My Story That I Like Best — Background and Themes

A Host’s Framing and the Authors’ Personas

Long’s introduction does more than list credentials; it paints each writer as a distinct personality. Edna Ferber is “black-haired, dark-eyed, vivid, animation itself”; James Oliver Curwood is “tall, wiry, outdoorsy in every line and movement.” The editor explicitly compares the authors’ names to “trade-marks for interesting, satisfying reading matter,” suggesting that commercial success and literary quality were intertwined in the magazine marketplace of the 1920s. The framing device—an evening of relaxed conversation—implies an intimacy that the reader is invited to share.

The Excerpt’s Focus: Dan Pelly and Tiny Tim

The longest excerpt comes from Peter B. Kyne’s story “Point,” featuring an aging dog trainer named Dan Pelly and his unlikely pointer, Tiny Tim. The narrative dwells on the physical details of the dog’s appearance—described as a “mutt”—and the trainer’s emotional attachment. Dan registers at a hotel with “his dog, Tiny Tim,” and procures a “hearty ration of lamb stew with vegetables” for the animal. The story builds toward a field trial where Tiny Tim is paired against a celebrated pointer, Colonel Dorsey. The excerpt shows a strong sense of place (a village square, a hotel lobby, a sage flat) and a community of trainers who speak in colloquial, affectionate banter.

Catalog Subjects vs. Actual Content

The catalog lists this work under “Short stories, American” and “American fiction,” with secondary topic “general-literature.” The excerpts confirm the short-story format but reveal a specific editorial structure: each author’s contribution is preceded by a personal statement about why they chose that story. The introduction by Ray Long is itself a substantial piece of magazine-style commentary. The excerpt from Kyne’s “Point” is not a complete story but a portion that emphasizes character and setting over plot resolution. The catalog subjects do not capture the meta-literary framing—the authors’ own preferences and the editor’s role—which is a central feature of the book.

Readers approaching this collection should note that the excerpts provide only fragments of the six stories. The editorial apparatus—Long’s introduction and each author’s prefatory note—is as much a part of the book as the fiction itself. The volume offers a window into the tastes and self-perceptions of commercially successful American writers of the 1920s, filtered through the lens of a magazine editor who valued personality and productivity.

In that old anthology, the authors lingered over their chosen stories like friends at a fireside, each tale a confession of sorts. I think of that intimacy whenever I handle Dig me no grave — Edition Insights, whose quiet notes echo the same reverence—a book speaking softly about another book, the way one old volume might nod to a neighbor on the shelf.