The Philistine

In Short

This book presents a curated volume of The Philistine, a monthly "periodical of protest" printed in East Aurora, New York, during the spring of 1896. It serves as both a literary magazine and a satirical manifesto, blending poetry, short fiction, and acerbic commentary on the publishing world. By championing individualism while relentlessly mocking the pretenses of "high" society and popular authors, it captures the burgeoning spirit of modern American dissent. Its lasting value lies in its candid, unvarnished look at the era’s shifting tastes, artistic feuds, and the commercial realities of the printed word.

The Story

The narrative arc of this volume begins with a defiant posture: it is a journal dedicated to "protest," demanding enough "gall" in its ink to make its presence felt. The contents immediately establish a tension between the aesthetic and the mundane. It opens with somber, contemplative poetry—pieces like Louise Imogen Guiney’s "To a Friend in Time of Trouble"—that offer a sense of gravity and moral fortitude. This is quickly followed by Ouida’s fable, "The Gold that Glitters," which provides the central moral warning of the collection: the world, like a greedy king, is bartering its soul for wealth and will ultimately perish in the pursuit of "gold."

As the volume progresses, the tone shifts from the philosophical to the gritty realities of urban life. Kenneth Brown’s "After Dark" pulls back the curtain on the New York police station, exposing the stark, unglamorous collision between the city’s wealthy "scions of aristocracy" and the desperate, "drink-befuddled" inhabitants of the Tenderloin. This section strips away the chivalry often found in contemporary literature, showing the police as cynical observers of human misery. Similarly, Frank W. Noxon’s "The Passing of Clangingharp" introduces a layer of absurdist humor, tracing a group of disreputable, hard-drinking bohemians through a series of petty scandals and failed attempts at respectability.

Interspersed throughout are the "Side Talks," which serve as the beating heart of the publication. Here, the editor assumes a combative, conversational stance, addressing the reader directly to ridicule the "New Woman," mock the vanity of authors who change their names for prestige, and skewer the "decadent" literature found in competing magazines. The arc concludes not with a finality, but with a widening of the lens. The magazine advertises itself as a hub for the "Society of the Philistines," promoting books like The Song of Songs and Ecclesiastes alongside scathing reviews of popular writers like Conan Doyle. It ends with a call to arms, urging the reader to reject the "riot of the senses" in modern hotels and public life, and instead embrace a simple, "will-illumined" mind. The final image is one of "catholicity in art"—a plea for a broader, more honest appreciation of beauty that persists despite the "hostile tastes" of the mainstream, leaving the reader with the impression that true literature is a battlefield where only the independent can survive.

How It Unfolds

The declaration of principles The book opens with a sharp warning that the ink used in these pages is laced with gall. It sets the tone for a publication that intends to challenge, rather than comfort, the status quo of 1896.

The moral warning A fable about a king who turns everything to gold provides a somber reflection on the dangers of material greed. It acts as a cornerstone for the collection's critique of a society that values profit over beauty.

The descent into the city The focus shifts to the harsh, unglamorous realities of urban life in New York. The police station becomes a stage where the hypocrisy of the wealthy is laid bare, contrasting sharply with the genuine suffering of the vulnerable.

The chaotic lives of the bohemian A narrative of a disappearing man, "Clangingharp," introduces the reader to a world of drunken barroom encounters and petty rivalries. This section captures the messy, often pathetic, lives of those who live on the fringes of society.

The commentary of the dissenter The "Side Talks" break the narrative flow with biting, witty, and deeply personal editorials. These sections define the voice of the publication, as the editor rails against everything from bicycle-thumping priests to the pretentions of the "Gilder-Family-Robinson."

The marketplace of ideas The closing pages transition into a series of advertisements and announcements for the Roycroft Press and other literary journals. This highlights the practical, commercial struggle of maintaining an independent voice in a crowded, competitive market.

The People

The book is populated by an array of distinct characters, each representing a facet of the era’s social and literary tensions. The Editor—the driving force behind The Philistine—is a combative, self-assured personality who relishes a scrap. He is obsessed with authenticity and views the literary establishment, particularly the "Inklings" who change their names to sound more sophisticated, with deep-seated suspicion. He is the filter through which all other figures are viewed.

Then there is the tragic figure of Fanny Kellogg, the "pretty, fair-haired girl" found in a police station. She represents the "lost" souls of the city, whose story is cut short by the indifference of those around her. She is a reminder of the human cost hidden behind the polished facades of the era’s literature. In contrast, the figure of Father George Zurcher stands out as a radical, albeit "unreasonable," disruptor. By smashing beer bottles against his own church, he represents the absurdity of moral crusades and the way public figures can become local myths through their eccentricities.

Finally, we encounter characters like Clangingharp and Frostembight, figures of the "bohemian" underworld. They are defined by their failures, their addictions, and their desperate search for meaning in a world that has largely forgotten them. Unlike the "scions of aristocracy" who plead for special treatment in jail, these characters accept their lot with a mixture of cynicism and dark humor, serving as the raw, unrefined antithesis to the polite society the magazine so frequently attacks.

In Its Own Voice

"When all green places have been destroyed in the builder’s lust of gain; when all the lands are but mountains of bricks, and piles of wood and iron; when there is no moisture anywhere, and no rain ever falls; when the sky is a vault of smoke, and all the rivers reek with poison... then the world, like the Eastern king, will perish miserably of famine and of drought."

This warning from "The Gold that Glitters" serves as the book's central, haunting critique of industrialization and greed.

"The desire to 'edit' every article printed in its columns is often a ruling force in the career of the Presiding Elder of a Newspaper."

This observation, appearing in the "Side Talks," captures the editor’s deep-seated frustration with the stifling influence of mainstream editorial control.

"To twaddle lucratively and prattle with profit, ah! that is an art worth knowing!"

This biting remark, directed at popular authors who write for the market rather than for truth, encapsulates the magazine's disdain for commercialized literature.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the struggle for intellectual and artistic independence in an increasingly industrialized world. It grapples with the tension between the "true" artist and the demands of a commercialized public. It asks whether beauty can survive in an age of "mountains of bricks" and "piles of wood and iron," and whether it is possible to remain honest when the market rewards only those who "prattle with profit." The central theme is the necessity of "protest"—a deliberate rejection of the superficial, the conventional, and the greedy in favor of a personal, "will-illumined" integrity. It is an argument for the dignity of the individual against the stifling conformity of the late nineteenth-century American landscape.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the biting wit of H.L. Mencken or the iconoclasm of early twentieth-century independent journalism will find a kindred spirit here. It is a rewarding read for those interested in the history of American publishing, as it offers an unfiltered look at how writers navigated the transition into the modern era. There is a palpable sense of energy in its pages; it feels like eavesdropping on a heated, brilliant, and occasionally petty debate in a crowded parlor.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the realities of its period. The prose is thick with the attitudes of the 1890s, and the editor’s voice can be abrasive, arrogant, and at times exhausting in its relentless need to take a stand. The references to local figures and now-obscure literary feuds may require some patience, as the context is not always immediately apparent. Yet, if you approach it as a historical artifact—a "periodical of protest" that was fighting its own battles in its own time—it offers a rare, visceral connection to the past. What stays with you is the editor’s unwavering commitment to his own voice, a reminder that the act of speaking one's mind, regardless of the consequences, has always been the hallmark of the true "Philistine."