The Last Titan. A Life of Theodore Dreiser

because there the author himself treats them condescendingly (almost hu-

morously) as defectives in the fantasy of Social Darwinism. Dreiser’s cre-

ations, moreover, were not the kind of people, as Page would soon tell

Dreiser, who would interest ladies and gentlemen, or the great majority

of their readers.32 In a word, Lanier thought Dreiser’s realism was not only

“strained,” but false since its view of life failed to uplift the reader morally.

While Lanier—as Henry told Dreiser—may have been as surprised as Nor-

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ris by Doubleday’s decision not to publish Sister Carrie, he was certainly

prepared to abide by it.

–

In a strange twist, Lanier was arguing these points with someone who had

upheld the same Victorian standard. Henry had, after all, written A Princess

of Arcady, for which Lanier had probably been a reader along with his work

on Sister Carrie. But Henry held his ground on behalf of his friend. Once

the real reason for the delay became apparent, Henry urged Dreiser to re-

turn to New York at once and hold Doubleday and Page to their decision

to publish the book. When he learned from Norris that Page had written

a letter dated July 19 to Dreiser saying that they preferred not to publish

his book after all, Henry was dumbfounded. “It has dazed me—I am amazed

and enraged,” he told his friend, “Doubleday has turned down your story.

He did it all by himself and to the intense surprise of Norris and Lanier.”33

One has to wonder not only about Lanier’s role here but also Norris’s, for

the author/reader found himself in a tight place. He was financially de-

pendent on the firm for a salary as well as its intention to publish The Oc-

topus (1902).

Norris, however, never lost faith in Dreiser’s work. As we shall see, he did

almost everything he could to promote it once the decision was reluctantly

reached to issue the novel. But he does seem to have joined ranks initially

with Doubleday and Page to discourage Dreiser from making Sister Carrie

his first novel, especially at Doubleday. In breaking the bad news about Sis-

ter Carrie to Henry, Norris told him on July 18 that Page’s letter was first

held up for Dreiser’s return and then dispatched to him for fear that if the

firm waited any longer the delay would constitute a commitment. He tried

to mollify Henry (and hence Dreiser, as would Page’s letter) by suggesting

that the firm would do something else in return for Dreiser’s decision to

yield on the question. “There is much more than a ‘turning-down’ of Sis-

ter Carrie” in Page’s letter of July 19, he told Henry. “Page—and all of us—

Mr. Doubleday too —are immensely interested in Dreiser and have every

faith that he will go far.” The publishers expressed faith in him as a writer

and wanted to publish his second novel, hoping that it would be more ac-

ceptable to conventional taste. To vouch for their continued interest, they

oªered him an editorial position on a new magazine the firm was getting

ready to publish— World’s Work. They also promised to attempt to place

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Sister Carrie with another publisher, though one wonders exactly what firms they had in mind.34

At first, upon receiving Henry’s letter, Dreiser tried to remain calm. But

it was a mere pose, for as he later remembered, the Doubleday aªair “proved

to be the greatest blow I was ever to have.”35 In fact, he had been actively

worried ever since receiving Henry’s letter about his meeting with Lanier,

even asking the blacks who worked around Arch White’s farm in Danville

if there was a fortune-teller nearby. He had—he told “Hen” in his letter of

July 23—received both Henry’s letter and Page’s, and he enclosed a copy

of his response to Page, which spoke of the enormous embarrassment he

faced in the wake of this latest decision. Word of his success was already

abroad. He had, for example, received a note of congratulations from the

assistant editor of the Atlantic Monthly, and a lecture was being arranged

for him at the Player’s Club on his new kind of realism. “The repute in

which your firm is held,” he told Page, “the warm and rather extra-ordi-

nary reception accorded my eªort by your readers—the number and en-

thusiasm of those interested in me—all could but combine to engender a

state, the destruction of which must necessarily put me in an untoward and

very unsatisfactory predicament.”36 In other words, his literary reputation

would be in tatters.

Dreiser didn’t say he wouldn’t withdraw the novel, telling Henry privately

that he might if he could borrow the manuscript from Doubleday and

silently oªer it to Macmillan for a “quick consideration.” He told Page that

he was “willing to rest the matter, leaving for another day my reply to your

eventual decision.” Perhaps in denial, he simply could not believe what was

happening. Any hope of relief was dashed, however, by Page’s blunt if

lengthy reply of August 2. “You do not say specifically whether you will re-

lease us,” Page stated, adding cruelly in response to Dreiser’s fear of em-

barrassment over the aªair: “After all, other people, even our friends, think

much less of our work than we imagine they do!” This should have, and

probably did, convince Dreiser that the firm didn’t have his best interests

at heart. He therefore ignored their oªer of August 15 to try to place the

novel with another publisher. By now Henry might have already looked

into those prospects and found absolutely no interest. He was also convinced

that Doubleday and Page couldn’t be trusted, telling his friend that while

his own story was being “set up,” he was sorry he had signed a contract for

A Princess of Arcady, that he would have held oª and used his own book as

a bargaining chip for Dreiser’s. Henry, however, had another reason for his

deep devotion. He considered Dreiser his literary double whom he needed

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to spur on his own writing. He hoped to move back in with Dreiser and

Jug, so that they might write another set of books together. “I am already

to begin mine—am only waiting for you,” he told him. “I want to be with

you when you start yours.”37

At this point, Dreiser was just as devoted to Henry. In his letter of July

23, he had told his literary collaborator that he was “thoroughly pleased”

by his support, saying that it reflected his own distress when things went

badly for Henry. “Surely there were never better friends than we. If words

were anything I think I would tell you how I feel.” He called Henry his

doppelgänger—“a very excellent Dreiser minus some of my defects. . . . If

I could not be what I am, I would be you.”38 If we didn’t understand be-

fore exactly why he dedicated his book to Henry, it becomes clear with these

words. If it hadn’t been for Henry, Dreiser might have given in to the pres-

sure applied not only by Frank Doubleday, whom Henry described to

Dreiser as thinking Sister Carrie both “immoral and badly written,” but by

his staª, which quickly closed ranks behind their leader.

Doubleday thought at first that they could simply notify Dreiser of their

decision not to publish his book. After talking first with Henry and then

with Page, as well as with his attorney, however, Doubleday asked Dreiser

through Page to release them from their proclaimed intentions. When it

was clear that Dreiser was adamant, a contract was finally drawn up on Au-

gust 20. Nonetheless, Doubleday sent Dreiser a cold letter of September 4

(“Dear Sir”), which doggedly rehearsed earlier suggestions to change all real

names of people and places. It had to be clear to Dreiser that the firm was

going to do as little as possible to fulfill its contract, which promised the

author royalties on retail sales of 10 percent on the first 1,500 copies sold,

12.5 on the next 1,500, and 15 percent on everything over 3,000 copies. The

first and only press run was just 1,008 sets of sheets, of which only 558 sets

were initially bound, to be sold for $1.50 apiece. (There was further bind-

ing of copies from the 1008 sets, but the exact number is not known.) Nor-

ris, who was in charge of publicity at Doubleday, did his best to stimulate

sales by sending out an estimated 127 review copies. But Dreiser’s first and

last royalty check from Doubleday, which tracked sales between Novem-

ber 1900 and February 1902, was a dismal $68.40.39

Furthermore, when Sister Carrie appeared in the fall of 1900 along with