The Critic.

Otago Witness, Issue 1502, 28 August 1880, Page 26

The Critic.

MISS BRADDON'S LAST NOVEL.

. By Colonus. Awhile since I thought of venturing to express my opinion, of, Miss Braddon's last novel — "Barbara, her Splendid Misery, and Gilded Cage" — which lately appeared in the Witness, and. now, observing a critique of that book in the London Spectator, reminds trie to say a few words about the same work. The Spectator, in some preliminary observations, speaking of " Ouida," insinuates that hersaooess as a writer is due to the "unfailing pruriency" of her stories. Well, I have only read one of Ouida's works ; but, judging from the sample, I should say there was something in Ouida's novels, apart from pruriency, to attract a reader. Oaida has much artistio genius, if I am not mistaken, considerable power of depicting character, and much descriptive and dramatic power. Though the book I read— "Puck"-— was not a book it would be desirable to see in the hands of quite young people, I arrived at the conclusion that it was an' honest book, and that the writer of it possessed a kind and sympathetic heart — in its Btraightforward condemnation of vioiousness combined with heartless insensibility, a more honest work than some maudlin and unhealthy productions to, which much less exception is likely to be taken. Our worthy friend the Speotator' speaks in a very supercilious manner of Miss Braddon ; but I. think there can be no doubt Miss Braddon is a powerful writer, and that it is not only through their sensational character that Miss Braddon's works have acquired so muoh popularity. For myself, I cannot say I much like her works. There is usually something painful or disagreeable about the incidents or plot in her novels. Thus, if not uniformly, she often, if I recollect aright, makes the lovers in her stories marry the wrong people, followed up by an objectionable amount of illicit flirtation or quasi -adultery. The Speotator hardly expresses my opinion about, this last novel of Miss Braddon's, doing' little more than give an outline of the plot. To me it seemed one of the most displeasing novels I ever read. The opening .scenes are pleasant enough ; but when mother and sister suddenly and- surprisingly turn out a couple of foolish, mercenary wretohes, who ruthlessly sacrifice poor Barbara's life-hap-piness at the shrine of Mammon, one is considerably disgusted. All the repulsive details of how the poor creature was forced by circumstances to marry against her inolinatioas, was dreary and painful reading. I hoped that somehow the poor bird would eventually escape from her gilded oage ; but it was not to be, and she is left in it to the bitter end. A disregard of probabilities, or want of consistency, must be considered a defect in a novel, regarded as a work of art. It was extremely improbable that a wellnurtured girl, however muoh in love she was, would be . so far forgetful of maidenly propriety as to be guilty of such an absurd escapade as rushing down alone to a seaport to see her lover off, after she had, as he supposed, taken leave of him at her own home. Neither was it at all likely that a, man would be such a fool as, to write breaking his engagement with a woman he muoh' loved, merely because he had got into difficulty by beooming the objeot of baseless suspioion. Even the sensation of * horrid attempt at murder introduced is no compensation for the disagreeable and painful inoidents of this tale. Some modern novels are very agreeable reading, to some extent, independent of incident j but novels like Miss Braddon's depend much for their readableness upon incidents, and I wish she .would make her incidents rather pleasanter, and not so painful and exasperating.