By Guy Boothby. Introduction by Colin Heston

This volume brings together some of the most imaginative and high-stakes narratives from the pen of Guy Boothby, a writer who reigned as one of the most popular masters of the Victorian "shocker." At a time when the British Empire was at its zenith and the possibilities of modern technology were just beginning to fire the public imagination, Boothby crafted stories that blended geopolitical intrigue with the dark, uncharted corners of the globe.

The centerpiece of this collection, The Kidnapped President (1902), catapults the reader into a world of political conspiracy and daring maritime adventure. Set against the backdrop of a South American revolution, the story follows the audacious abduction of a head of state and the relentless pursuit that follows. Boothby’s personal history as a world traveler is evident here; his descriptions of the sea and the desperate maneuvers of those living on the edge of the law carry an authenticity that few of his contemporaries could match. It is a quintessential example of the "international thriller" before the genre had even fully formed, exploring themes of loyalty, power, and the high price of political ambition.
In A Crime of the Under-Seas (1905), Boothby pivots toward a more localized but no less intense mystery. This narrative delves into the treacherous world of pearl fishing and the cutthroat competition of the maritime trade. When a valuable discovery is marred by a calculated crime, the story becomes a tense examination of greed and the lengths to which men will go when they believe they are beyond the reach of land-based authorities. It serves as a perfect companion to the broader political scope of The Kidnapped President, focusing instead on the gritty, high-stakes reality of those who make their living on the ocean's floor.

Rounding out this edition is a selection of Boothby’s shorter fiction, which highlights his versatility as a storyteller. From eerie tales of the supernatural to sharp, punchy vignettes of colonial life, these stories demonstrate the narrative economy that made him a favorite of the era's leading magazines. Whether he is exploring a haunted family legacy or a clever piece of detective work, Boothby’s prose remains relentlessly paced, always keeping the reader’s curiosity at a fever pitch.
Together, these works offer a vivid window into the anxieties and fascinations of the early 20th century. Guy Boothby understood that his audience craved both the thrill of the unknown and the satisfaction of a justice served, and in this collection, he delivers both with his trademark energy. From the corridors of power to the depths of the sea, this volume invites you to rediscover a pioneer of the thriller genre at the height of his creative powers.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 200p.

by Guuy Boothby (Author), Colin Heston (Introduction)

In this combined edition, readers are presented with two quintessential examples of the late Victorian "shocker" from the pen of Guy Boothby, a writer who defined the era’s taste for fast-paced, sensational mystery. The first novel in this volume, The Mystery of the Clasped Hands, originally published in 1901 by F.V. White & Co., serves as a dark exploration of the macabre and the forensic. The story begins with a truly visceral hook: a wedding gift that contains the severed, preserved hands of a woman. It is a classic example of the Victorian obsession with reputation and the legal system, as the protagonist, Godfrey Tring, finds himself trapped in a web of circumstantial evidence. Boothby expertly depicts how quickly a gentleman’s life can be dismantled by a single accusation, making the legal system itself a source of mounting dread. This work highlights Boothby's skill in using sensational artifacts to drive a plot that forces the reader to question whether innocence alone is enough to survive a vengeful conspiracy.
Published just a year later in 1902, The Childerbridge Mystery shifts the focus toward the "sins of the father" trope and the intersection of colonial wealth and domestic stability. When wealthy Australian squatter William Standerton returns to England to establish himself at Childerbridge Manor, he brings with him a fortune that carries the shadow of his past. The mystery is not merely a puzzle of logic but a psychological examination of how the "New World" of the colonies—often viewed by Victorians as a place of lawless opportunity—inevitably catches up with the refined "Old World" of the English gentry. Boothby uses the tranquil setting of a country estate to highlight the tension between a man’s desire for a respectable future and the inescapable reach of his history.
Bound together, these two novels illustrate the common threads of Boothby’s literary legacy: the fragility of social identity, the weight of previous associations, and a relentless narrative pace that bridges the gap between 19th-century Gothic horror and the structured detective fiction of the 20th century. Whether dealing with a grisly forensic artifact or a haunted family legacy, Boothby provided his audience with a perfect blend of the familiar and the shocking. This edition serves as a testament to a writer who, though often overlooked today, once stood as a master of the mystery genre, capturing the collective anxieties of a world on the brink of change.

By Guy Boothby

The Beautiful White Devil (1896) by Guy Boothby stands as one of the most vivid artifacts of the fin-de-siècle adventure boom, a moment when popular fiction fused imperial restlessness, criminal romance, and the growing public appetite for charismatic anti-heroes. Boothby, already known for his flair for exotic atmospheres and high-velocity plotting, crafted in this novel a figure who upends the moral architecture of late-Victorian adventure: a brilliant, elusive woman outlaw who commands the seas with a mixture of theatrical bravado, disciplined intelligence, and a distinctly modern sensibility about power.

The novel’s pacing is unmistakably Boothby’s—rapid, cinematic, and unembarrassed in its desire to enthrall—but what gives The Beautiful White Devil enduring interest is its central inversion. Instead of the conventional male pirate-captain or gentleman-adventurer, Boothby builds his drama around a woman whose audacity challenges the gender codes of the 1890s. She is both a product of her age and a challenge to it, exploiting the cracks in a world structured by empire, commerce, and male authority. Her crimes unsettle not simply because they are daring, but because they are executed with a level of strategic clarity usually reserved, in Victorian fiction, for men. Even today, she reads less like a stock villain and more like the prototype of the morally ambiguous mastermind—an ancestor of the elegant thief, the tactical vigilante, and the charismatic rogue.

For modern readers, this fusion of high adventure and gender subversion gives the novel a surprisingly contemporary resonance. Boothby captures the anxieties and fascinations of an empire confronting its own vulnerabilities: the fragility of control over distant seas, the shifting status of women within public life, and the ambiguity of heroism in a world where law, power, and personal justice do not always align. The tension between official authority and individual agency—especially when wielded by someone who is not expected, in the Victorian imagination, to possess it—feels strikingly current in an age that still debates the ethics of resistance, the allure of transgression, and the politics of criminality.

As a narrative artifact for a modern edition, The Beautiful White Devil is more than an adventure story; it is a window into the performative spectacle of crime at the turn of the century and a reminder of how popular fiction often anticipates social transformation before “serious” literature acknowledges it. Boothby’s tale, with its blend of romance, danger, and social provocation, remains a compelling example of how the adventure novel can reveal the shadows and ambitions of the culture that produced it.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 216p.

By O. E. Rølvaag (Author), Colin Heston (Introduction)

Peder Victorious by O. E. Rølvaag is a powerful continuation of the prairie saga that began with Giants in the Earth, shifting the focus from the physical hardships of pioneer settlement to the inner conflicts of the immigrant’s American-born son. Set within a Norwegian farming community in the Dakota Territory, the novel follows young Peder Holm as he comes of age amid the competing claims of ancestral faith and American ambition. Intelligent and driven, Peder embraces education and opportunity, yet his aspirations strain against the religious intensity and cultural conservatism that define his mother’s world. Rølvaag portrays with psychological depth the tension between generations, the fragility of cultural inheritance, and the cost of assimilation. The prairie remains vast and elemental, but the central struggle unfolds within the human heart, where identity, loyalty, and belief are tested. Both intimate and epic in scope, the novel offers a searching exploration of what it means to be victorious in a land that promises freedom while quietly demanding transformation.

Nearly a century after its publication, Peder Victorious by O. E. Rølvaag remains strikingly relevant in an era defined by global migration, cultural pluralism, and debates over national identity. The novel’s portrayal of second-generation tension—between inherited faith and modern ambition, communal loyalty and individual advancement—mirrors the lived experience of many contemporary families navigating assimilation in North America, Europe, and beyond. Peder’s divided consciousness anticipates what sociologists now describe as bicultural identity formation, in which success within dominant institutions can coexist with a sense of estrangement from ancestral tradition. At a time when questions of belonging, integration, and cultural continuity are again politically and socially charged, Rølvaag’s work offers a sober reminder that assimilation is not a frictionless process but a psychological and moral negotiation whose costs and gains are unevenly distributed across generations.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 240p.

By Johann Peter Eckerman., Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe. Special Preface by Graeme R. Newman

In the final decade of his life, one of Europe’s greatest literary minds opened his door each day to a devoted young writer—and spoke freely. Conversations with Eckermann preserves those remarkable exchanges, offering readers an intimate portrait of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe at the height of his intellectual maturity. Through the attentive record of Johann Peter Eckermann, we witness Goethe reflecting on art, science, politics, poetry, and the destiny of modern culture with candor, wit, and penetrating insight.

These conversations are not formal lectures but living thought—unfolding over dinners, walks, and evenings of discussion. Goethe comments on Shakespeare and Byron, debates the direction of German literature, critiques romantic excess, anticipates the idea of “world literature,” and reveals the disciplines that sustained his own creative genius. The result is a rare literary document: philosophy in motion, cultural criticism in real time, and the inner workshop of a towering mind laid open.

Both intellectually rich and deeply human, Conversations with Eckermann offers more than historical curiosity. It models the art of thinking—measured, expansive, resistant to extremes. For modern readers navigating an age of ideological noise and cultural fragmentation, this classic work remains a masterclass in intellectual clarity, civil discourse, and the enduring power of conversation.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 284p.

O. E. Rølvaag, Preface by Colin Heston.

The struggle of the immigrant is often told through the lens of triumph—of cities built and fortunes made—but in O. E. Rølvaag’s Giants in the Earth, we are invited into a far more intimate and devastating arena: the psychological and spiritual cost of taming a wilderness. First published in Norwegian in 1924 as I de dage and later meticulously translated into English by Lincoln Colcord in collaboration with the author, this novel remains the definitive epic of the American prairie. It is not merely a story of farming; it is a saga of the human psyche stretched to its breaking point against an indifferent landscape.
At the heart of the narrative lies a profound dichotomy between the two protagonists, Per Hansa and Beret. Per Hansa embodies the archetype of the pioneer, fueled by a restless, creative energy that views the desolate plains of South Dakota not as a wasteland, but as a kingdom waiting to be claimed. To him, the "Giants" are physical obstacles to be conquered through grit and vision. Conversely, Beret represents the tragic reality of displacement. She is haunted by the Great Plain, a space so vast and empty that she feels God cannot find her there. For Beret, the "Giants" are the invisible, malevolent forces of the Earth itself, punishing those who dare to disturb its ancient, heavy silence.
The English version of Giants in the Earth is a rare literary achievement born of a unique partnership. Lincoln Colcord, a writer of the sea, found a common language with Rølvaag, a writer of the "sea of grass." Their collaboration ensured that the stark, rhythmic beauty of Rølvaag’s Norwegian—steeped in biblical cadence and Old World folklore—was preserved for an English-speaking audience. Colcord understood that the oceanic quality of the prairie was more than a metaphor; it was a physical reality where the winds howling across the Dakota territory carried the same weight and terror as a North Atlantic gale.
Rølvaag does not romanticize the pioneer experience. He documents the relentless succession of plagues—locusts, blizzards, and the suffocating loneliness of the sod house—forcing the reader to confront the sobering question of what is lost when a culture uproots itself. While Per Hansa builds the physical foundations of a new nation, Beret bears the burden of the cultural and emotional cost. Her descent into religious melancholy serves as a poignant reminder that while the land may be conquered, the soul is often the casualty of that conquest. She famously remarks that the Great Plain drinks the blood of Christian men and is never satisfied.
Nearly a century since its translation, Giants in the Earth stands as a pillar of American literature because it refuses to offer easy answers. It is a masterpiece of realism and a haunting work of the imagination that captures the birth of a modern identity forged in a crucible of isolation. As you turn these pages, you are witnessing a history that is as much about the internal landscape of the mind as it is about the external map of the frontier.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 373p.

By Arthur Train. Introduction by Graeme R. Newman

The transition of the American legal system from the rough-and-tumble nineteenth century into the more structured, investigative era of the early twentieth century is nowhere more vividly captured than in Arthur Train’s True Stories of Crime from the District Attorney’s Office. As an Assistant District Attorney for New York County during a period of rapid urbanization and social upheaval, Train occupied a unique vantage point that allowed him to witness the collision of old-world criminal archetypes with the emerging complexities of modern life. This collection of narratives serves as a clinical yet deeply compelling autopsy of the era’s most notorious legal battles, offering readers a rare glimpse into the machinery of justice at a time when forensic science was in its infancy and the power of the prosecutor’s office was expanding into new, uncharted territories.

Train’s work is particularly significant for its early exploration of what would eventually be termed white-collar crime. While the public imagination of 1908 was often captured by tales of blunt violence and physical daring, Train directs his focus toward the "super-criminal"—the manipulative mastermind who utilized the administrative and financial structures of the city as their primary tools of exploitation. Through these accounts, we see the emergence of a new kind of threat that required a equally sophisticated response from the legal establishment. Train describes a landscape where economic desperation and social isolation were the primary drivers of criminal behavior, yet he also highlights the systemic vulnerabilities that allowed institutional fraud to flourish. By documenting these cases, he provides a foundation for the study of victimology, illustrating how the legal system often struggled to keep pace with the evolving ingenuity of those who sought to undermine it.

Beyond their historical and legal value, these stories possess a narrative vitality that reflects the tension between the sensationalism of early tabloid journalism and the rigorous demands of the courtroom. Train’s prose is informed by his experiences on the front lines of the District Attorney’s office, where the outcome of a trial often hinged as much on rhetorical flair and personal intuition as it did on physical evidence. In revisiting these cases today, we are invited to consider the persistent challenges of defining and delivering justice within a complex bureaucracy. Train does not shy away from the moral ambiguities of his profession, and his reflections on the nature of guilt and the limitations of the law remain strikingly relevant. This volume stands not only as a record of forgotten crimes but as an enduring meditation on the social fabric of a metropolis in flux, capturing the moment when the modern era of criminal justice truly began.

Read-Me.Org Inc. 2026. 184p.

By O. E. ROLVAAG

Their Fathers’ God (1931) is the powerful conclusion to O. E. Rølvaag’s epic trilogy of the Norwegian-American immigrant experience on the South Dakota prairies. Picking up where Peder Victorious left off, the novel shifts focus from the physical struggle of settling the land to the cultural and spiritual conflicts of the second generation. The story centers on the marriage of Peder Holm, a forward-thinking Norwegian Lutheran, and Susie Doheny, a devout Irish Catholic. As they attempt to build a life together, their relationship becomes a battlefield for the "clash of heritages":

• Religious Tension: The couple struggles with the differing demands of their faiths, particularly regarding the baptism and upbringing of their children.

• Cultural Identity: Peder wants to assimilate and modernise, while the pressures of their respective immigrant communities pull them back toward old-world traditions.

• Environmental Hardship: Set against a backdrop of drought, grasshopper plagues, and the harsh reality of prairie farming, the physical environment mirrors the drying up of their emotional connection.

Major Themes

• The Melting Pot Myth: Rølvaag explores the psychological toll of assimilation, suggesting that the blending of two distinct cultures is often a painful, destructive process rather than a seamless one.

• Succession: The book examines whether the "God of the Fathers"—the rigid traditions and beliefs of the original pioneers—can survive or thrive in a rapidly changing American landscape.

While Giants in the Earth was a sweeping adventure of pioneer survival, Their Fathers’ God is a more intimate, psychological drama. It is often cited by historians and literary critics for its realistic, unsentimental portrayal of how religious and ethnic boundaries persisted even in the "limitless" American West.

Harper & Brothers. 1931. 350 p.

By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. Introduction by Colin Heston

When The King in Yellow appeared in 1895, it slipped quietly into a literary world already saturated with decadence, occult enthusiasms, and the fin-de-siècle’s peculiar blend of anxiety and intoxication. Yet Robert W. Chambers’s strange mosaic of tales—united by a fictional forbidden play that unhinges those who read it—swiftly distinguished itself from its contemporaries. In the decades since, this slim volume has grown into one of the foundational works of the American weird tradition, prefiguring H. P. Lovecraft, influencing generations of modern horror writers, and unexpectedly resurfacing in the twenty-first century as a cultural touchstone.

What makes Chambers’s book so unusual is its deliberate blurring of boundaries: between reality and hallucination, sanity and delusion, art and contagion. The collection opens with “The Repairer of Reputations,” a tale set in an imagined New York of 1920—an unsettling mixture of futurism, authoritarian regulation, and manic delusion. It is here that the mysterious “King in Yellow” first exerts his influence. The narrator, a deeply unreliable figure, is convinced of his noble birthright and guided by an enigmatic “repairer” who traffics in scandal and blackmail. The narrative unfolds as a case study in self-deception, political paranoia, and the fragility of identity—yet nothing in the story is easily dismissed as mere fantasy. Reality itself buckles under the weight of the narrator’s convictions.

The Mask, perhaps the most haunting of the early tales, shifts the setting to the Latin Quarter of Paris, where art, science, and obsession converge. The grotesque beauty of Boris Yvain’s alchemical solution—capable of transforming living beings into flawless marble—creates a collision of aesthetics and mortality that typifies Chambers’s most powerful work. The story’s dreamlike quality reflects the decadent movement’s fascination with artificiality, transformation, and the erotic pull of the inanimate. Throughout, the shadow of the forbidden play hovers, never fully seen but always felt.

Other sections—“In the Court of the Dragon,” “The Yellow Sign,” and additional sketches—extend the book’s architecture of dread. Chambers never provides the text of the play itself, only its aftershocks, its “second act” whispered about as a psychic abyss from which there is no return. This structural absence is one of the book’s great innovations: The horror lies not in spectacle but in suggestion, in the void where meaning should be. The King in Yellow, the Pallid Mask, and the Lost City of Carcosa are not fully explained but instead exist as fragments of a mythology the reader assembles intuitively, as though the stories themselves are encoded with an infectious idea.

The power of The King in Yellow endures because it is not simply a collection of supernatural tales—it is a meditation on contagion: of ideas, of aesthetics, of inner instability. Chambers’s fictional play does not merely frighten; it corrodes. It reveals hidden fractures in those who encounter it and amplifies their darkest impulses. In this sense, the book mirrors its age. The 1890s were marked by the collapse of old certainties, the rise of new sciences of the mind, and an artistic fascination with decadence, degeneration, and the beautiful ruin of the self. Chambers captured that atmosphere with uncanny acuity.

Today, amidst digital conspiracies, fractured identities, and a renewed cultural fascination with alternate realities, The King in Yellow feels more relevant than ever. It invites the reader to step into a world where truth is unstable, where art is dangerous, and where the boundaries of perception are mercilessly thin. The book’s whispered mythology has become larger than the text itself, seeding later works, reappearing in unexpected media, and reminding us that the most enduring horrors are those we cannot fully see.

To open these stories is to risk a glimpse of the Yellow Sign—a symbol of beauty, madness, and forbidden knowledge. Chambers offers no assurances. He only extends an invitation to enter Carcosa, where twin suns sink over black waters and where, once the play begins, the mask cannot be removed.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026 p.209

By Edgar Wallace. Introduction by Colin Heston

In Silinski – Master Criminal, Wallace constructs the titular character not as a creature of impulse, but as a precursor to the modern white-collar sociopath, defined by what can be termed "organized intellect." Unlike the flamboyant villains of Gothic tradition, Silinski’s power is derived from his mastery of systems—legal, financial, and social. He treats crime as a rigorous administrative discipline, employing a level of detachment that mirrors the very corporate structures he seeks to exploit. This intellectualization of villainy creates a chilling paradox: Silinski is most dangerous when he is at his most rational. Wallace highlights this by contrasting the frantic, reactive energy of the police with Silinski’s own glacial composure. His "mastery" is not merely a matter of successful theft, but of an informational asymmetry where he remains several steps ahead of the law by treating the world as a chessboard of predictable variables. Consequently, the tension of the novel arises not from the "whodunnit" element, but from the terrifying efficiency of a mind that has completely divorced morality from logic.
The conclusion of the narrative solidifies the "super-criminal" archetype not as a mere antagonist, but as a necessary mirror to the evolution of the modern state. By weaving together the threads of bureaucratic mastery and economic manipulation, Wallace posits that the transition of the criminal from the physical to the cerebral reflects a broader societal shift toward abstraction. Silinski represents the dark potential of the burgeoning 20th century: the realization that true power is no longer found in the strength of one's arm, but in the reach of one's influence over the systems that sustain public life. As the novel draws to its close, the resolution of the plot serves as a pyrrhic victory for the law, acknowledging that while one man may be stopped, the systemic vulnerabilities he exposed remain inherent to the fabric of global society. Ultimately, Silinski – Master Criminalstands as a definitive exploration of the modern villain, suggesting that in an age of complexity, the most profound threat to order is the very intelligence required to maintain it.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 188p.

By Francis Beeding. Introduction by Colin Heston.

In the shadows of a Europe still scarred by the Great War, a new and more terrifying conspiracy awakens. When Thomas Preston arrives in Geneva, he expects nothing more than a quiet diplomatic mission. Instead, he is thrust into a lethal game of cat-and-mouse after stumbling upon the secrets of the "Seven Sleepers"—a clandestine cabal of German industrialists and embittered generals plotting to shatter the fragile peace of the League of Nations.

Equipped with a terrifying hidden technology and a ruthless determination to rewrite the Treaty of Versailles, the Sleepers have already set their clock for a second global cataclysm. Preston’s only hope lies with the enigmatic Colonel Alastair Granby of British Intelligence. From high-speed chases across the continent to the inner sanctums of hidden laboratories, they must race to dismantle the conspiracy before the world is plunged back into the abyss of total war.

Originally published in 1925, The Seven Sleepers is the pulse-pounding debut of Francis Beeding’s most famous hero. It is a classic of the "clubland" thriller era, blending atmospheric suspense with the high-stakes espionage that defined a generation.

NU. Little Brown & Co. 1925.. New York-Philadelphia-Australia.. Read-Me.Org Inc. 2026. 182p.

BY G. Frank Lydston. Preface by Colin Heston

The wind howls across the desolate plains of the Old West, not with the romantic whistle of a ballad, but with the coarse, biting grit of reality. In the flickering shadows of a kerosene lamp, silhouettes gather around a scarred felt table, their faces etched with the histories of desperate gambles and hard-won wisdom. This is the world of G. Frank Lydston—a world where the line between the hero and the rogue is as thin as a worn playing card and twice as fragile.

In his seminal collection, Poker Jim, Gentleman, and Other Tales and Sketches, Lydston does more than recount anecdotes; he performs a literary autopsy on the American frontier. As a physician and a keen observer of human nature, he brought a surgical precision to his storytelling, looking past the polished myths of the "Wild West" to reveal the raw, pulsing nerves of the men and women who inhabited it. He understood that the wilderness was not merely a location, but a crucible that burned away the pretenses of civilization to reveal the true metal of the soul.

The titular character, Poker Jim, serves as the ultimate paradox of this untamed wilderness. He is a man who thrives in the so-called dens of iniquity, yet he carries himself with a code of ethics more rigid and unwavering than many of the city judges who would seek to condemn him. Through Jim and a cast of vibrant, often tragic figures, Lydston explores the profound duality of man, demonstrating how a gambler can possess the heart of a saint while a self-proclaimed gentleman might harbor the soul of a thief. To Lydston, the environment was never just a backdrop; it was a character in its own right—one that tested, broke, and occasionally redeemed the human spirit.

Lydston’s prose is a unique blend of Victorian elegance and frontier ruggedness, capturing the rough dialect of the mining camp and the sophisticated musings of the scholar with equal fervor. This collection stands as a testament to an era that was rapidly vanishing even as he wrote—a transition from lawless expansion to the paved certainty of the modern age. As you turn these pages, you step into smoke-filled saloons and silent, starlit canyons to witness the birth of a national identity forged in the fires of chance. You are invited to learn the philosophy of the hand: that life, much like the game itself, is rarely about the cards you are dealt, but the courage with which you play them.

Monarch Book Co., Chicago, 1906. Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. p.233.

Three Plays By Henry Becque. Translated From The French With An Introduction By Freeman Tilden. Preface by Colin Heston.

To enter the world of Henry Becque is to step into a theater stripped of its finery. As we present these three plays—”The Vultures”, “The Woman of Paris”, and “The Merry-Go-Round”—it is essential to recognize the revolutionary "brutal strength" Becque required to "knock over the idols of romance" that dominated the 19th-century stage.

Freeman Tilden’s introduction serves as a vigorous defense of Becque as the pioneer of realism. Tilden correctly identifies Becque as a "revolutionist" who flouted the "happy ending" and the rigid traditions of dramatists like Sardou. He eloquently describes Becque’s vision of a stage representing the "dramatic commonplaces of every-day life" rather than the "sentimental nonsense" of the era.

However, a modern critique of Tilden’s introduction reveals two areas where his analysis might be expanded:

First, “The Nature of the "Cruel Theatre": Tilden focuses heavily on the “structural” revolution—the five-act drama and the rejection of mystery-driven plots. While he mentions Becque’s "militant" social ideas, he arguably underplays the psychological darkness of the "cruel theatre". Becque did not just want realism; he wanted truth to go "defiantly bare," revealing a world where "vultures" (lawyers, partners, and creditors) wait for a man to die before descending on his family.

Second, “The Gender Perspective:” Tilden notes that Becque voiced "the protest of women against the prejudice that kept them from earning a decent livelihood". Yet, in his discussion of “The Woman of Paris” (“La Parisienne”), Tilden remains somewhat focused on the "naughty triangle" and the prosaic nature of adultery. A modern critique would emphasize that Becque’s women are often forced into moral compromises not by choice, but by a "bureaucratic system" that offers them only parasitism or ruin.

Despite these nuances, Tilden’s assertion remains true: Becque was the "wedge that opened the way for realism". He cleared the ground for Ibsen and the modernists by proving that a play could be "clear without being obvious" and that everyday existence held enough surprises for a master of stagecraft.

In this collection, readers will witness the "unexpectedly striking" scenes that puzzled 19th-century critics—from the savage dinner of the concierges in “The Prodigal Son” to the cold-blooded notary Bourdon in “The Vultures”. We invite you to experience the "cruel theatre" in its purest form: a mirror held up to the "marvellous dramatic commonplaces" of our own human struggle.

New York. Mitchell Kennerley. 1913. Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 267p.

By David Freedman. Introduction by Colin Heston.

David Freedman (1898–1936) was a central figure in the literary and entertainment world of the early 20th century. While Mendel Marantz remains his most enduring prose creation, his career spanned a vast range of media, from short stories to Broadway stages and the burgeoning world of radio

Freedman began his rise to prominence in the early 1920s. Mendel Marantz first appeared as a series of popular short stories in The Pictorial Review Company between 1922 and 1924. These stories were so well-received that they were compiled into the 1926 novel. The book’s dedication to Arthur Turner Vance expresses Freedman's gratitude for "bringing humble Mendel Marantz into the salons of literature," highlighting the character's journey from a folk figure to a literary icon.

Freedman's talent for sharp, rhythmic dialogue and philosophical wit—perfected in Mendel’s "What is...?" proverbs—led him naturally toward the performing arts.

Stage Success: In the mid-1920s, he transitioned to Broadway, writing for the legendary Ziegfeld Follies. He became a lead writer for comedy icons, most notably Eddie Cantor.

The Radio King: By the 1930s, Freedman was known as the "King of Radio Writers." At the height of his career, he was reportedly writing scripts for several of the most popular shows on the air simultaneously, earning a then-staggering salary for his creative output.

Freedman's work is characterized by a unique blend of immigrant humor and universal human truth. In Mendel Marantz, he explores the tension between the "fish market" of Pitt Street and the "Fifth Avenue" of high society. The novel captures the evolution of the Marantz family over several years, following their growth from a small apartment where "seven people in three rooms" lived like "cats on a roof" to the invention of the "Pitt Street Studio Apartments de Luxe. Mendel Marantz (1926), the full novel that solidified his reputationThe story was later adapted for both the stage and the 1926 silent film The Family Upstairs.

Freedman's career was cut short by his early death in 1936, but his "What is...?" philosophy continues to offer a window into the resilient, dreaming spirit of the era.

About the novel: Meet Mendel Marantz: the philosopher of the Fifth Avenue mind living in a fifth-floor walk-up. In David Freedman’s timeless classic, we step into the bustling, heart-filled world of the Marantz family, where the rent is high, the tea is hot, and the jokes are always free At the center of it all is Mendel—a man who views work as "poison" but sees life as a "see-saw" of endless possibilities While his wife, Zelde, scrubs away the "ocean of troubles" on a washboard, Mendel is busy dreaming up the next big thing, like his revolutionary Refillable Can Company. He’s the original "idea man," a dreamer who believes that while "fools can make money," only brains can create a future.

But when the family hits a breaking point, Zelde stages a revolt that flips their world upside down. In a modern twist on roles, Mendel finds himself trading his inventions for the "charms" of 1920s housekeeping—battling flying pillows, greasy garbage, and the relentless energy of six children. It’s a hilarious and poignant look at family dynamics that feels surprisingly fresh today.

Whether he’s turning a crumbling Pitt Street tenement into a "Studio Apartment de Luxe" or navigating the high-society dreams of his daughter Sarah, Mendel meets every challenge with a sharp wit and a signature "What is...?" proverb.

Mendel Marantz isn't just a book about the old days; it’s a celebration of the dreamer in all of us, proving that no matter how tough the "journey" gets, it's always better with a joke and a cup of tea.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. p.212.

By A. S. M. Hutchinson. Introduction by Colin Heston.

When If Winter Comes appeared in 1921, it entered a literary moment marked by exhaustion, reassessment, and a profound unease about the moral and emotional consequences of the First World War. Written by A. S. M. Hutchinson, the novel achieved immediate popularity on both sides of the Atlantic, resonating with readers who recognized in its restrained drama a faithful portrait of postwar disillusionment. Today, the book stands as one of the most representative middle-class English novels of the early 1920s, combining psychological realism with a quietly devastating critique of social conformity.

At the center of If Winter Comes is Mark Sabre, a man neither heroic nor villainous, but painfully ordinary—an embodiment of the conscientious, educated Englishman caught between private integrity and public expectation. Sabre’s tragedy unfolds not through sensational events but through accumulated compromises: the erosion of affection within marriage, the pressures of respectability, and the moral cowardice of a community that prizes appearances above truth. Hutchinson’s great achievement is to dramatize these pressures with such precision that the reader comes to see how social cruelty can be enacted without overt malice, simply through silence, gossip, and moral indifference.

The novel reflects a society struggling to redefine itself after catastrophe. Although the war remains largely offstage, its psychological presence is unmistakable. Characters speak and act as if something fundamental has been broken: faith in institutions, confidence in moral authority, and trust in traditional roles. Hutchinson does not frame this as a generational revolt, as some of his modernist contemporaries did, but rather as a slow moral suffocation. The England of If Winter Comes is orderly, polite, and profoundly unforgiving—a place where deviation from accepted norms is punished less by law than by social annihilation.

Stylistically, Hutchinson occupies a middle ground between Edwardian realism and the emerging psychological novel. His prose is clear, controlled, and often deceptively simple. Sentiment is present, but carefully disciplined; emotional climaxes arise organically from character rather than authorial intrusion. This restraint partly explains the book’s enduring power. Hutchinson trusts the reader to perceive the cruelty embedded in everyday interactions and to grasp the cumulative weight of small injustices. The result is a novel that feels at once intimate and inexorable.

Equally important is Hutchinson’s treatment of marriage and masculinity. Mark Sabre is not undone by vice or ambition but by a moral rigidity that prevents him from acting decisively in his own defense. In this sense, If Winter Comes anticipates later twentieth-century explorations of male emotional paralysis. Sabre’s passivity—his belief that decency alone will protect him—proves to be a fatal misconception. Hutchinson exposes how a culture that rewards restraint and silence can become complicit in personal destruction.

Upon publication, the novel’s success was amplified by its adaptation into a widely seen stage play and later film versions, cementing its reputation as a defining postwar narrative. Yet its popularity should not obscure its seriousness. Beneath its accessible surface lies a sharp moral inquiry into responsibility, courage, and the cost of social obedience. Hutchinson does not offer easy consolation; the title itself suggests a stoic endurance rather than renewal, implying that survival may require a reckoning with loss rather than its denial.

Read today, If Winter Comes remains strikingly contemporary. Its depiction of reputational ruin, public shaming, and institutional indifference speaks to modern anxieties about social judgment and moral isolation. Hutchinson’s novel reminds us that cruelty need not be loud to be lethal, and that the gravest tragedies often occur not in moments of drama but in the long, quiet seasons of neglect. As such, this book endures not merely as a historical artifact of postwar Britain, but as a timeless study of how societies fail their most conscientious members when compassion yields to convention.

By Frederic F. Van de Water. Introduction by Graeme R. Newman

When Grey Riders appeared in 1922, Frederic F. Van de Water was already emerging as one of the most capable interpreters of American frontier mythology. A journalist, historian, and novelist, he had spent years documenting the enduring tensions between law, order, memory, and violence in the development of the Atlantic seaboard. Grey Riders stands as one of his most vivid contributions to that project: a narrative history and interpretive reconstruction of the Border Riders—Vermont and New York militiamen, irregulars, and informal vigilante bands who policed, contested, and sometimes exploited the wilderness regions between the American colonies and British Canada during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries

Van de Water had a journalist’s fascination with complexity, and Grey Riders is at its strongest when it illuminates the contradictions inherent in a frontier culture that simultaneously demanded firmness of justice and tolerated the improvisational violence of irregular policing. In his account, the riders are men shaped by hardship—farmers, Loyalists, deserters, Yankee patriots, trappers, smugglers, and opportunists—who alternately defended and defied the emerging legal structures of the early United States. Their world was one where the line between protector and predator was always negotiable.

The book’s historical frame—stretching most visibly from the late Revolutionary era through the War of 1812—allows Van de Water to explore how unresolved grievances, economic scarcity, and geopolitical rivalry produced a frontier culture that did not neatly conform to the nation-state boundaries we take for granted today. The riders themselves were products of this ambiguity. While some acted as scouts and auxiliaries for the Continental Army or state militias, others drifted into banditry, smuggling, or private vengeance. Van de Water refuses to simplify this ambiguity; instead, he constructs a narrative that emphasizes how the frontier’s conditions forged men who were, by necessity, adaptable to both moral clarity and moral shade.

For the modern reader, Grey Riders also holds value as part of the broader early-twentieth-century reconsideration of American origins. The 1920s were a period of heightened nostalgia, cultural nationalism, and renewed interest in the country’s formative conflicts. Van de Water, however, avoids sentimentalism. His frontier is not a place of heroic inevitability but a zone of tension where identity, loyalty, and legitimacy are constantly renegotiated. In this respect, the book anticipates the more critical frontier historiography that would emerge later in the century.

Contemporary scholars may also find in Grey Riders an instructive account of how local communities develop security practices when state institutions are weak, distant, or contested—an issue that remains resonant in discussions of borderlands worldwide. The riders, as Van de Water portrays them, are precursors to many modern forms of irregular security actors: militias, local auxiliaries, self-appointed protectors, and armed community defense groups. Their actions demonstrate both the necessity and danger of such formations, especially when scarcity and political friction define daily life.

This new edition returns readers to a moment when questions of national boundaries, informal justice, and community resilience are central to global debate. Van de Water’s riders, moving through a grey zone of legality and identity, offer a powerful reminder that the frontier has never been a simple place—and that the forces shaping it never truly disappeared.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. p.188.

By Frances Parkinson Keyes

Came a Cavalier by Frances Parkinson Keyes is a sweeping historical romance set against the backdrop of two world wars. The novel explores themes of resilience, identity, and the transformative power of love. At its heart is Constance “Connie” Galt, a young woman whose life is reshaped by personal betrayal and the chaos of global conflict. Her journey begins with heartbreak, which propels her into service with the American Red Cross in France during World War I. This experience becomes a crucible for her character, forcing her to confront suffering and loss while discovering inner strength and purpose.

The story delves deeply into the theme of personal growth through adversity. Connie’s evolution from a disillusioned college student to a confident, compassionate woman mirrors the broader societal shifts of the early twentieth century. Her relationships—first with Duncan Craig, an American doctor, and later with Tristan de Fremond, a French cavalry officer—highlight the tension between security and passion, as well as the cultural contrasts between America and Europe during wartime.

Historically, the novel captures the atmosphere of wartime France with vivid detail, from the scarcity and danger of the front lines to the elegance and traditions of the French aristocracy. It reflects the impact of war on both individuals and nations, portraying how global upheaval can dismantle old social orders while creating new opportunities for connection and renewal. The narrative also touches on themes of honor and duty, embodied in Tristan’s role within the prestigious Cadre Noir, and contrasts these ideals with the pragmatic realities of survival and love in times of uncertainty.

Ultimately, Came a Cavalier is not just a romance but a meditation on courage, endurance, and the human capacity for reinvention. It situates personal drama within the grand sweep of history, offering readers both an intimate love story and a rich portrait of a world in transition.

Julian Messner, Inc. NY. 1947. Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. 437p.

By Erskine Caldwell. Designed and Edited with an Introduction  by Colin Heston

When All Night Long appeared in 1942, Erskine Caldwell was already one of the most widely read—and most controversial—American novelists of his generation. Known primarily for his unsparing portrayals of poverty, violence, and moral stress in the American South, Caldwell here turned his attention outward, to a global conflict unfolding at unprecedented scale. Subtitled A Novel of Guerrilla Warfare in Russia, All Night Long represents Caldwell’s direct literary engagement with the Second World War at the moment when its outcome remained deeply uncertain and when the Soviet Union, newly allied with the United States, had become a central symbol of resistance to fascist aggression.

Caldwell’s Russia is not a romanticized abstraction nor a detailed ethnographic portrait. Instead, it functions as a stark moral landscape shaped by occupation, deprivation, and constant threat. Villages, forests, and frozen terrain become arenas of endurance rather than scenery. The emphasis falls on night operations, secrecy, hunger, exhaustion, and the psychological toll of living in a perpetual state of danger. The title itself—All Night Long—signals this temporal and emotional register: war as an unbroken vigil, a continuous strain that erodes the boundary between action and survival.

For modern readers, the novel occupies an intriguing position in Caldwell’s body of work and in twentieth-century war literature more broadly. It stands apart from his Southern novels in geography but not in theme. As in Tobacco Road or God’s Little Acre, Caldwell examines how extreme conditions strip life down to its essentials and expose the structures—economic, political, or military—that govern human behavior. In All Night Long, the setting is international, but the underlying concerns remain consistent: power, exploitation, resilience, and the cost of endurance.

Read today, All Night Long also invites reflection on the evolving representation of guerrilla warfare itself. Long before such conflicts became a dominant feature of late-twentieth- and early-twenty-first-century military discourse, Caldwell recognized the strategic and moral complexity of irregular resistance. His novel anticipates later debates about asymmetrical warfare, civilian involvement, and the blurred lines between combatant and noncombatant—issues that continue to shape global conflicts.

Ultimately, All Night Long is less a novel about Russia per se than a novel about resistance under occupation. It captures a historical moment when global war demanded new forms of solidarity and new narrative frameworks to explain them. Caldwell’s achievement lies in his ability to translate that vast struggle into an intimate, unrelenting account of human persistence, sustained through darkness, danger, and the long hours of night.

NY.Book League of America. 1942. Read-Me.Org Inc. Australia, New York & Philadelphia. 2025. 161p.

By Walter Besant. Introduction by Colin Heston.

First published in 1893, The Ivory Gate stands among the late novels of Walter Besant, a writer whose career was defined by a sustained engagement with the moral, social, and psychological pressures of modern urban life. Appearing at the close of the Victorian era, the novel reflects both Besant’s long-standing commitment to social realism and his increasing interest in the interior life of the individual—especially the fragile boundary between aspiration and illusion.
The title itself announces the book’s governing metaphor. In classical and medieval literature, the “ivory gate” is the passage through which false dreams pass into waking life, as opposed to the gate of horn, from which true dreams emerge. Besant adapts this image to late-nineteenth-century conditions, using it to explore the seductive power of unrealized hopes, romantic delusions, and social fantasies that shape—and often distort—human conduct. The novel is less concerned with overt villainy than with self-deception: the quiet, persistent capacity of individuals to misread their circumstances and to substitute imagined futures for lived realities.
For modern readers, the novel remains strikingly relevant. Its exploration of illusion, self-fashioning, and the tension between inner fantasy and external reality resonates with contemporary concerns about identity, expectation, and social pressure. While its Victorian idiom and moral framework are firmly rooted in the nineteenth century, its psychological insights anticipate later treatments of self-deception and emotional displacement.
This new edition invites readers to reconsider The Ivory Gate not simply as a period piece, but as a thoughtful and understated meditation on the human tendency to live in dreams of our own making. In tracing the quiet tragedies that arise when those dreams eclipse judgment, Besant offers a work of enduring moral seriousness—one that illuminates both the anxieties of his age and the persistent vulnerabilities of our own.

A READ-ME.ORG CLASSIC REPRINT. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. 321p.

By George W. Cable

The Grandissimes: A Story of Creole Life stands among the most vivid and penetrating literary portraits of early New Orleans—its tangled ancestries, its hierarchies of caste and color, and its rich cultural complexity at the turn of the nineteenth century. First published in 1880, George W. Cable’s novel announced the arrival of a distinctive Southern voice: one capable of blending romance, social critique, historical reconstruction, and an almost anthropological attention to the manners and moral contradictions of Creole society.

Cable, himself native to New Orleans, wrote at a moment when the American public was only beginning to recognize the significance of Louisiana’s unique heritage. The city had passed from French to Spanish control, then back to France, then suddenly into the hands of the United States through the Louisiana Purchase. In Cable’s imagination, this swirl of sovereignties—compounded by the interwoven legacies of France, Spain, Africa, the Caribbean, and Indigenous peoples—created a society unlike any other on the continent. The Grand–issimes dramatizes this world at a moment of profound transition, when old loyalties struggled against the pressures of Americanization, and when the boundaries of race, class, and honor were both fiercely guarded and constantly transgressed.

At its center stands the old Creole family of the Grandissimes, whose branches include both the proud white aristocracy and a free man of color who bears the same name—a blood relationship that must not, in respectable society, be spoken aloud. Through this intricate family history, Cable exposes the contradictions of slavery, the moral compromises of privilege, and the tragic limitations imposed on people of mixed heritage. Yet the novel is anything but a simple moral allegory. Its pages teem with humor, local color, memorable characters, and a richly textured atmosphere that evokes the city’s architecture, dialects, festivals, and customs with unmatched fidelity.

Cable’s realism—rare among Southern writers of his generation—caused both admiration and controversy. His depictions of racial injustice were received with anger in parts of the post-Reconstruction South, and his advocacy for Black civil rights would eventually drive him to relocate to the North. Today, his work is recognized as foundational: a precursor to later explorations of New Orleans identity by Kate Chopin, Lafcadio Hearn, Lyle Saxon, and many others.

This edition of The Grandissimes invites readers to rediscover Cable’s great novel not merely as an historical document but as a living work of art. Its themes of belonging, cultural collision, and the moral weight of inherited systems remain deeply resonant. In tracing the fate of a family—and of a city—at a crossroads, Cable offers a vision both critical and compassionate, illuminating a world whose complexities still echo through the streets of New Orleans today.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. p.248.