THE PLACE OF FICTION.

Evening Post, Volume LXXV, Issue 48, 26 February 1908, Page 4

THE PLACE OF FICTION.

IN THE -NATIONAL LIFE. • ' When tho artist for the moment forsakes the pursuit of his art and turns critic his opinions are usually well worth the reading. Thus, Sir Joshua Reynolds" Lectures on Painting are of permanent value; Shelley and WordVworth have both written profoundly on •the meaning of poetry ; George Meredith devotes pages 01 his own novels to reflections on the purpose, of tho novel, and now wo haMl> longo mtervallo, Sir Gilbert Parke?- in the North American Review descanting <•- on tho place of fiction in the national life. Though not strikingly original, the essay contains ma,ny truths that will always bear repetition. the.4rt.of fiction. Pictionj says Sir Gilbert, is not v a mushroom tracte, a mere side issue v of literature, but an art inherently as old as the oldest. Indeed, the story teller, the first historian of life, is the master of all other artists in essence— as was Ptah, th« father of the gods—incarnating himse-lf at last through sixty centuries into at least three master craftsmen, whom it ia the glory of the AngloSaxon, race to have produced— -Scott, Dickens, and Thackeray. The writing of fiction, continues tho author of "The Weavers," is on© of the most ciirious phases of our own particular era. Everybody .tries his or her hand at it. Men of many professions practice it, and ladies use it almost like zr ' birthright.- Vlt is the medium of grave sociologists, like 'Mallock, the affectation of historians like th* late Mr. Froude, of tho scientist-astronomer like M. Flammarion, of the naturalist like tile late Mr". Grant Allen, of .the scientific student like Mr. Wells, of the millionaire like Mr. Astor, of the natural mechanician ' liko Jules Verne. It is. the secret ambition of more than one Minister arid ex-Minister of the Crown, whose despatch-boxes carry plays unbaptised in tho dew of public applause, and books, intended for a more starry acclamation, than Disraeli's. It is the recreation of the duchess beset by ennui, who. dowered" with a coronet and fcho • strawberry leaves, still reaches out discontented fingers for the bays ; it is the umbrageous dissipation of the popular Archdeacon ; it is tbe secret ambition of coming' Lord Chief Justices. THE SECRET OF SUCCESS. A oook may have a fleeting success, and yet be neither a piece of literature, nor a presentation of life. Popularity is a 'dangerous and -uncertain guarantee of eitliei- tlio talented, the- abl&. or tile honest man; it is no test whatever of genius, but it always has some quality or forco behind it. Thoro are novelists almost universally scorned by the critics, welcomed gaily, by tho public, and running through editions of many, scares of thousands. We should not cherish the delusion that it is "the people down tho area," the waiting maid, and the valet, who road these Books. You will, find them in the hands of distinguished bankers, lawyers, doctors, and" profes-' sional and .business men of all sorts.. If you were to ask one of them why he. reads these- books ho would say: "I, want things to take me out of my business, I don't care whether it is true or not ; I want a good story ; that is all." The story, then, concludes Sir Gilbert, is the raison d'etre of the Hovel. In the telling of it, the novelist may exhaust the knowledge of the universe, ho" may* Write what is Eterature and pfeseut the truth of life as well; but the story, a simple and elementary thing,is the basis of all. A novel should then be first and, above all, a well- constructed story; it should deal sincerely with human life and character ; it should be eloquent of feeling, have insight and revelation-; it should preserve idiosyncrasy; and, above all, it should be sane and healthy. Sanity, a supreme &nd perfect sanity, this is the great quality of • art. To see things with right-mindedne-ss ; to judge coolly, and, having judged, then with the splendour of the imagination to fashion the tying, which tho" brain conceived, and tho hand performs — that is art — even tho art of fiction. GREATNESS. This 'is one of the reasons why great books are read on and on. They are an artistic and intellectual investment and heritage. They are n human document offered in exchange for me nation's bonds. They have a place in tho nation's life; they havo permanency. All arts, sciences, mechanisms, labours, businesses, industries, and offices should lead to one end — tho enlightenment of race, tho deepening of pure patriotism ; tho Bonne or common responsibility for tho welfare of the 1 particular family in the- rares of tho world to which those who employ ouV human crafts belong. Character is what wo should be making in all the urts, as in all the industries and labours of life. What better epitaph can you Wish, statesman, merchant, scientist, farmer, mechanician, hewer of wood, drawer of water, and writer of fiction, than these last words of Thomas Hardy's exquisite "Woodlanders" : "He was a good 'man, and he done good things." ,X WHIMSICAL, GENIUS. Lewis Carroll was a genius, pure and jimcle, saj'B Harry Furnifis, in the

Strand Magazine, and touching his recollections of tho author of "'Alice in Wonderland," ho could not help himself. A clergyman, an Oxford man, an orthodox cleric, and a typical Don to boot, he yet in spite of his mathematical mind proved himself an inimitable humorist. His humour' was not spontaneous ; in himself he was a dull man ; his iokes, elaborate and designed, were feeble. He had a peculiar twist in his brain that gave his mathematical mind a bent towards a humorous side line of thought, taking him ho knew not where nnd .why he could not say. He himself confessed as much : — "I distinctly remember how in a desperate attempt to strike out some new line of fairy love, I had sent my herdina straight down a rabbit hole, to begin with, without the least idea what Was to happen afterwards. And so to please a child I loved (I don't remember having any other motive), I printed in manuscript and illustrated with my own crude designs — designs that rebelled against every law of anatomy or art (for I had never had a lesson in drawing) — the book which 1 have just reproduced in facsimile. In writing it out I added many fresh ideas, which seemed to grow of themselves upon tho original stock ; and many moro added themselves when, years afterwards, I wrote it all over again for publication; but every such idea and nearly every word of the diabgtie came "of itself. Sometimes an ideacomes at night, when I have had to get up and strike a light to noto it down — sometimes when out oa a lonely winter walk, when I have 'had to stop I 'and, with half-frozen fingors jot down a few words, which should keep the new-born idea from 'perishing — but, whenever or however it comes, it comes of itself. I cannot set invention going "like a clock, by any voluntary winding-up ; nor do I believe that any j original writing (and what other writing is worth preserving?) was ever so produced."