THE EDITOR'S UNEASY CHAIR

Up close

Here is a photograph of Upton Close, loosely but correctly wrapped in a kimono. His What We Don't Know About Japan is the lead article in this issue. "Upton Close"—a development of the phrase "up close" with which this intrepid gentleman signed his newspaper dispatches from the trenches of Shantung—is the nom dc guerre of Josef Washington Hall.

Mr. "Close" has often been in the wars, not always of his own choice. In 1915, fresh from George Washington University, he was doing religious and educational work in a Southern mountain region when a particularly bloodthirsty feud sent him hurrying to safety, and gave him, it seems, a yen for getting himself into danger. He next appeared in China, attached to a native newspaper which, anxious to westernize itself, sent him through the hinterland as a builder up of circulation. From this position to that of adviser to the U. S. Government during the Japanese invasion of Shantung was—for a man of Mr. "Close's" mobility—but a step. The Japanese stopped invading Shantung in 1919. Mr. "Close" then became adviser to Chinese students during a student revolution and, being now accustomed to accepting improbable jobs, was thereafter chief of foreign affairs to General Wu Peifu, whom he followed through two or three of his vague but sanguinary campaigns.

He then went to Japan. The fruits of his experiences in that country are available to all and sundry under the title of The Challenge Behind The l7ace of Japan, a book which was published some three months ago, and is undoubtedly the most thoroughly informed book on that subject 3ret written, and one of the most readable. Mr. "Close" is 40 years old. Among other books, he has written a novel called Moonlady. He is lecturer on Oriental life and literature at the University of Washington, and his favorite food is a Japanese dish known as "HeavenFood," or prawns fried in batter.

Without the gates

Dear Sirs: As a man who has seen "Within The Gates", and who found it singularly overwritten and unimportant, I was surprised to the point of annoyance by your reverent article on Sean O'Casey.

Articles of that sort, which make unimportant men important, are very dangerous to a susceptible public.

GEORGE THUM.

Syracuse, X. Y.

Sean O'Casey has been recognized by the most important critics as one of the three or four great living playwrights of Europe ; so that Mr. Alsop's article, which contented itself with a short account of Mr. O'Casey's somewhat unusual life and background, did not seem inappropriate at the time. Pace Mr. Thum, it still doesn't seem SO.-THE EDITORS.

Piracy

The picture reproduced below originally appeared in the Shanghai Miscellany, and represents one of the reasons why Vanity Fair started a new series of Impossible Interviews. . . .

Chinese pirates, we had always thought, were gentlemen in junks who looted the innocent steamboat on the turbulent upper reaches of the yellow Yangtze, wherever that is. The picture reproduced here, however, shows another kind of piracy.

In other words, the Shanghai Miscellany's erudite editors, stole, pirated, shanghaied, or borrowed Vanity J-air's idea of the Impossible Interview; hired an artist to imitate Miguel Covarrubias's method; and had (as you can see) Chiang Kai-shek and Mussolini chattering to each other in doubtlessly humorous Chinese. When this was first brought to our attention we were annoyed ; but on second thoughts we could not help feeling somewhat gratified that China should have thought enough of our thunders to steal them. Already besought by innumerable readers to start a new series of Interviews, and feeling much inclined that way ourselves, our minds were finally made up for us by this picture.

We salute the editor or editors of the Miscellany on whom be peace: and you, gentle reader, if you enjoy the encounter between Margaret Sanger and Mrs. Dionne on page 28, do not forget before you go to bed tonight to waft a kindly thought toward Shanghai.

Defenders

Dear Sirs: I read Morris Markey's article on "Jafsie" Condon and, despite the dramatic and interesting way in which it was written, found myself wondering whether perhaps Mr. Markey in describing Condon as "the mysterious overseer of the Lindbergh case," was not greatly mistaken.

I felt the article concentrated rather offensively on drawing a veil of mystery around Doctor Condon, instead of telling the story of a simple, worthy, naive old man.

JAMES TILLOTSON. Utica, N. Y.

Dear Sirs: Doctor Condon is one of the most sterling citizens of our city. He is most certainly not an old busybody as Mr. Markey infers. His gentlemanliness, his idealistic views on life, and his love for children have made him the idol of his many pupils. I hope Mr. Markey regrets his article.

FRANCIS ORELLINA. New York City.

Though the spectacle of one citizen rushing to the defense of another rightly pleases us, we confess to a certain bewilderment. Mr. Markey's article was a fair and anything but offensive statement of a personal opinion.

—THE EDITORS.

Those bewildering Balkans

Dear Sirs: My friend John Gunther is one of the best newspapermen in Europe. He of course gave his honest opinion when he wrote in your December issue that King Alexander was "the most hated man in his realm." But his acumen slipped. Probably his article was written before people heard of the sense of national calamity which gripped Jugoslavia at the time of the King's assassination, and was demonstrated remarkably at his funeral.

HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG. New York.

Grateful for this refutation, we can only reply that, on all questions dealing with the Balkans, we keep what we like to think is an open MIND.-THE EDITORS.

Gulliver up to date

William Seabrook's The French Doll of Douékoué (page 34) is the first of a series of six short stories which, we are pleased to announce, will be published in Vanity Fair. Mr. Seabrook, with a gusto rare in these jaded times, has visited from time to time most of the world's more sinister and unsavory corners; after serving in the war with the French army, he embarked on a series of adventures which put even the great ghost of Gulliver in the shade. He lived with Druses (whom few have lived with and lived to tell of it) in the Arabian mountains, with whirling dervishes in a Tripoli monastery, with Zezi dee devil worshippers in Kurdistan and Voodoo worshippers in the Haitian mountains: he was also once a member of an Arab tribe. These adventures he has recorded in four books which, written in a terse and natural prose, shocked their way into high sales, and rightly: they are some of the best travel books in post-war America. 11 is latest book, The White Monk of Timbuctoo—a successful first experiment in biography—was publish ed last fall.

Among the prophets

Dear Sirs: In regard to your December frontispiece, "The Byrd's Christmas Carol," why don't they embalm Byrd at the South Pole? As for "The Forgotten Football Fan" in the same issue, please embalm Corey Ford along with Dickie Byrd—they are both soggy meringues.

I. B.

Anyox, B. C.

Setting aside for the moment, or rather for ever, the peculiar problem involved in embalming a meringue, we remark that our cartoon of Admiral Byrd appeared almost simultaneously with that officer's discovery of quite a patch of new land in the South Pole. The caption which appeared alongside, and which was written some six weeks before this possibly useless event, mentioned that the Admiral's Christmas present to America would be a good many square miles of fresh, clean ice and snow. Vanity Fair, though not in the prophesying business, regards this prophecy with a certain gratificaTION.-THE EDITOR'S.

A contributor's nomination—

I nominate Vanity Fair for the Hall of Fame because of its continued high standard of photography, its timely editing and its beautiful reproductions.

GEORGE BIRCHARD GRAY.

We blush and BOW.-THE EDS.