The Philistine

In Short

This collection represents a snapshot of the 1896 issues of The Philistine, a “Periodical of Protest” published in East Aurora, New York. It functions as a defiant, witty, and often irreverent gathering place for writers, artists, and book lovers who favored creative liberty over the stifling standards of mainstream publishing. Through a mix of short stories, biting editorial commentary, and aggressive self-promotion, it creates a unique portrait of a subculture wrestling with the tensions between the pursuit of high art and the harsh realities of a crowded, profit-driven literary market.

The Story

The arc of these pages begins with a challenge to the status quo. The magazine establishes itself as an association for those who believe in "the widest liberty to Individuality in Art." The tone is set by the inclusion of Stephen Crane’s "A Great Mistake," a stark, unsentimental vignette about a child’s failed attempt to pilfer fruit from a stern Italian vendor. This story anchors the magazine’s aesthetic, which favors raw human observation over the flowery, moralizing fiction that dominated the era.

The narrative voice soon shifts from observation to open warfare against the editorial establishment. In "A Complaint of Some Editors," the reader encounters a passionate defense of the author’s original voice, railing against the "blue pencil" of editors who treat literature like a "literary kindergarten." The magazine takes an adversarial stance toward those who attempt to "fix" or sanitize artistic expression.

As the collection progresses, the tone turns toward the satirical and the existential. The "Side Talks with the Philistines" section acts as a running commentary, mocking the trends of the day, from the "manly" posturing of writers like Richard Harding Davis to the absurdity of teaching journalism and law through correspondence courses. There is a palpable sense of fatigue with the "flood" of new periodicals that offer nothing but "print." The arguments become increasingly personal and pointed, creating a sense of a besieged community—the "Society of the Philistines"—clinging to their own standards of quality while the world around them chases commercial fads.

The arc concludes on a note of defiant commercialism. Rather than shying away from the marketplace, the magazine leans into its status as a niche product. Advertisements for hand-printed editions and "Little Journeys" sit alongside claims that their publication is "a work of art itself." The final message is one of endurance: despite the "wordy warfare" between the young and old factions of American literature, the magazine positions itself as a sanctuary for the "robust, masculine" ideas of those who refuse to conform. It ends not with a resolution of its conflicts, but with a renewed commitment to its own distinct identity, inviting the "Discerning Reader" to join a fellowship that prizes wit, common sense, and, above all, the freedom to remain unbought.

How It Unfolds

The declaration of principles The magazine opens by establishing its identity as a society for independent thinkers and lovers of good fellowship. It invites the reader to join an association that values individuality over the rigid, homogenized standards of the commercial press.

The shift toward realism The inclusion of stark, modern fiction signals a departure from the sentimental literature of the time. These stories prioritize the objective, sometimes harsh, realities of urban life, setting a tone that is both grounded and unsentimental.

The editorial skirmishes The text moves into an aggressive critique of the publishing industry, characterizing editors as meddling pedagogues. This section frames the struggle for literary integrity as a battle against the "changeling" nature of heavily edited work.

The satirical commentary A series of informal "Side Talks" provides a sharp, biting survey of the current cultural landscape. These notes mock the vanity of famous authors and the shallowness of popular, mass-market magazines.

The final assertion of value The collection closes by pivoting toward the magazine’s own commercial offerings, such as hand-printed books. It presents its own "Roycroft" products as the necessary antidote to the cheapness and mediocrity of the wider literary market.

The People

The figures in this collection are defined by their resistance to the consensus. The "Philistine" himself is an ideal—a person who values health, cheer, and self-reliance above the "mawkish sentimentality" of the age. Opposing this ideal are the "editors"—the nameless, blue-penciling villains who attempt to standardize art and drain it of its raw, personal vitality. Other, specific figures appear in the satirical notes, such as Richard Harding Davis, who is held up as a symbol of the "hired-man-of-intellect" whose work serves the interests of big publishers rather than the truth. Through these contrasts, the book highlights the tension between the genuine artist and the professional hack. The reader sees a group of individuals who, despite their frequent infighting, are bound by a shared fear of losing their distinct, "freed" voices to a machine that cares only for quantity.

In Its Own Voice

"If he thinks a thing good enough to print, let him print it honestly as it was made; if not, let him return it with thanks and encourage the author to send it somewhere else."

This occurs in the middle of a sharp protest against editorial interference in an author's original manuscript.

"A magazine is not a school for drawing, nor is it a literary kindergarten."

This firm dismissal serves as the rallying cry for the magazine’s refusal to treat its readers like children who need to be shielded or instructed.

"I’m glad I am a Philistine, I wouldn’t be no other, For half the Art that poses now Is nerves and mud and Bother!"

These lines from a reader-submitted hymn distill the book’s core philosophy of rejecting modern, neurotic art in favor of cleaner, more robust work.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this book is an exploration of the struggle for autonomy in the face of mass culture. It questions whether true literature can survive in a market driven by "overcrowded" competition and the demands of profit. The underlying argument is that "print" is not the same as "literature," and that the health of American letters depends on the survival of small, independent, and perhaps intentionally "difficult" publications. It challenges the reader to distinguish between the "chaff" of commercial success and the "wheat" of genuine, individual expression, ultimately suggesting that true art requires a degree of defiance against the very audience it seeks to reach.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the history of intellectual dissent or who have a fascination with the transition from Victorian-era sentimentality to modern realism will find this book deeply rewarding. Reading it feels like stumbling into a lively, heated argument at a local tavern where the participants are as likely to quote poetry as they are to trade insults. Its warmth comes from its genuine passion for literature, while its precision lies in its refusal to adopt the polite, sycophantic tone of the mainstream periodicals it mocks.

However, the reader must be prepared for the realities of the period. The prose is often deeply entrenched in the specific literary feuds of 1896, meaning some of the references to forgotten authors or long-defunct magazines may feel obscure or confusing. Furthermore, the attitudes toward charity, social class, and gender roles reflect the prejudices of the late 19th century, which may strike the modern reader as blunt or, at times, dismissive. Despite these hurdles, the book remains a striking, coherent statement on the importance of the individual voice. It stays with you because it captures a timeless, restless energy—the urge to be "clever" rather than "cheap," and the persistent, human desire to create something that feels real in an age of imitation.