The seventeen short stories in this volume [Kneel to the Rising Sun] probably would never have been written if, many years ago, I had accepted the advice that the novel was the only form of fiction worthy of major effort and that a young and ambitious writer would do well not to handicap himself by following a belief that short-story writing in the age of large-circulation magazines could produce anything of permanent value. The trouble with counsel on the subject of authorship, always to be found offered freely on all sides, is that it is deceptively akin to appreciation and encouragement, and many young writers eagerly accept it without realizing that they are actually getting questionable advice.

In those days, fifteen or twenty years ago, and perhaps today as well, well-meaning but unperceptive persons, many of whom still look upon the short story as being merely a space filler for magazines of large circulation, argued that only a novice or an outright foolish author would ever devote the larger portion of his time and talent to writing anything other than a novel. If all authors believed this and wrote accordingly, it is doubtful if a short story could ever be defined as anything more than an incident or episode that had failed to fit into the structure of a novel.

Perhaps I did have a desire to refute this argument; but whether it was a conscious desire or a cantankerous notion, I did wish to prove to myself that a short story was capable of being just as interesting and enthralling to a reader as a work of fiction of extended length. I set out to prove this for my own benefit, and this collection of seventeen stories, called Kneel to the Rising Sun, was the result of eighteen months of writing. I still feel that it was time well spent and, regardless of whether I proved anything or not, I would not trade this particular book for any novel I have written.

As a writer, I have always felt that there were many incidents and episodes in life that could be told more effectively and compellingly in the compact space of a short story than could be related in a chapter or portion of a longer and often artificially extended work on fiction. After all, there are relatively few dramatic moments in life that require a hundred thousand words for the telling; the most exciting and memorable happenings are usually brief and explosive. The elastic nature of the short story as a form—within which tales are told in as few as several hundred words or as many as several thousand words—is ample reason for its existence and popularity.

Some may argue that none of the stories in Kneel to the Rising Sun would qualify as fiction of major effort. However, as long as these stories continue being read—pleasurably or critically—I will feel that they are capable of speaking for themselves and that there is no necessity for raising my voice in their behalf.