Their Wives Are Literary, Too
Wallace (47) and Will Irwin (50) are brothers of more popular success, certainly, than the poetic Benét brothers (TIME, Oct. 1). Of late years Will Irwin has devoted much of his time to the spreading of peace propaganda throughout the U. S. Wallace has been busy writing short stories and novels. His latest, Lew Tyler's Wives, is a study of the two marriages of one delightful but irresponsible gentleman.
Their wives, too, are of the literary persuasion: Inez Haynes Irwin writes girls' stories and novels, and Mrs. Wallace Irwin writes plays, to say nothing of Mr. Irwin's niece, Phyllis Duganne, who, at the absurd age of 20 (or was it 21?) published her first novel and has since become remarkably well known as a writer of short stories.
Wallace Irwin is short, stoutish, always smiling through his glasses and snapping his eyes as he talks in little grunting periods. He will slouch down on a couch, then tell you a story as though it were being shot at you from some great distance. The last time I saw him he was complaining of a diet that was being imposed upon him, which he insisted was nothing but "rabbit's food."
Both the Irwins started their literary careers on the West Coast, though they hied originally from Oneida, N. Y. They were part of a group of young writers which included Frank Norris and which developed under the watchful eye of that excellent editor, John O'Hara Cosgrave.
Wallace Irwin's sense of humor was constantly with him in those days. He wrote light verse and lighter prose. He was a burlesque writer for the Republic Theatre in San Francisco. Before John V. A. Weaver was out of short pants, he had written The Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum and other poems "in American." His Letters of a Japanese Schoolboy made firm his reputation. Since then he has turned away from humor determinedly to write serious novels. Yet, principally, he is a lover of a good story. He will tell you the complicated plot of one of his yarns with the greatest relish. He enjoys the working out of detail; but he enjoys most of all the underlying grip which any good story must possess. No amount of artistry can make a story if it has not an emotional basis. There is a good vulgar word which describes the quality of which I am speaking. Wallace Irwin has it in his writing, so too have Harold Bell Wright, Joseph Conrad, Charles Dickens— and the word is guts! You may not like it—but I can think of no other word which so completely expresses what I mean. J.F.