The Little Review, September 1916 (Vol. 3, No. 6)

In Short

Published in September 1916 by Margaret C. Anderson, this issue of a pioneering modernist periodical functions as both an artistic manifesto and a fierce political bulletin. It opens with an urgent defense of five labor unionists falsely accused in the San Francisco preparedness parade bombing, moving through sharp commentaries on modern theater, letters from dissenting readers, and vigorous debates over the true nature of art. Refusing commercial compromise, the magazine captures a restless intellectual community striving for uncompromising creative expression amidst widespread social conformity and war-time prejudice.

The Story

The issue begins with a provocative editorial stance, presenting itself as a want ad with blank pages symbolizing a refusal to compromise on artistic perfection. It immediately pivots to the harrowing political reality of the San Francisco bomb case, where Robert Minor and Margaret C. Anderson expose the persecution of five innocent labor rebels—Ed Nolan, Tom Mooney, Rena Mooney, Warren Billings, and Israel Weinberg—by a predatory Chamber of Commerce and a sensationalist press. Anderson expands this critique into a broader condemnation of labor unions, lamenting their timid hesitation, bureaucratic paralysis, and ideological confusion when faced with genuine crisis. She argues that true vision and decisive rescue come not from organized labor's fearful compromises, but from independent minds operating completely outside conventional class limitations.

Transitioning from political critique to cultural commentary, the magazine surveys the contemporary arts landscape with sharp irreverence. Brief notes touch on classical musical figures, visiting lecturers like Rabindranath Tagore, and the turbulent state of modern publishing. A detailed New York letter by Allan Ross Macdougall evaluates the theatrical season, offering a scathing review of Arthur Hopkin's fantasy production The Happy Ending—criticizing its clunky symbolism, heavy-handed dialogue, and mawkish depiction of the hereafter—while expressing cautious hope for innovative theatrical ventures like the upcoming Nine o'Clock Theatre.

The final major section, "The Reader Critic," presents a vibrant, contentious epistolary dialogue between the editor and her audience. Correspondents challenge the magazine's extreme standards, attacking its publication of certain modern poets and questioning its reckless demand for absolute artistic perfection. In response, the editors fiercely defend their erratic pursuit of genuine creative strivings over deadened technical polish, asserting that real art encompasses the messy, unpredictable process of human existence rather than sterile academic compliance. The issue concludes with explicit factual documentation of the San Francisco frame-up, reinforcing the urgent call for defense funds, alongside advertisements for radical literature that challenge war-time prejudice and promote open critical inquiry. Throughout its progression, the issue charts an uncompromising course through the cultural and political wreckage of its era, linking radical social justice directly with the unyielding pursuit of aesthetic truth.

How It Unfolds

• The Want Ad Manifesto: The issue opens by declaring itself a want ad for art, famously suggesting that other pages might be left blank rather than filled with compromise. This sets an uncompromising tone of creative urgency and radical dissatisfaction.
• The San Francisco Frame-Up: Robert Minor and Margaret C. Anderson detail the dangerous arrest of five labor figures for a bombing they did not commit. They expose the collusion of business elites and newspapers seeking to destroy union leadership through fabricated evidence.
• The Critique of Labor: Anderson lambasses labor unions for their cowardly hesitation, internal bickering, and inability to mount a principled defense. She contrasts this failure with individual acts of vision, showing how true rescue often comes from unexpected quarters.
• Theatrical Disillusions and Hopes: Allan Ross Macdougall reports from New York on the state of the stage, praising professional efforts to reform drama while mercilessly dissecting the sentimental flaws of a fantasy play called The Happy Ending.
• The Reader Debates: A lively correspondence section features angry readers and devoted fans arguing over the magazine’s erratic contents, modern poetry, and editorial arrogance. The staff fiercely responds, maintaining that artistic strivings matter more than lifeless perfection.
• Facts and Radical Books: The issue closes with a comprehensive factual breakdown of the bomb conspiracy and appeals for legal defense funds. It ends with curated advertisements for radical international literature addressing the global war and censorship.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson, the publisher and editor, drives the magazine's uncompromising search for artistic truth, expressing fierce impatience with societal smugness and the failures of organized labor. Robert Minor serves as a passionate political voice and treasurer of the defense league, rallying support for unjustly imprisoned workers without whining or compromise. Ed Nolan, alongside fellow defendants Tom Mooney, Rena Mooney, Warren Billings, and Israel Weinberg, stands as a resilient labor rebel facing potential execution with absolute courage, famously declaring that the fear of death is the beginning of slavery. Allan Ross Macdougall acts as the critical observer in New York, dissecting theatrical pretension and evaluating new artistic experiments on the stage. Helen Freeman emerges as a dedicated professional actor and director striving to establish the independent Nine o'Clock Theatre to produce genuine modern drama. Finally, the diverse correspondents in the reader section—including critics like Alice Groff and frustrated subscribers—challenge the magazine's direction, forcing the editors to continually articulate their philosophy that art requires the raw, chaotic record of human striving rather than sterile perfection.

In Its Own Voice

Reflecting on the psychological weight of societal oppression, the editor observes the broader paralysis affecting modern life.

Ed Nolan says that the fear of death is the beginning of slavery. I think it may be that the fear of life is the very beginning.

Defending the publication's erratic path against critics demanding flawless beauty, the editor clarifies the true nature of creative output.

In such measure as an artist expresses himself truthfully, he will be a good artist; in such measure as he himself exists, he will be a great one.

Describing the unfortunate artistic choices in a contemporary theatrical production, the New York correspondent lambasses a poorly executed heavenly scene.

What a Hereafter! A bank of sunburnt stage grass: a bilious yellow tree: much amber light.

What It's Really About

The issue investigates the profound intersection between radical politics and uncompromised artistic expression. It questions why societal rebellions—whether in labor movements or theatrical reform—so often collapse into timid hesitation, bureaucratic paralysis, and fear. Underlying the essays and critiques is a fierce argument that true freedom, both aesthetic and social, requires absolute courage and an abandonment of conventional bourgeois safety. The editors contend that conventional society and organized institutions are fundamentally hostile to genuine vitality, reducing art and politics to safe, predictable formulas. Ultimately, the collection argues that only the uncompromising artist and the unbowed rebel possess the clarity of vision necessary to challenge systemic oppression and awaken human sensibility.

Why Read It Today

Readers drawn to avant-garde history, political journalism, and the raw intersections of art and activism will find this issue endlessly fascinating. Reading it feels like stumbling into a fiery, smoke-filled room where brilliant minds are shouting over one another about justice, theater, and poetry. You experience the raw electricity of 1916 intellectual radicalism, complete with its unvarnished arrogance, passionate idealism, and fierce independence.

The text does present certain period difficulties: it assumes deep familiarity with 1910s political trials, forgotten literary figures, and contemporary theatrical productions that require some patient historical navigation. Furthermore, its polemical tone and abrupt shifts between labor politics and high-art criticism can feel disjointed to modern readers accustomed to unified thematic curation. Yet, these very friction points make the magazine authentic. What stays with you long after closing the pages is the editors' uncompromising demand for absolute honesty, their refusal to cater to commercial safety, and their unwavering belief that art must be an active, dangerous exploration of human existence rather than a comfortable commodity.