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17.
Many thanks for your letter. If I had written your stories I should certainly wish to be able to afford your attitude; but as I stand on the publisher's side, I feel most distinctly that for more than one reason you cannot afford it. You have written a book which, whether it sells or whether it does not, is a very remarkable and striking piece of work; certainly it is what you wanted it to be — a chapter of the moral history of your country. But a book is not written nowadays to any real effect until it is published. You won't get a publisher — a real publisher — to issue it as it stands. I won't say that you won't get somebody to bring it out, but it would be brought out obscurely and in such a way would be certain to do no good to your pocket and would hardly be likely to get into the hands of any but a few people. After all, remember, it is only words and sentences that have to be altered; and it seems to me that the man who cannot convey his meaning by more than one set of words and sentences has not yet realized the possibilities of the English language. That is not your case.
The man who read your stories for us was a man whose work you are likely to know, Filson Young. He was as struck with them as I was myself. I told him a few days ago of our fears and showed him the passages, and I have also shown him your letters on the matter, and although the opinion of other people may not influence you at all, yet I can tell you that he thoroughly agrees with me about the impossibility of publishing the work as it is. But he is very anxious, as I am, that the book should not pass from our list. I hope, therefore, that you will think the whole matter over again. Believe me, dear Mr. Joyce, Sincerely yours,
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