The Best American Humorous Short Stories — Reading Notes

Structure and Selection Strategy

Jessup’s introduction lays out a deliberate architecture: he sought stories that “must first of all be not merely good stories, but good short stories,” with humor as a secondary but close criterion. This principle shapes the anthology’s range. He notes that “no book is duller than a book of jokes,” so he avoids a gag-a-minute approach. Instead, the collection moves through different modes—from the rustic dialect of Richard Malcolm Johnston to the urban irony of O. Henry. The editor’s own voice, however, remains mostly absent from the story pages; he lets the authors speak. The result is a volume that feels less like a joke book and more like a survey of narrative craft, where humor emerges from character and situation rather than punchlines.

Recurring Images and Movement Between Scenes

Several stories in the excerpts share a pattern of physical dislocation and comic reversal. In one tale, Elder Brown, a gaunt countryman, is drawn into a city saloon where his “battered hat and clawhammer coat” mark him as an outsider. The scene shifts rapidly from street to bar to back room, with the elder’s hat repeatedly falling and being retrieved—a recurring prop that signals his loss of control. Similarly, Hannah Brown’s story moves from sleepless anger at home to a lane at night, with the pink bonnet with a blue plume serving as a comic-tender object that triggers a shift from wrath to tears. These movements between domestic and public spaces, and the objects that travel with characters, create a visual rhythm of descent and recovery.

Voice and Dialect as Comic Engine

Jessup’s collection draws heavily on regional dialects and oral storytelling rhythms. In the excerpted passages, the narrator’s tone shifts between folksy intimacy and mock-heroic description. Elder Brown “sang a camp-meeting song” while “his coat tails ornamented with a couple of show-bills,” the juxtaposition of sacred and profane undercutting his dignity. The prose itself enacts the humor: short, punchy sentences during action (“He arose and shouted: ‘Whoa, Balaam!’”) give way to longer, wry observations. The editor’s own introduction uses a similar cadence, with parenthetical asides and conversational phrasing. This consistency in voice across stories suggests Jessup valued a certain narrative energy—brisk, visual, and slightly irreverent—over polished literary decorum.

The Role of Objects and Props

Physical objects in these stories often carry comic weight beyond their literal function. Elder Brown’s hat is a running gag: he falls into it, it gets knocked aside, it reappears. The pink bonnet with a blue plume in Hannah Brown’s story becomes a symbol of her husband’s folly and her own buried tenderness. Jessup’s authors use such items to anchor scenes and trigger emotional shifts. In the excerpt, Hannah “seizing the queer object, bent her face upon it and sobbed hysterically”—the bonnet is both absurd and poignant. This technique recurs throughout the anthology: a cigar stub, a billiard-chalk drawing of Balaam’s head, a show-bill pinned on a coat. These props are not mere decoration; they drive the comedy and reveal character.

Readers approaching this anthology should expect variety rather than uniformity. Jessup’s editorial choices reward attention to narrative structure and regional voice. The stories are best read singly, allowing each author’s comic strategy to register fully. Pay particular attention to how objects and settings shift between scenes—these are often the hinges on which the humor turns. The collection offers a window into American literary tastes of the early twentieth century, but its pleasures remain immediate.

These old stories felt less like jokes and more like company, a quiet hand on the shoulder. That same warmth lingers in the gentler corners of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906 — Context and Discussion, where even small towns hold their secrets tenderly. I still think of both when the evenings get long.