THEIR USE AND ABUSE.

Otago Witness, Issue 1501, 21 August 1880, Page 25

THEIR USE AND ABUSE.

By Fabian Bell.

{Written for the Otago Witness.

A great deal has recently appeared in the Witness and other papers on the subject of sensation novels and sensation literature generally, for I imagine that all the hard words applied to novels of that class would be used even more emphatically in reference to newspaper articles, reports, etc., whioh are more highly coloured than they ought to be, and are really more objectionable than any novel, inasmuch as they profess to be true. Not many months ago a most able paper appeared in the Saturday Review condemning the sensational style of reporting, and declaring it to be a disgrace to any reopectable paper. The reasons given— that such reports pandered to a vicious taste for horrible and revolting details, and erred against the sobriety and moderation which should mark the semi-judical position of a high-claSB newspaper — are in themselves just and true, and such as no sensible person can deny ; and there can be no doubt that this objectionable style has of late years increased to an alarming extent. It is no longer suffiolent to give the plain details of any stirring event ; it is absolutely necessary, in order to rouse the interest of the blase readers, to add strings of adjectives, and numerous notes of admirations, and exclamations of horror. It seems to us that words no longer convey the same meaning that they did fifty years ago. We hear that people pride themselves on calling "a spade a spade," but It is a curious fact that very few are content with doing this, and whether in writing or speaking find it necessary to emphasize the spada, calling ifc an " exquisitely sharp spade," or an " awfully horrid spade." By-the-way, the modern use of the word awful is quite an instance in point. Ithas now become so common and general in its application as to lose all significance, and indeed all meaning, and probably not once out of every hundred times that it is employed does it convey any suggestion of awe or fear — it no longer means what it used to mean ; and so, in a lessor degree of many other words. Wo hear of a "delicious harmony," tho "symphony" of a picture, and so on; terms which mean — if they mean anything— something quite different from any other definition of them to be found in Walker or any other dictionary. It is no true explanation to Bay that these terms are the slang of a particular class or coterie. How comes this to be the case ? Is ib not, as we said before, because words no longer mean what they used to mean. Thus the simplicity of style admired by our grandfathers appears to the pressnt generation bald and unfinished. The terse sentences of Addison, the epigramatio ones of Sfceele, meet with few real admirers at the present time, and I can well believe that not many people read, or would care to read, Goldsmith's gem — the Vicar of Wakefield. Why is this? One explanation may be that wo live too fast nowa.days; our mental digestion gots out of order, refuses plainjfood, and demands spiced and highly seasoned dishes. IW people read works of fiction ; they skim them, jumping from incident to incident, oaring nothing for the intermediate parts, called — and often miscalled — padding. Authors kuow this, and as, for the most part, they wriie for a living, naturally consult the tasto of their readers, and concern them' selves more with the plot of their stories

than with the careful study of motive and delineation of character, which are deoidedly the higher and nobler branches of the novelist's art. Are they to be blamed beoause they do this? Is it fair to aeoußd them of pandering to a vicious taste ? We might as well blame the dressmakers and milliners who prepare the hideous and useless garments that fashionable people delight In. It is among the first rules of politioal economy that "the demand oreateß the supply," and this is as true of novels as it is of beef or bonnets. Of course, some sensation novels ara vioious in themselves, so indeed may be the most stupidly dull volume that ever was written. But vice Is not sensationalism, and as a rule, modern novels are not vioious, and more just criticism would be to say that they are orude, unfinished, often ill- written, the authors and readers being alike in a hurry ; something that will pay, something that will amuse, being all that they aim at or expect. The more prolific the writer the more surely are these ends attained. Novel* ists like Miss Braddon, Mrs Henry Wood, Mr Edmund Yates, M. Dumas, etc, who turn out volume after volume with a speed that would tax the manual exertions of most persons, not to mention their brains, cannot be expected to give us any very deep insight into human nature, or any very novel views of human character : their objeot is to earn a respectable livelihood for themselves, and not to instruct or reform the world. And as the majority of us prefer being amused to being instructed, they generally succeed in their objeot, and when they do not outrage all modesty and oommon sense, they have as good a right to live as any one of the other thousand and one traders who flourish by ministering to the needs and luxuries of a oivilised population. When considered in this purely commercial light there 1b but little to be urged against the majority of modern novels, at the same time there may be said to exist a pretty universal opinion that novelists should aim at something more than this, that they should seek by indirect means to elevate our moral tone, and carefully "hold the mirror up to nature." Many do, and the result is not altogether satisfactory. They are called dull, pedantlo, or transoendentaf, Thus one of you correspondents affirms that George Elliot's novels are beyond the oomprehension of most persons. I oannot conceive that there is one eduoated man or woman who would endorse that opinion, though there are many who do not care for these truly artistic books. Why ? Beoause they, unlike the majority, require to be read and studied ; they oannot be skipped ; eaoh of them is the result of months, and even years, of j honest work. What takes so long to produce cannot be hurriedly disposed of in a few hours, criticised in a few sentences . If a chapter or a page be skipped, something is wanted to complete the whole j and it is often necessary to read over a paragraph several times, not because it 1b obsoure, but beoause it is so full of meaning that a mere glance oannot convey it to the mind. No one can read George Elliot's books with the half-attention which is all that many persons give, or have time to give, to works of fiction ; thus it comes to pass that such criticisms as the above are bestowed upon them. As a rule, novels are chiefly used by the young of both sexes whose taste is still unformed, and by older persons who, in the wear and worry of life, seek to lose for a brief season the overpowering sense of their own vexed personality in following the fictitious joyß and sorrows of imaginary beings* Neither class is capable of criticism, nor reads with any critical appreciation : they seek amusement, and if they find it, do not care much for the unities and probabilities. There are some persons who consider amusement of any kind wrong, and novel reading one of the worst forma of dissipation. To suoh, one can say nothing in the way of argument (their position being one which does not admit of serious discussion), but merely hazard the remark that many flowers exist for their sweetness and beauty only, apart from any mechanical nse ; that butterflies, tire-flies, and numerous other insects, seem created only to be bappy and delight the eye ; that the rich tints of sunset have no utilitarian object ; and that for all practical purposes the world might have baen created of one uniform gray tint. But it ia not so. Rich colours and exquisite forms delight the eye of the artist, the soul of the poet, and the whole world of nature is full of suggestions of happiness and beauty. We may thence fairly argue that amusement is not only permissible but necessary, and is as integral a part of the scheme of creation aB are the tints of the flowers and the songs of the birds. Novels supply to many quiet persons the only excitement and amusement of their lives : the balls and parties, the danoes and flirtations, thus vicariously enjoyed, offer to them their only glimpse of a bright world, balf real, half fantastio, far removed from the petty trials, the paltry shifts, the (mean expedients, which fill their own life— a world in which tho imagination delights to behold the triumph of virtue, the defeat of vice, and poetic justice generally. The diversion is easily obtained, it is inexpensive, it involves no fatigue of mind or body, and above all it induces that temporary forgetfulness which is the nearest approaoh to aotual happiness that some overwrought lives can attain. To do this — to give an hour's rest to the weary brain and overtaxed body — I hold to be a task not altogether useless or oontemptible ; and even if the novelist have no higher aim than thus tc amuse, I do not think that we can deny that his part ia aa necessary to the economy of sooial life as the leoture of the most learned j pundit in our schools. So much for one side of the question. A few words may be permitted on the other. Sweets cloy tho appetite, unset the digestive organs, and destroy the taste for simpler and more wlioloeome food. Similar to this is tbe eff-jct produced by novelw, or indeed any other amusement ; in moderation they are excellent;, ia excess most pernicious. As the chief or sole mental pabulum they are indeed dangerous, inducing falae views of life, exaggerated expectation?, and sentimental follies, |as far as possible removed fron> the sobriety and earnestness of the life which men aud women ougnfc to live in this struggliug sinful world. Yeb whtsn we say this we say no more than may be truly pradicatad of every diversion, aimosß every occupation under the sun, Ia moderation all thiugs, or

almost all things, are good; in excess all things are evil ; and because we do not generally exceed in those things whioh are unpleasant to us, but only in those which delight us and ara easy of attainment, it is natural that the evils of novel reading; should be so often brought before our notice, and as a consequence that many persons oontemn, and would fain taboo, light literature altogether j but if it were permissible thus to •weep away all things which are abused in the using, how tew-how very few— pleasures or occupations would remain to us. Such a courae would be as unwise aa it would be impolitic ; degrading us from our position as free and rational creatures, able to chooße between the evil and the good, and to use without abusing all these means of profit and pleasure whioh civilisation and the " march of the ages " have bestowed upon us. That a thing is liable to abuae i 8 surely no argument against its rational employment, and this axiom, which is true of all things, is specially applicable to novel reading. It must then be admitted that even sensational novels have their übob, that those who produce them are entitled to a plaoe, though perhaps not a very high one, among the complex requirements of modern social life, and that the evil complained of lies not with them but with those of their readers, who, living on sweetmeats, discover sooner or later that the diet is indigestible, and thereupon find fault with the confectioner.