Chapter 20: A Pearl Must Not Be Left to Gather Dust

After being screened by assistant editors over the past few days, the manuscripts for "The Gentleman" and "A Bronx Tale" were finally placed on Fanny Ellison’s desk.

In this unequal era of male-dominated workplaces, Fanny Ellison had managed to become a commissioning editor at *Black Mask* magazine, which meant she certainly had the skills to back it up—as evidenced by her penchant for smoking, which hinted at her iron-willed personality.

More importantly, Fanny Ellison was not white; she was a Black woman.

In those days, if a woman managed to become a magazine editor, it was likely due to her impeccable literary credentials. But for a Black woman to achieve the same position? It meant that alongside her exceptional professional competence, she was inevitably enduring systemic, unequal exploitation.

Thus, even though Fanny Ellison was an editor at *Black Mask*, her weekly salary was only a quarter of what the other editors earned. Furthermore, when responding to letters from authors and readers, she was forced to use her male pseudonym, "F. M. Elliott"—a rearrangement of her initials—to conceal her identity as a Black woman.

This discrimination became even more severe in 1936, when, through a stroke of fortune, she served as the editor-in-chief of *Black Mask*. Not only did she have to use her pseudonym in the publication's masthead to avoid a boycott by white readers, but the famous hardboiled detective writer Earl Stanley Gardner, upon discovering that it was Fanny Ellison who had rejected his manuscript, went so far as to write back a letter specifically addressing her rejection notes with the instruction: "Please forward this to the magazine's real editor."

Beyond this professional discrimination, Fanny Ellison faced prejudice at every turn within the publishing industry. The American Magazine Editors Association refused her membership under the pretext of a "mismatch in magazine genres," though the reality was pure racial exclusion. During her tenure as editor-in-chief in 1936, the president of the publishing house nominally appointed her to the role, yet the actual contract specified the position as "temporary executive editor," stripping her of commercial decision-making power and forbidding her from negotiating with advertisers on behalf of the magazine.

In short, had it not been for her superior literary judgment and vast network for sourcing manuscripts, she never would have survived there, let alone served as an acting editor-in-chief.

Fanny Ellison exhaled a cloud of smoke, pushed aside the distractions, and began to review the manuscripts.

She spent twenty minutes on "The Gentleman." Her assessment: an excellent piece of realistic, violent fiction. It transcended cheap, hollow depictions of brutality, featuring an intelligence officer as its protagonist and utilizing a cold, hard-hitting style to craft a gripping narrative that balanced storytelling, social criticism, and philosophical metaphor. The dialogue was concise, powerful, and evocative, successfully showcasing the character arc of the protagonist. It was, in the dimensions of literary quality, commercial viability, and innovation, beyond reproach.

Although the subject matter was somewhat provocative, touching upon the then-prevalent isolationist sentiment, the readership of *Black Mask* was not comprised of the elite; rather, they were the type to appreciate stories that delved into the dark side of society. Most importantly, as long as it passed the test of commercial viability, the current editor-in-chief, Oscar Orland, and the president of the publishing house, Eldin Caldwell, would not reject such a manuscript.

"Those two greedy, detestable men!" Fanny thought to herself. She set "The Gentleman" aside and began to review the next manuscript.

This time, the reading process left Fanny Ellison, a woman who had seen countless manuscripts, unable to remain calm.

This manuscript, "A Bronx Tale"... it was written too well.

While it didn't fit the *Black Mask* style at all—lacking the tense, suspenseful atmosphere and the cold, hard-boiled protagonist typical of the genre—to her personally, it was an absolute masterpiece.

In an age struck by isolationism and nativist movements, this novel chose not to cater to popular trends by crafting a predictable gangster story to vent societal frustrations. Instead, it painted a vivid, grounded story of life among the working class. The "special bond" between the two fathers—Lorenzo and Sonny—at the end of the story revealed the author’s profound understanding of human nature, leaving the reader with a lingering sense of warmth and melancholy.

To Fanny, the literary merit of this story was in no way inferior to that of mainstream authors like Hemingway or John Steinbeck.

The Bronx in the story was a world of mixed ethnic groups, and Sonny, the mob leader, maintained a delicate balance to foster a strong, stable community. On a micro level, this highlighted the importance of human connection; no one could survive in this world in isolation, and maintaining interpersonal warmth was the only path to long-term survival. On a macro level, it served as a critique of isolationism and nativism, metaphorically suggesting that "refusing to engage with the outside world is never the best way to ensure safety."

Fanny Ellison wrote her comments on the paper as she thought. Then, she couldn't wait to read the story again. This time, she wasn't reading it to critique it; she was simply… immersed. After all, as a Black woman who had suffered so much oppression, the scenes of racial conflict in the latter half of the story felt deeply personal.

When she read about a Black man riding a bicycle through a white neighborhood being brutally beaten in the street by white men simply for the color of his skin, her eyes welled up with tears. What struck her even more was the plotline of Calogero falling in love with a Black girl; this design, which abandoned the "black-and-white" trope, allowed her to feel the complex contradictions the story aimed to express—a profound commentary that invited deep reflection.

"Good… this is so well written."

"Is this author also an immigrant or a Black person who has suffered racial discrimination?"

"But looking at the pseudonym, it doesn't seem like it at all."

After reading the story for the second time, Fanny Ellison wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, muttering the pseudonym "Ernie Riser" to herself.

But then she realized one thing: this manuscript would absolutely never be approved.

It wasn't because of the style or the critical nature of the work… it was the "racism" aspect. Her superior, the editor-in-chief Oscar Orland—a fool who cared only for commercial gain and lacked any literary sensibility—would never see the deeper meaning behind the critique of isolationism. Furthermore, one didn't need to be a genius to know that to avoid a backlash from white readers, Oscar Orland would certainly never approve a novel that touched upon "racial issues." If Oscar didn't approve it, there was no chance it would pass the desk of the president, Eldin Caldwell.

"This novel is a rare 'pearl,' and I cannot let it be buried in the dust."

Fanny Ellison pondered, whispering to herself. Having made a decision, she picked up the manuscript that had stirred her heart and stepped toward the editor-in-chief's office.