Nothing has been changed except the Cover. In the one case it is a newspaper wrapper; in the other, a bit of buckram pasted up with a bit of cloth, a difference which is expressed only in cost, like so many other superficial differences in this mundane sphere.” Some real differences did, of course, exist between the craft of literature and the craft of journalism. In certain classes of literature, for example, the writer was the absolute master of his facts ■ he was their creator. In journalism, on the other hand, if a man he worthy of his calling the facts were his master. The moment he essayed to create facts he was undone, just as the maker of books was undone when, as sometimes happened, the facts he had created had to be tested by twelve ordinary citizens who were supposed to embody the common souse of the nation. FOLLOWING THE SCENT.

j Leaving the author, so called, he I would speak of the journalist, the man who was essentially the hunter of facts. Of course, his facts might be oftenj times but an approximation to the truth. (Laughter.) , Lay not that to his discredit. He was judged from day (to day by his score; it was his aggregate that counted. And what joy there was in the hunting! They called his trophies “ scoops.” The essence of a “scoop ” was a compound of a fact and an “exclusive.” (Laughter.) A fact which was not an “ exclusive ” rnight be worth much, but the hunter did not make a note of it in his score. This hunting and capturing facts was the easier phase of the sport. Much more difficult hut far more engrossing - was following the scent. This was what Marquis Curzou once called—he did not mean it as at all praiseworthy—" the intelligent anticipation of events.” (Laughter.) Now and again it was a weary business when one longed to be endowed just for an hour or so with the mantle of genuine prophecy. He recalled a moment of such depression and such longing. _ The moment was j one of grave political crisis. In the I Commons Lobby the remark was made I casually to two Ministers “Would that II were a prophet of the genuine old sort, a prophet who could foresee and describe the coming events.” “Look here.” said one, “ if you were a real old prophet you would not Ifc kicking your heels here; you would be on the Stock Exchange.” “May be,” quietly observed the other. “ but more likely jin gaol.” (Laughter.) i THE REAL BEST SELLERS. 1 All that the average journalist could do was to cultivate his scent for facts and endeavor to persuade some proprietor that ho was as good as a prophet, and upon the whole .safer. Giving reasons for his contention that author and journalist were more or less interchangeable names, ho expressed the opinion that it was to the journalist who kept to journalism that came the greater joy of life. Why? Surely, it was simply because the facts of life which ho handled were far more interesting. far more thrilling than any that might be created in a study’s solitude What, someone might ask—what of the joy of the parentage of a ‘ host seller ’? He had almost forgotten that, but really the joy was' so constantly witn the journalist that it had lost its novelty; it came as a matter of course. Daily the news stalk groaned under the hulk of his creations. New and carefully revised editions of his work poured from the presses every other 1 hour, and each new day saw a new creation which equalled or.excelled its pre- ' dcccssor’s popularity. What “ best ■ seller ” decked out in buckram and paste and cloth might challenge comparison with that? “And yet,” he concluded, “it is the parent of the thing in buckram and paste and cloth and nob the creator of the real best sellers, wbo is himself desked out in linen, and lolls the hours away by blue seas and under genial skies far from these fogv Why? In these rambling remarks 1 have sought to answer several wbys. The answering of that last I leave to you.” ‘(Laughter and cheers.)