AT THE AUTHORS' CLUB.

Press, Volume LVIII, Issue 17645, 23 December 1922, Page 11

AT THE AUTHORS' CLUB.

HOW NOVELISTS REVEAL THEMSELVES.

(By John Sandes in. Sydney "Daily Telegraph.")

Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins was in the chair at the house dinner of the Authors' Club in honour of Professoi Adams, the eminent psychologist of the University of London, who had undertaken to speak on "Psychology and Fiction." "With a thrill, one remembered the days of long ago when "The Prisoner of Zenda" and "llupert of Hentzau" attracted the attention of re&lers in AustrAia and every other Englishspeaking country to the author,- "Anthony Hope.!' And there he was before our eyes, an imperturbable Englishman, immaculately dressed, with '.• lear-cut features, a high forehead, and a completely bald head. Only the. humorous eyes differentiated him. from liio great army 01 immueuiateiy-aieasea iiiiuuie-aged iiiigUsnmen, wixii uiear-cut features, liigii lorelieacts, and baldlieuos —ail as line each other as one liaixcrown is like another —who nightly rise 111 London after a- good dinner to address their fellow diners on some political, financial, or ' commercial topic. J lie fresimess and vigour ot his genius were the qualities tnat specially attracted Anthony Hope'js readers in those fax-Off days. One remembers also his high imaginative power, as displayed particularly in a-charming short story, which began: "I was leading my lavourite author—my bank-book," and which went on to describe the vision which appeared to an elderly and successful business man, who saw all tho girls who had been the, playmates and companions ,of his youth entering through the door and passing him in a long procession, one by one, each with it few words that recalled some occasion of poignant interest that had Jong been forgotten.. An exquisite little story, full of imaginative power—and . there was the author, with his shiny, bald head, correct, imperturbable, and with the quiet confident air of a bank manager about to inform his shareholders that the dividend would be the sailie as at last half-year, and' that fabulous* Hundreds of thousands would be added to the reserve fund. "Anthony Hope" made a delightful little speech in introducing the guest of the evening. He referred particularly to two sections of the Authors' Club, ihe (section that wrote fiction and the viuwr swUou criticised. such .fiction. "IS9 tar as I know," lie contin-[ " w i Willi nig rffJHd ana fluent utterance, la which there, was never a.word mißuiaoed, "these two sections of the club ropre&eut almost the oxiiy two prolossions that need not know anything at ail, a sally that was rewarded with loud laughter! rh® guest of the evening proved to be a bald, bullet-headed l fluent speaker with a short white-pointed beard and the assured manner of the practised lecturer. His address was full of sly hits. One was never quite sure whether he was paying his audience a tribute of . sincere admiration or laughing at it. Besides being an address on "Psychology and Fiction," it was brilliant rapier play—an -intellectual exercise, winch the gifted hearers* were, well qualified to appreciate, lie told the novelists that there were two kinds of psychology—the scientific and tne artistic. What they dealt >.n wms Die latter. The chief value of < a knowledge of psychology to a novelist was that it enabled him to keep its characters, withiii the realms of possibility. The scientific psychologist stood coldly 'aloof from the characters that he dissected. But the literary, at m and Hie actor shared in the emotions that they represented. The professor went on to quote Thackeray weeping as he penned' the sentences describing -fche death of Colonel Newcome—and this, of course, started a new hare, which was vigorously chased in -the subsequent smokingroom. discussion. Some took the view that it is the business of an actor to stimulate emotion, but not to feel it, for if he really felt it he woiiid be too much overcome to express it vividly. Apparently, that objection does not apply to a literary man writing in his own study. Thackeray could weep as, much as he liked over Colonel Newcome's "Adsum" as long as his tears did not obliterate his sentences before they went to the printer. Tlie most delightful point made by Professor Adams was when he solemnly warned the large company of well-known writ- [ ers who 'wore present that the science of psycho-analysis as developed by Freud and his followers enables the analyst to read in a work of fiction the revelation of the character of tue author with startling clearness. This is a new pitfall for the literary man-and woman. When the Freudian principles are more generally known publication of may be equivalent to a public' confession—on thp part of the author—of things better left unsaid. "Everyone who publishes a ncvel," observed tlie professor, "puts into the hands of the critics a body of evidence about the inner workings of his mind. It is only fair to give, him the x usual police warning that anything he may say will, be used in evidence against im." Professor Adam's listeners took the quaint point with delight. There could hardly be a greater dissimilarity between any two literary per sonalities than between that of Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins and that of Mr Hamlin Garland, the well-known American writer, whtf set next him. Clearcut, brilliant, polished, concise, quietly assured, with well-marked touches of the famous. English "reserve," the English writer las little except his imaginative power in common with the favourite American writer whose books —"Much Travelled Road," "Rose of Dutchess Coolly," and "Wayside Courts ships"—are as well-known and as warmly appreciated as the dashing nov-, els of character and action that so quickly brought "Anthony Hope" to the forefront. Mr Hamlin Garland, with his thick, brindled hair and drooping moustache, his handsome face and dreamy eyes, and measured thoughtful utterance looks like an author of fiction. He looks like a man who dealsin imaginative stuff, whereas "Anthony Hone" looks like a barrister or a financial expert—a man who deals with arguments or figures. Mr Garland made i no attempt to enunciate general principles like the professor of psychology. Instinctively he went straight 'to life and experience—to his own life and his own experience, which he best. A bit of a mystic is this American writer, as every, artist must be a believer in "inspiration," and in the subconscious mind as a creative agent He was expansive, he invited confidence. One might approach him without hesitation and without the fear of being repelled. His frank, self-revelation was singularly attractive, and there was nothing egotistical in the way in which he described his methods of work. He confessed that his writing was done in a kind of day-dream—in a state of autohypnosis. What, he wrote was suggested by his sub-conscious mind, and 5,1 j-5? when he came to a stand j j • dl ® cyltl es were often resolved dumng sleep and in tlie morning when he awoke the answer to his pro£ lem was made clear. He went on to sny that he had lived in London for five months, and was coming again next year- He regarded London as a' fine summer resort, and the people in

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the street were his people. The Gap. lands had been here for 1000 years except for a few that went over to' the State of Maine a couple of hundred years ago. And so ho rambled on, looking like a character out of one of Joseph Lincoln's books ; and exhaling a fine simplicity and faith that his ancestors may have taken with them to the State of Maine from the England of two centuries ago. ! • T Without any question, rata (states the "Wairarapa Age") is the best source of supply and the best quality firewood in New Zealand. On many farms from which the bush has Been cleared for over 25 years dry rata trees, with their branches intact, may still be seen standing awaiting the not distant day when all other sources of supply have been used or have decayed.