MODERN NOVELISTS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19496, 27 November 1926, Page 1 (Supplement)

MODERN NOVELISTS.

THEIR DEBT TO DICKENS.

BY GRAHAM HAY

In a recent article it became necessary to affirm that, although on one point I sided with the Conservatives, it was from no constitutional inability to adjust my perspective to the onward march of progress. To give point to my attitude I instanced several diverse spheres in which 1 took my stand among the moderns. One of them was "I believe our Dickens Club would' be vastly better employed studying modern novelists." I must admit that when I boldly made that statement I fully expected to get into hot water with the members of the Dickens Club, but I reflected that all lovers of Dickens essentially have a sense of humour, and at the worst they would smile to themselves and say, " Ah, well, we're all mad on some point—this fellow's mad on this, but as he seems sane enough generally, we must not condemn him utterly," and I should have been content to have it so. The one point on which I did not expect to be attacked was on the question of Dickens' modernity. Judge then of my surprise to receive the following note, all moist and angry from the pen: " Dear Sir or Madam, as the case may be " (though why the case should decide a question like that I have been unable to discover. The sex of the writer stands revealed, however—no woman would have had any doubts}—" How can you say that Dickens is not modern'! With this against you, never again can 1 allow myseli to revel in your articles. —Yours sorrowfully, Ex-Reveller." That's a surprising note to receive tram a man, who, however, uses the reparatory weapons of a woman. What on earth does it matter, enough to quarrel about 1 mean, whether a man's modern or not? Our ancestors were not such bad fellows, even if they did wear beards and bustles, that a man need feel insulted at being included among them. I have frequently heard, the word "modern" used as* a term of reproach. 1 like an argument with any man, but try as 1 may, I can get up no enthusiasm for an argument on any subject where all the facts are known, and all the argument in the world won't alter the fact that Dickens wrote his novels roughly from sixty to eighty years ago. Stable things, which have come down through the ages at a gradual rate of progress, would undoubtedly count the sixty-year-old past as modern, but a thing which has changed in form, in scope, and in purpose, so much as the novel has in the past sixty years, cannot count Dickens among 'ts modern representatives. It's' a matter of comparative opinion of course, but I think ExReveller" will find among people ,who have considers' the subject not one in fifty who will agree with him. With the Dickens Club and lovers of Dickens generally I stand in different case. At the outset I want to plead guilty, and unreservedly withdraw that word "vastly." Dickens and the Moderns. In the second place I want to_ remind them that I was not discussing the greatness of Dickens, nor seeking to thrust my opinions on anyone—l was merely using these great names to show where I stood. The able defence of the Dickens Club by "V.P.," every word of which I enjoyed, made me regret that I had even appeared to belittle this club, which was far from my intention. Nevertheless I do not give ground on the opinion I expressed, that for me there would be more inspiration, more food for thought, more pleasure, to be had from the study of modern novelists. Here is a question on which there can be two opinions each entitled to respect. I may prefer cricket, you may prefer golf; neither of us is right, neither of us is wrong—it's a .question of taste and individual need.

Let me agree with V.P., as who would disagree, that Dickens marks a corner stone in the history of the novel. But the tendency of the world is to neglect the corner stones when we have made progress beyond them. It's stretch ing the comparison, but who studies Stephenson's steam engine in this year 4926? -We cannot profitably devote-much time to him when we have progressed to oil and electricity. We can study Dickens to profit, but not to the neglect of modern novelists. They owe much to him, but they would not be worth their salt if they had not used the art he gave them to develop beyond the point where he left off. More over they have the overwhelming advantage of dealing with topics and causes which are, alive to-day. The past is never negligible, but it cannot matter so much as the present. The art, the greatness of Dickens will have gone for nothing if we have pot used it to achieve greater things. Lovers of Dickens, count me not among the heathen' Blame me not "that 1 loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more." Dickens had a supreme genius for crystallising types. His Micawber, Uriah Heap, Mrs. Gamp, Pickwick, dozens of others, are each the very personification of some human quality. They stand out vividly before us whenever those qualities come to mind. I take especial delight in Mr. Winkle, that gallant sportsman. We've all met Winkles, who through some accident have had leaden labels tied weightily round their necks from which they can never escape. One man in extreme youth may have written a poem for his debating society and' suffers for ever from the stigma of beine a poet. Another plaved the Ghost in "Hamlet" at a church social, and is ever more looked up to as a contemporary of Trving. Poor old Winkle in a rash moment drew the winner in a shilling sweep or appeared one fine morning in a sporting tits, and was henceforth doomed to a life of dashing anxiety and debonair pain The Art cl Dickens. We've all met Dickens" other characters, but the most ardent lover of Dickens will admit that he has never met such supreme types as Dickens depicts, be cause such supreme types do not exist Dickens gets his effects", wonderful, effects, effects drawn with the sure hand of the great artist, by stressing here, magnify ing there, accentuating mannerisms, uuder lining weaknesses, drawing out over growths He achieves icver-to-be-for gotten results, but the craft, the subtlety, the artistry to create Soames Forsyte, be longs to a later generation, for here we have life itself, life not photographed, but rather understood, interpreted, and pre sented as if we had the man himself with

The trouble with modern novelists is that there are too many of them, far, far too many t ln selecting the great ones among them, Galsworthy as represented by The Forsyte Saga;" Wells,by his elderly men, Mr. Polly, Mr. Britling, George Ponderevo, and Christina Alberta's Father; Conrad arid Hardy, by almost everything; S. Kaye-Smith, by " Sussex GorsV' and "Joanna Godden;" Henry tJames; and a personal preference of my own, Percy Lubbock, and declaring that the novel as represented by them has reached a higher plane than ever before, 1 am saying no new thing. It has been said by almost every literary authority who has expressed himself on the subject It has been written within the last few weeks in a masterly summary on the his torv of the novel by Professor Arnold Wall.

But praise, bestowed on modern novelists can aever disparage Dickens; nay, it but extols him, for he pointed the way along which the modern novel has gone.