In 1951 series editor Martha Foley wrote, “Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only the question: When will I be blown up?” The Cold War saw a return to formulaic, or “safer” and more sentimental, fiction, the kind popular during and just after both world wars. Foley saw “little reason for the upsurge of conservatism in the country to also be reflected in the few remaining publications for the creative writer. Here is where change and experiment should be.” Many stories featured children or adults from a child’s point of view. Also common were stories with a religious bent or, as Foley called it, “religiosity because of its artificial nature.”
Still, some writers began to explore new territory with fresh voices. Bernard Malamud attracted notice, along with Philip Roth, Saul Bellow, and Harvey Swados. As Foley noted, “Once it was the New England writer that predominated, then came the Middle Western, then the Southern, and now it is the Jewish.” Indeed, Jewish writers introduced a new comic sensibility and energy in the 1950s and 1960s.
Perhaps because of the “Hollywoodization” of short fiction and a growing disdain for writers who were thought to have sold out, certain writers became fiercely private and, as they grew more successful, denied Foley permission to reprint their stories in the series. After granting permission for Foley to reprint “A Girl I Knew,” J. D. Salinger refused all future requests for permission, even though Foley had first published his fiction in Story. These refusals had the unexpected effect of benefiting other writers. Vladimir Nabokov refused Foley permission to reprint a story, and at the last minute she replaced his with “Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?” by Raymond Carver. It was Carver’s first appearance in the series. He wrote, “People used to call it that—simply, ‘The Foley Collection’ . . . the day the anthology came in the mail I took it to bed to read and just to look at, you know, and hold it, but I did more looking and holding than actual reading. I fell asleep and woke up the next morning with the book there in bed beside me, with my wife.”
Foley had a contentious relationship with Houghton Mifflin. Her editors grew frustrated by how frequently she missed deadlines and wondered about the breadth of her taste. They suggested that she share the editorship with two other people, but she refused and threatened to take the series to another house. She frequently demanded early payments; she struggled financially throughout her life and felt that she was never paid enough for her work. In order to support herself and her son, she taught fiction writing at Columbia University. She became known for her pragmatism—she insisted that everything the students wrote be submitted to magazines. She passed along her insights about the writing life; her student Barbara Probst Solomon explained, “She advised the women writers not to fall in love with writers and spend [their] lives typing their manuscripts for them.” Despite her editorship, her teaching job, and miscellaneous freelance assignments, Foley continued to struggle financially, and in 1959 the IRS issued a tax lien and levy on her royalties. From then on, 20 percent of her earnings went directly to the U.S. government. Years later Foley wrote, “[My editor] once figured out that I receive far less than a cleaning woman for my time and work.”