This Novelist Ought To Be Better Known

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 189, 12 August 1939, Page 2 (Supplement)

This Novelist Ought To Be Better Known

JN various papers, a few years ago, I remember some English critics agreeing that Henry Fielding (born I 709) was one of our greatest novelists, but regretting that his moral tone was low. Which provoked from O, K. ('bestcrton the comment that the critics were discussing work which they had obviously never read. Nevertheless, Chesterton's remark was rather superfluous, because the intelligent reader can usually infer that some critics rarely do read the work they pretend to discuss; though what was strange in this case, and makes tis suspect the critics of snobbery, was that even Fielding's reputed low moral tone hadn't tempted them to read him. Who can believe that critics are so different from the anonymous reader, who is supposed to need only a hint in that direction to induce him immediately to read the book 1

By--

Frank Sargeson

There is, of course, as Chesterton implied. nothing in this particular criticism of Fielding. Byron called him "the prose Homer of human nature." and that is a title you don't live up to unless you can demonstrate the operations of human nature pretty comprehensively; and all books which do this—"The Decameron," "Don Quixote," the Biiile. etc. — are from time to time criticised in much the same way. Anyhow Fielding certainly lives up to Byron's description. No matter what

class of readers he may have had in mind, he so accurately demonstrates his knowledge of all classes of men (and men in spite of their class) that he achieves that universal and timeless touch which we recognise as one distinguishing feature between men of genius and lesser men. In the simplest words 1 can think of, lie is a novelist big enough to be able to take the human, or comprehensive, rather than the class, or exclusive, viewpoint. It sounds easy enough, but it can't be. for it is very seldom done.

Not the least interesting point about Fielding was his development as a man and a writer. He Mas by no means a whole-time novelist. His light stage comedies were written and performed when he was just another the gay young sparks who swarmed in London during the period; but then he married and retired to the country, where he nevertheless managed to spend all his money. To mend his fortunes he studied law and finally became a barrister, IH-iiig distinguished for his integrity' instead of the reverse, which was then common enough. He matured, it seems, into a man of most sympathetic and understanding character, and it is fortunate for us (we are not alwavs so fortunate) that it was only when he was fully developed and able to make wonderful use of his experience that he began to write his novels.

Parson Adams I lie first of these is "Joseph Andrews," and although this utterlv captivating tale of the English roads is only a sort of prelude to the much more elaborate "Tom Jones." it is here that iMelding achieves his greatest character. This is Parson Adams, intended by the author to be an English Don Quixote. No one can ever forget this country parson who accompanies Joseph and his Fanny on the road, protecting them against hardship*, misfortunes and perils, his ten-year-okl

cassock getting continually smaller and smaller as pieces are torn off in the frequent .melees that his foolish yet heroic good-nature is always leading him into. It is. moreover, in "Joseph Andrews that Fielding gives us some of his profoundest satire. The storv of the good Samaritan is, no doubt, much older than the New Testament, but it is the business of every novelist who deals in a similar situation to indicate the variations that new circumstances must inevitably produce; for while the stuff of human nature remains always the same, new inventions and changed circumstances will always supply fresh motives for human behaviour. And so you have the famous episode where Joseph, robbed, stripped and beaten, is lying in a snow-filled ditch when a stage coach passes by. The coachman does not want to stop because the coach is late, a lady because the man is naked, a gentleman because the man has been robbed and he might be robbed, too. A lawyer agrees but thinks they should l>e wary of the law since they have actually seen the man. Then Vliere is the business of getting Joseph into the coach, of whs to pay his fare. The lady absolutely refuses to travel with a naked man. so who's to lend him a coat? The coachman has one to spare, but fears it may get soiled with blood; a gentleman complains that he is cold and charity begins at home; and so on until "the postillion (a lad who hath been since transported for robbing a hen-roost) voluntarily stripped off a great coat, his only garment, at the same time swearing a great oath (for which he was rebuked by the passengers) that he would rather ride in his shirt all his life than suffer a fellowcreature to lie in so miserable condition."

"Tom Jones'* Tt was not until seven vears after Joseph Andrews" that "Tom Jones" appeared, and considering the size of the book, and that on top of ill-health and

family worries, Fielding va« practising law, running one magazine, and contributing to others, one wondera how on earth he found time to write it even in se\en years. But there i& no question about ''Tom Jones" being one of the solidest achievements in English fiction. It has the genuine breath of life breathed into it if ever a book had. Gibbon called it "that exquisite picture of human manners," and said that it would "outlive the palace of the Escurial. and the Imperial Eagle of Austria. ' a prophecy, it » curious to note, that has partly come true. It IS P J; Possible to give any adequate idea ° Tom Jones" in a short e»say, and a , ca . n sa y * s on a much larger scale, it repeats the story of lover* finding and losing each other along the road, finding each other, of course, at the end. There is, however, space enough to give one more instance of the authors uncanny insight into human character—it happens to be feminine character this time. During her fliyht to London. Sophia is pleasantly surprised to meet at an inn a cousin' of hers, a -Irs Fitzpatrick. They spend the night together and discuss their fortunes at great length, Mrs. Fitzpatrick telling how she is running away from her husband, and explaining in no uncertain terms what a brute he is. Sophia then tells how her father insist* on her marrying a man she dislikes, and that she prefers to run a war from home rather than endure such a calamitv. But no matter how long they talk neither or them touches on the crucial point of each story—the fact that there is a gentleman in Mrs. Fitzpatrick 's case and that .Sophia has made a choice of her own ln the person of Tom Jones. I have always thought it must he very disconcerting for anyone who intends to he a novelist to read Fielding. His knowledge of the ins and outs of human nature is so staggering that you felt it would take a very clever man indeed to think of anything fresh to sav. °