Bigfoot Joe, and Others: Figments of Fancy

In Short

This collection of short stories and essays is a self-published, artisanal curiosity from 1920. It serves as a candid commentary on the divide between the "high-minded" literary elite and the reality of life lived in the woods or the trenches of war. Through vignettes of lumberjacks, soldiers, and book collectors, the author explores the tension between pretentious, vague "art" and the "clear word"—the direct, honest storytelling favored by the reading public. It remains a rare, eccentric window into the mind of a prolific writer who prized craftsmanship over artifice.

The Story

The collection opens with a framing narrative about the disconnect between fame and substance. Three renowned artists—a Philosopher, a Poet, and a Painter—live in a northern town, celebrated for their abstract interpretations of nature. When a "Great Author" visits, he is unimpressed by their steam-heated theorizing. He finds the genuine article instead in Bigfoot Joe, a half-breed lumberjack who reads the "secret heart of the woods" with his axe. Joe is a philosopher of action, not words. The Great Author realizes that while the artists grope for their souls, Joe is simply a good lumberjack, and he subsequently writes a masterpiece about the man, leaving the three artists to dismiss him as a fraud.

The book then pivots to a broader critique of literary trends, arguing that contemporary "mystics" have abandoned the clear, narrative-driven prose that readers actually crave. This serves as a transition into the starker, more immediate reality of the Great War. In "The Naked Man," two dying soldiers in the Argonne forest—one a marine, one a conscript—discuss the meaning of their sacrifice amidst the poison gas. They are visited by a mysterious, wounded, near-naked figure who offers them a path home. In a moment of quiet, terrifying revelation, they realize he is a vision of Christ, whose presence highlights the futility of their struggle and the spiritual vacancy of those who cannot see him.

The narrative voice then shifts from the ethereal to the grounded, detailing the author’s own obsession with the hunt for rare, second-hand books. He recounts a night in a San Francisco shop run by the mysterious Healy, a place so chaotic and unpretentious that it yields the kind of bibliophilic treasures that usually only exist in legends. This love of the physical book and the history contained within its pages serves as a counterpoint to the earlier critiques of abstract literature.

The collection concludes with a biting, anecdotal account of the author’s misfortune in hosting a pair of "budding Bolshevists." These young men, who claim to be writers of genius, treat the author’s home with casual disrespect, stealing his books and leaving a trail of squalor while loftily dismissing the importance of ethics or hard work. The author’s final, weary realization—that he must now screen his guests' politics—serves as a wry, grounded ending to a book that consistently questions the value of modern intellectualism compared to the simple, often ignored realities of human character.

How It Unfolds

The philosopher’s vanity The opening piece establishes the distance between the comfortable, fame-seeking artists and the raw, unvarnished existence of the lumberjack. The visiting Great Author cuts through the group's "tonal harmony" to find truth in the sweat and labor of Bigfoot Joe.

The case for clarity The author pivots to an essayistic defense of simple, narrative-driven fiction. He argues that the business of words is to convey thought, rather than to hide behind the "nebulous and vague" style of self-important mystics.

The battlefield vision The story shifts to the Argonne, where two dying soldiers engage in a final, grim dialogue. The sudden, silent appearance of a "naked man" elevates the scene from a gritty war record to a surreal, spiritual confrontation.

The treasure hunt The narrative takes a turn into the author’s personal history as a collector of old books. This section bridges the gap between the philosophical meditations of the previous chapters and the tangible, dusty reality of the "clear word" found in old prints.

The uninvited guests The book closes with a sharp, autobiographical anecdote about the author’s hospitality being betrayed by entitled houseguests. This final beat reinforces the book's consistent theme: that theory and lofty rhetoric are often just a mask for laziness and a lack of character.

The People

The book is populated by characters who serve as mirrors for the author’s own values. Bigfoot Joe is the quintessential man of action; he is entirely devoid of self-consciousness, finding his purpose in the rhythmic, brutal labor of the woods. He stands in stark contrast to The Philosopher, The Poet, and The Painter, who are defined by their hunger for fame and their inability to see the world without first filtering it through a "mystical" lens.

In the war narrative, the Marine and the Conscript represent the common man, disillusioned by the "bunk" of patriotic rhetoric but capable of profound, simple kindness. They are the antithesis of the Naked Man, a spectral figure of absolute, quiet authority who forces them to confront their own mortality. Finally, there is the Author himself, who appears as a weary observer. Whether he is scouring shelves in a San Francisco shop or dealing with the "Bolshevist" guests in his studio, he is the constant thread, a man who values the honesty of a well-made object and the integrity of a person’s actions over the polish of their public persona.

In Its Own Voice

"The Philosopher groped after his soul, the Painter strove to express his soul, and the Poet tried to clothe his soul in words."

The author critiques the three artists who theorize about nature but fail to understand the lumberjack’s simple, direct connection to the forest.

"The clear word; that is the thing! The forthright, honest word, signifying something foursquare and definite!"

This serves as the central argument of the author’s literary manifesto, where he defends the value of straightforward, accessible storytelling.

"I have now adopted the firm rule of invariably inquiring into the politics of a friend before erecting him into the status of a guest."

The author concludes his final, frustrated anecdote about his houseguests with a dry, humorous reflection on his own misplaced hospitality.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is a defense of the tangible and the honest against the performative and the abstract. The author is deeply skeptical of any individual—be it a poet, a philosopher, or a "Bolshevist"—who uses complexity as a shroud for intellectual or moral emptiness. Whether he is discussing the craftsmanship of an old book or the simple work of a lumberjack, he equates truth with simplicity. The collection argues that life, like good writing, should be "foursquare and definite," rather than a "zigzag dash" of impressionistic ego. It is a plea for the "clear word" as the only reliable bridge between human souls.

Why Read It Today

This book is a rewarding, if challenging, artifact for readers interested in the transition of American literature from the grandiose, late-Victorian style to the sharper, more cynical tones of the early twentieth century. You will love the author’s curmudgeonly charm and his fierce defense of the working writer’s right to be heard. It feels like a private conversation with a man who has seen too many pretenders and is eager to get back to the basics of a good, honest story.

However, be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes; his blunt dismissal of contemporary political movements and his usage of the term "halfbreed" reflect the cultural lexicon of 1920. These are not filtered through a modern lens, and they may be jarring to a contemporary reader. Yet, there is something deeply resonant in his search for authenticity in a world he perceives as increasingly "perilous" and "factioned." If you enjoy short, punchy prose and appreciate the perspective of a writer who values the physical weight of a book and the integrity of a man’s labor, this volume will linger in your mind long after the final page. It is not a masterpiece of plot, but a sharp, idiosyncratic slice of one man’s philosophy of life.