Single copy, cloth, $1.50; paper, $1.00, postpaid.UPTON SINCLAIR, Station A, Pasadena, California
Single copy, cloth, $1.50; paper, $1.00, postpaid.
UPTON SINCLAIR, Station A, Pasadena, California
A New Novel by Upton Sinclair
100%
THE STORY OF A PATRIOT
WOULD you like to go behind the scenes and see the “invisible government” of your country saving you from the Bolsheviks and the Reds? Would you like to meet the secret agents and provocateurs of “Big Business,” to know what they look like, how they talk and what they are doing to make the world safe for democracy? Several of these gentlemen have been haunting the home of Upton Sinclair during the past three years and he has had the idea of turning the tables and investigating the investigators. He has put one of them, Peter Gudge by name, into a book, together with Peter’s lady-loves, and his wife, and his boss and a whole group of his fellow-agents and their employers.
The hero of this book is a red-blooded, 100% American, a “he-man” and no mollycoddle. He begins with the Mooney case, and goes through half a dozen big cases of which you have heard. His story is a fact-story of America from 1916 to 1920, and will make a bigger sensation than “The Jungle.” Albert Rhys Williams, author of “Lenin” and “In the Claws of the German Eagle,” read the MS. and wrote:
“This is the first novel of yours that I have read through with real interest. It is your most timely work, and is bound to make a sensation. I venture that you will have even more trouble than you had with ‘The Brass Check’—in getting the books printed fast enough.”
Single copy, cloth, $1.50 postpaidUPTON SINCLAIRStation A, Pasadena, California
Single copy, cloth, $1.50 postpaid
UPTON SINCLAIR
Station A, Pasadena, California
A book which has been absolutely boycotted by the literary reviews of America.
THE PROFITS OF RELIGION
By Upton Sinclair
ASTUDY of Supernaturalism as a Source of Income and a Shield to Privilege; the first examination in any language of institutionalized religion from the economic point of view. “Has the labour as well as the merit of breaking virgin soil,” writes Joseph McCabe. The book has had practically no advertising and only two or three reviews in radical publications; yet forty thousand copies have been sold in the first year.
From the Rev. John Haynes Holmes: “I must confess that it has fairly made me writhe to read these pages, not because they are untrue or unfair, but on the contrary, because I know them to be the real facts. I love the church as I love my home, and therefore it is no pleasant experience to be made to face such a story as this which you have told. It had to be done, however, and I am glad you have done it, for my interest in the church, after all, is more or less incidental, whereas my interest in religion is a fundamental thing. . . . Let me repeat again that I feel that you have done us all a service in the writing of this book. Our churches today, like those of ancient Palestine, are the abode of Pharisees and scribes. It is as spiritual and helpful a thing now as it was in Jesus’ day for that fact to be revealed.”
From Luther Burbank: “No one has ever told ‘the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth’ more faithfully than Upton Sinclair in ‘The Profits of Religion.’ ”
From Louis Untermeyer: “Let me add my quavering alto to the chorus of applause of ‘The Profits of Religion.’ It is something more than a book—it is a Work!”
Cloth $1.50; paper $1.00
Concerning
The Jungle
Not since Byron awoke one morning to find himself famous has there been such an example of world-wide celebrity won in a day by a book as has come to Upton Sinclair.—New York Evening World.
It is a book that does for modern industrial slavery what “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” did for black slavery. But the work is done far better and more accurately in “The Jungle” than in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”—Arthur Brisbane in the New York Evening Journal.
I never expected to read a serial. I am reading “The Jungle,” and I should be afraid to trust myself to tell how it affects me. It is a great work. I have a feeling that you yourself will be dazed some day by the excitement about it. It is impossible that such a power should not be felt. It is so simple, so true, so tragic and so human. It is so eloquent, and yet so exact. I must restrain myself or you may misunderstand.—David Graham Phillips.
In this fearful story the horrors of industrial slavery are as vividly drawn as if by lightning. It marks an epoch in revolutionary literature.—Eugene V. Debs.
Mr. Heinemann isn’t a man to bungle;He’s published a book which is called “The Jungle.”It’s written by Upton Sinclair, whoAppears to have heard a thing or twoAbout Chicago and what men doWho live in that city—a loathsome crew.It’s there that the stockyards reek with blood,And the poor man dies, as he lives, in mud;The Trusts are wealthy beyond compare,And the bosses are all triumphant there,And everything rushes without a skidTo be plunged in a hell which has lost its lid.For a country where things like that are doneThere’s just one remedy, only one,A latter-day Upton SinclairismWhich the rest of us know as Socialism.Here’s luck to the book! It will make you cower,For it’s written with wonderful, thrilling power.It grips your throat with a grip Titanic,And scatters shams with a force volcanic.Go buy the book, for I judge you need it,And when you have bought it, read it, read it.—Punch (London).
Mr. Heinemann isn’t a man to bungle;He’s published a book which is called “The Jungle.”It’s written by Upton Sinclair, whoAppears to have heard a thing or twoAbout Chicago and what men doWho live in that city—a loathsome crew.It’s there that the stockyards reek with blood,And the poor man dies, as he lives, in mud;The Trusts are wealthy beyond compare,And the bosses are all triumphant there,And everything rushes without a skidTo be plunged in a hell which has lost its lid.For a country where things like that are doneThere’s just one remedy, only one,A latter-day Upton SinclairismWhich the rest of us know as Socialism.Here’s luck to the book! It will make you cower,For it’s written with wonderful, thrilling power.It grips your throat with a grip Titanic,And scatters shams with a force volcanic.Go buy the book, for I judge you need it,And when you have bought it, read it, read it.—Punch (London).
Mr. Heinemann isn’t a man to bungle;He’s published a book which is called “The Jungle.”It’s written by Upton Sinclair, whoAppears to have heard a thing or twoAbout Chicago and what men doWho live in that city—a loathsome crew.It’s there that the stockyards reek with blood,And the poor man dies, as he lives, in mud;The Trusts are wealthy beyond compare,And the bosses are all triumphant there,And everything rushes without a skidTo be plunged in a hell which has lost its lid.For a country where things like that are doneThere’s just one remedy, only one,A latter-day Upton SinclairismWhich the rest of us know as Socialism.Here’s luck to the book! It will make you cower,For it’s written with wonderful, thrilling power.It grips your throat with a grip Titanic,And scatters shams with a force volcanic.Go buy the book, for I judge you need it,And when you have bought it, read it, read it.—Punch (London).
Mr. Heinemann isn’t a man to bungle;He’s published a book which is called “The Jungle.”It’s written by Upton Sinclair, whoAppears to have heard a thing or twoAbout Chicago and what men doWho live in that city—a loathsome crew.It’s there that the stockyards reek with blood,And the poor man dies, as he lives, in mud;The Trusts are wealthy beyond compare,And the bosses are all triumphant there,And everything rushes without a skidTo be plunged in a hell which has lost its lid.For a country where things like that are doneThere’s just one remedy, only one,A latter-day Upton SinclairismWhich the rest of us know as Socialism.Here’s luck to the book! It will make you cower,For it’s written with wonderful, thrilling power.It grips your throat with a grip Titanic,And scatters shams with a force volcanic.Go buy the book, for I judge you need it,And when you have bought it, read it, read it.—Punch (London).
Mr. Heinemann isn’t a man to bungle;
He’s published a book which is called “The Jungle.”
It’s written by Upton Sinclair, who
Appears to have heard a thing or two
About Chicago and what men do
Who live in that city—a loathsome crew.
It’s there that the stockyards reek with blood,
And the poor man dies, as he lives, in mud;
The Trusts are wealthy beyond compare,
And the bosses are all triumphant there,
And everything rushes without a skid
To be plunged in a hell which has lost its lid.
For a country where things like that are done
There’s just one remedy, only one,
A latter-day Upton Sinclairism
Which the rest of us know as Socialism.
Here’s luck to the book! It will make you cower,
For it’s written with wonderful, thrilling power.
It grips your throat with a grip Titanic,
And scatters shams with a force volcanic.
Go buy the book, for I judge you need it,
And when you have bought it, read it, read it.
—Punch (London).
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.