In Dr. J. Berg Esenwein’s 1908 book Writing the Short-Story: A Practical Handbook on the Rise, Structure, Writing and Sale of the Modern Short-Story, he not only tells us exactly what sort of story we should write, but he also gives advice as to what sort of stories we should avoid.

Here’s what was apparently off limits a century ago:

Since nearly all the short-stories that attain to print are published in newspapers and periodicals, it would seem that an author who is anxious to see his story in type should consider the limitations set by the public—the real masters of the editor. Yet, on various pleas authors persist in offering for publication stories on themes entirely unsuited to publication in any periodical of general circulation. Occasionally one is accepted, either by mistake or from sheer determination to print the story because it is “good stuff,” however Mrs. Grundy may view its subject. But the doubtful theme usually has but little chance with an editor.

Only a general grouping of subjects which are taboo can be attempted here.

(a) Trite Themes. Hackneyed subjects now and then are treated in so original a manner as to bring the whole story above the commonplace level, but that is a performance too unusual for even a genius to dally with often. Editors and public tired long ago of the poor boy whose industry at long last brought him the hand of his employer’s daughter; the pale-faced, sweet-eyed young thing whose heroism in stamping out a fire enabled her to pay off the mortgage; the recovery of the missing will; the cruel step-mother; answering a prayer which has been overheard; the strange case of mistaken identity; honesty rewarded; a noble revenge; a child’s influence; and so on to a long-drawn-out-end. Naturally, nothing but a fair acquaintance with the short-stories of the last two decades, together with a nice sense of values, will save the writer from choosing trite themes; the surest teachers are common sense, a wide reading, a friendly critic, and the printed rejection slip.

(b) Improper Themes. The buyer of a book may know for a certainty whether it discusses matters which he prefers his children not read—the reviewer, or his friends, or his book-seller, will tell him. But this is rarely so when he buys a magazine. If he has subscribed for it, he has bought twelve cats in a bag and he has a right to expect that they should prove to be of similar parentage. If he buys a single copy, nothing but the title, the authors’ names, and the reputation of the magazine can guide his selection, Now it is this very question of reputation that bars certain themes from certain magazines, and it is quite as important for the writer to recognize these magazine reputations as it is for the reader.

It is not for me to decide as to whether the short-story should deal with the intimate subjects of self and sex. Some of the most effective French stories handle these topics with utmost freedom, and certainly it requires some bravery to say certain needful things in the form of fiction; but by common consent the American magazine steers clear of the “taboo,” leaving to the novel those themes which divide public judgment. True, a theme of great and serious intimacy may be treated with frankness and yet not give offense, while a conventional subject may be handled with nasty suggestiveness, The magazines that will accept the former sort are few, but unmistakably high class; those that print the latter are few and—unspeakable. One thing is quite intolerable: to treat a “broad” subject with levity. …

(c) Polemic Themes. The novel may freely take up the cudgel in defense of a sect, a party, a cult, or a “crankism,” but the short-story writer had better avoid polemics. “Genius will triumph over most obstacles, and art can sugar-coat an unwelcome pill; but in nineteen cases out of twenty the story which covers an apology for one doctrine or an attack upon the other has no more chance (with the periodicals) than if it were made up of offensive personalities.”—Magazine Fiction, Frederic M. Bird, Lippincott’s, Nov. 1894 …

The hackneyed, vulgar, prurient and bestial treatment of love and the passions in the short-story cannot be too strongly condemned, particularly when found in a periodical for home circulation. Surely the sincere story-writer must feel a sense of his responsibility and avoid the cheap sentimentalism which, in spite of its undeserved popularity, is as ephemeral as it is inartistic. “All forms of sentimentalism in literature,” says Winchester, “result from the endeavor to excite the emotions of pathos or affection without adequate cause. Emotions this easily aroused or consciously indulged for their own sake, have something hollow about them. The emotion excited by the true artist is grounded upon the deep truths of human life.” …

The difference between pure sentiment and fustian sentimentality must be sensed by the writer, as it is by the sensitive reader. It is one thing for a writer to understand the psychology of emotion, it is quite another for him to possess a rich emotional nature. The latter more than the former will be his safe guide in dealing with this subtle element. I wish I could write this in letters a foot high.

The self-respecting author will want to tell the truth about love, particularly where it arouses other emotions, and he will claim the right to deal frankly with its great facts and problems, but he will also scorn to poison young minds with distorted or with inflaming pictures of these great life-forces. Whatever men may hold as to the novel, the short-story must be pure in spirit; and pure it may be, even when frankest in tone.

O Realism, what infamies have been published in thy name!

Am I the only one who suddenly finds himself moved to write a story that breaks not just one, but all of these taboos?