Pipefuls — Context and Discussion

The Pipe as a Structural Device

The title Pipefuls is not merely decorative; it signals a deliberate pacing. Morley frames each essay as a brief, smoke-filled interlude, meant to be savored rather than rushed. This structure allows him to shift abruptly between subjects—from the mechanics of moving house to the etiquette of buying a meal—without needing a unifying thesis. The pipe becomes a metaphor for the essayist's craft: a series of small, contained pleasures that together form a larger portrait of the author's mind. Morley's preface reinforces this, noting that none of the pieces 'are so long that they may not be mitigated by an accompanying pipe of tobacco.' The reader is invited to dip in and out, mirroring the casual, episodic nature of the original newspaper columns.

Recurring Images: The City in Motion

Throughout the excerpts, Morley returns to images of transit and urban flux. In 'The Owl Train,' he captures the eerie quiet of late-night rail travel; in 'Tales of Two Cities,' he contrasts Philadelphia's early morning trains with New York's bustling streets. The city is a living organism, and Morley positions himself as a flâneur, observing its rhythms. A particularly vivid passage describes Mayor Smith's 'nicely draped trouserings' quivering as he introduces General Pershing. These small, physical details—a quivering trouser leg, a nervous hand gesture—anchor the essays in a specific, tangible world. Morley's eye for the telling gesture, like Pershing's 'clenching and unclenching of his hands,' turns public events into intimate portraits.

Movement Between Scenes: From the Mundane to the Momentous

Morley's essays often begin with a trivial observation—a safety pin, a cider press—and spiral outward into broader reflections. In 'Fall Fever,' he starts with the 'mellow air' of autumn and moves through literary allusions (Keats, the cave man) to a wry comment on Judge Audenried's sleeping clerks. This associative structure mimics the wandering mind, allowing Morley to juxtapose high and low culture without pretension. The movement is not linear but circular: he returns to the same themes—the press of deadlines, the solace of books, the absurdity of modern life—across multiple pieces. This repetition creates a cohesive voice, even as the settings shift from a bookshop to a beach to a political rally.

The Essayist as Observer and Participant

Morley rarely positions himself as a neutral observer. In the Pershing sketch, he admits to liking the general for his verbal stumbles—'pattriotic' and 'patterotism'—and for his modesty. This personal intrusion is characteristic: Morley is always present in his essays, offering opinions, confessing his own fallibility. In 'Confessions of a Colyumist,' he jokes about the pain of writing, and in the preface, he claims the sketches 'gave me pain to write; they will give the judicious patron pain to read.' This self-mockery disarms criticism and invites the reader into a conspiratorial relationship. Yet Morley is also a sharp social critic, noting the gap between public rhetoric and private reality, as when Pershing's slip about 'our Allies' draws a ripple of laughter that the general himself misses.

Readers approaching Pipefuls should treat it as a series of discrete encounters rather than a sustained argument. The essays reward dipping in at random, letting Morley's voice carry the day. Pay attention to the small details—the quivering trouser leg, the mispronounced word—for they are where the collection's true texture lies. Morley's world is one of newspapers, bookshops, and train stations, but his observations transcend their moment, offering a wry, humane perspective on the everyday.