PERILS OF POPULARITY

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 447, 31 August 1928, Page 14

PERILS OF POPULARITY

(Written for THE SUN) HE other night, a well- | 1 i known author asked j me if I lxad ever thought j yjh) ■ tfNn a bou t this question. I j fREWMrTiai confessed that I had ! not given it much consideration. As a mat- I ter of fact, it is rather a serious thing, j And X suppose that there is no writer j of any degree, so soon his work be- | gins to be known, either in books or j in the Press, who is not chased, if I | may use the rather unpoetic word. This popularity is the penalty of success. And I suppose those who suffer »*>m it, deep in their hearts, do not altogether dislike it, although they may wish it were not so persistent. On the whole, writers are normal people, not given to an overdose of vanity, and do really and truly resent the ever-growing tendency to this often embarrassing lionisation. I have looked for the reason for this kind of persecution. It is not easy to find. And it has only grown to its present dimensions in comparatively recent years. It is imaginable that the old and famous authors of past generations had their ups and downs in popularity with the people, and in some cases they probably received a few letters in the course of the year. But no writer of those days ever had a post-bag of the size that comes to the modern best seller. All those who are known to the public, be it author, actor, singer, politician, or member of any other profession, have to put up as best they can with the penalty of being famous. As success comes, so the chase increases in intensity.. It then not only means dozens or even hundreds of letters, but much and diverse mobbing in public places. However attractive it may seem in its early stages, I can imagine no one who cherishes it after a brief experience: it must become positively annoying and devastating. To come down to breakfast every morning and find awaiting one a huge pile of letters, the contents of which in 99 per cent, of cases are absolutely of no value, must be unnerving and unsettling for the rest of the day. To go to a theatre or entertainment, or a health resort, and be the focal point of thousands of eyes must bring one next door to madness. I refuse to believe that anyone who has had to suffer these things can enjoy them. There is so little left of privacy for modern successful authors that those who crave for contact with them resort to all manner of subterfuge actually to meet them. They seek interviews. They really chase them. And you’re a “pretty poor sort of fish ’ if you deny them. Why people who write should be expected to grant

interviews on nothing at all, to spend hours answering useless letters, to read the manuscripts of aspiring writers, to autograph copies of their own books, leaves me marvelling. If an author did all these things that he is asked to do, where and when, I wonder, would he do his writing? I hear of one famous woman who, when an interview is suggested, demands three months’ notice. And then it does not often come off. This mobbing business is now part and parcel of the day’s work. There’s a psychology in it that is hard to define. A certain type of mind cannot, will not be left out in the cold. This kind of person loves to feel he is close up to those who live in the limelight. There are thousands of them. They are just as proud as can be to be able to say that they have had a letter from So and So this morning. Some notable people plan all kinds of ways to avoid “the chase.” They live abroad. They hide their address. They keep their profession to themselves. They remain reserved and run the risk of being thought taciturn and boorish. They tell white lies — for peace’ and pity’s sake. But, sure enough, the mobber finds them out. One well-known author put up outside his door once: Out. He was sick and tired of callers who really just wanted to stare at him! A friend of his came along. He knew he was in. And, fully appreciating the point, wrote underneath, “Liar.” Fortunately the other saw him from the window, and the situation was saved. Obviously, there are many people who have a genuine reason for writing to an author, and then he is always ready to send a courteous and considerate reply. If it were my lot to be a star in the firmament, I cannot help feeling that I should have to do something drastic. And chance the unpopularity. Most of the culprits who persecute writers are thoughtless, not realising that there are so many more doing the same thing. A number of people do it to feed their vanity. It is really easy to discover the honest inquirer. But even then, ought we to rob an author of his or her time and money? For after all is said and done, that is what it amounts to. He has got his hours for writing and he must have his hours for rest. Why should we trespass upon his leisure? And yet, as I have said, it gives one a thrill, I suppose, to find a hundred

or so letters besides one’s breakfast plate. Anyhow, it proves we have arrived. But what a burden! —G. H. GRUBB.