THE RETURN OF THE HISTORICAL NOVEL.

Otago Witness, Issue 3994, 30 September 1930, Page 68

THE RETURN OF THE HISTORICAL NOVEL.

By Maejokie Bowen.

The historical novel appears to be sometimes the pet, sometimes the Cinderella of English letters. Abroad this form of fiction has always held a more assured place. The immense popularity of Scott, Stevenson, and Dumas inspired hosts of inferior writers to imitate their peculiar styles, until these had become formalised and standardised, and when that happens to any particular type of literature mechanical and monotonous repetition follows, until the entire school z is discredited. •

The so-called historical novelist, lagging far behind his great original, whether this was Scott, Dumas, or Stevenson, began to produce a stock story of adventure or intrigue, which used to be termed “ Wardour Street ” or “ cloak and sword,” and which was lifeless and dull as any rechauffe of outworn literary tradition must be.

Such novels were really “ costume ” stories and had very little to do with history. They were, however, further defaced by the introduction of worn-out stock figures, whose names were used to give a glamour or a ricliness to a tale of, say, Crusaders, Jacobites, highwaymen, or any of the so-called “ romantic episodes ” of the past. Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth, all the Stuarts have been used again and again in this fashion until their very names convey staleness and artificiality. It is indeed hard to believe that any of these famous people were once human beings, so petrified have they become (under the hands of cheap fiction writers) into stock figures in characteristic poses, muttering the threadbare sentiments considered appropriate to their characters.

It was not surprising that the “ historical ” or “costume” novel (the terms being interchangeable when dealing with this class of work) fell into disrepute and became almost a term of reproach. For these writers used what is termed contemptuously “ the trappings of romance ” to disguise a lack of any real knowledge of the period of which they treated, a poor story, and the crudest character-drawing. The impression conveyed to the reader was that the people of the past were childish, that there was no bottom to or system in their lives, but that they were always engaged in meaningless adventures and intrigues that lead nowhere. While they themselves were divided into brisk young heroes, crafty villains, fair young spirited maidens, and bold shameless women.

The steady output of these books and the attention they attracted have always been a drawback to anyone attempting in thrs country a serious historical or, as it is now termed, “ period ” novel. That is not to say that we have not always had fine examples of what the historical novel can be; but critics were apt to forget “ John Inglesant ” and “ The Cloister and the Hearth ” and mass together any attempt at this type of work under “ costume,” “ cloak and Sword,” or some such half contemptuous

term. The adventure type of novel in the Dumas-Stevenson tradition was also far more popular and therefore attractive commercially, and, as the present writer knows from experience, it was not easy to receive serious recognition for serious efforts in this field.

The magnificent foreign novels dealing with history were largely ignored over here; yet among them was work quite as fine as any of the recent translations that have been so praised and exploited; even leaving aside the recognised masterpieces such as Merejkowski’s trilogy, Sienkiewicz’s “ Quo Vadis? ” “ The German Knights,” or Gaultier’s Roman d’un Moinie,” etc., there were splendid novels such as Louis Bertrand’s story of the Queen of Carlos II of Spain, which were never translated at all, and others such as “ Karoliana ” (A King and his Campaigners), by Verner von Heidenstam, which were translated, but never much noticed over here; this last novel is equal to any recently translated “ work of genius ” in this genre, and contains as powerful and brilliant a study of war as the most up-to-date essay on that subject.

However, the recent success in this country of translations of foreign novels to a great extent caused the critics, if not the public, to differentiate between the old-fashioned costume adventure tale and the historical or period novel, and we now have several writers with considerable tolent turning their ’attention to this form of fiction. There still seems to be some confusion between the “historical” novel, which I take to be a reconstruction of some definite event or personality of the past in which the writer uses all the power of his imagination to recreate some famous vanished deed or scene, and a “ period ” novel which is merely a story of characters invented by the writer set in some distant period. Examples of the first school are “ Spanish Island,” by Johannes Muron, that gorgeous description of the landing of Christopher Columbus in South America, and “ Brother Luther,” by Walter von Molo, which deals with the fortnight before the Diet of Worms. Examples of the second school are “ Kristin Lavransdatter and Mr Walpole’s “ Rogue Herries.”

In both these latter the details of the background are put in carefully and perhaps too lavishly; learning and research are in evidence on almost every page, but the books can scarcely be called “ historical ” novels since they do not deal, save in minor characters, with historic personages or events. Both these types of book may be called romantic and both admit of excellent work; the scope they offer to the writer is enormous. There are whole tracts of history —even modern European history — as yet untouched by the novelist, and there are dozens of strange, exciting, and interesting characters which have never yet entered the realm of fiction. It is impossible in the space. Of a short article to enter into the troubled question of fiction versus history and how far. the modern biography, written often in pressent day slang, infringes upon what used to be considered the prerogative of the novelist—the old poet’s “ licence ” — that is the interpretation of facts or surmises by the light of imagination and sentiment. Once the so-called historian leaves the chronicling of proved facts—and how few there are in any periodl—to guess, to conjecture, or to invent, to describe scenes he could not have beheld, to build up characters of whom’ he knows very little, he seems to me no more to be trusted than the novelist or poet.

Pedantry is detestable in a romance, and one of the first rules for the historical or period novelist is to leave' cut much that he knows or may find out. It is a great temptation to wander aside into fascinating details; but if these are of merely antiquarian interest they simply impede the flow of the narrative and dim the picture which-the author is endeavouring to paint. I say advisedly the picture which the author is endeavouring to paint, for it seems to me that in this type of work it is essential that the author should see what he is writing about, not consider it intellectually, but actually imagine it, picture it with his mind’s eye. He will not be able to put down all that he sees, but he will be able to make a selection which will convince the reader that he has seen something and is not merely stringing together a catalogue of items.

In the same way he should be able to get into the skin of the great man or woman or spacious event with which he is dealing as a good actor is expected to get into the skin of his part. He should not, as the old school of historians did, coolly and carpingly criticise from the outside,

but he should be able to feel-what that person felt in such a situation at such a moment.

In one of the two books mentioned above you do see the new world of Columbus as his followers saw it and you do feel what they might have felt at that extraordinary moment of their lives. In the other book you do share the sensations both of Martin Luther on his arrival at Worms and the people who were there to receive or defy him. Such an achievement as this, however the accuracy of certain details may be disputed, is far higher than that reached by any but the very best historian.

On the other hand, though pedantry and heaviness should at all cost be avoided, the sloppily put together historical novel written in modern slang is only an easy begging of great difficulty. We must have that elusive thing called “ atmosphere.” It may be argued that we do not know what was the atmosphere of a given period, and that it may be different to each one of us, but it is up to the historical or period novelist to convey something which shall make the reader think that he is in the times which are being written of. This is not achieved by the use of modern eollo quialisms, present-day slang, or a casual style only .suited to an inferior journalism. Although the novelist may put in very litle about the minutiae of his subject he must know a great deal, so that he is able to avoid the incongruous; jarring anachronisms are bad taste and irritate those who know, and vaguely discompose even those who do not know. A good specimen of historic or period novel is without either pedantry or serious anachronisms.

It is pleasant to the lover of romance to see these novels coming into some sort of fashion and to notice that this medium is being used by writers of feeling and intelligence. The type of historical novel that is being produced now calls for the creative faculty in a high degree. Almost every intelligent person whose mind and powers of observation have been trained can write some sort of an account of contemporary life which will pass as a novel. They can jot down in some formless fashion their own impressions of what they have actually seen or heard. They can give a reasonably interesting account of their own sensations and feelings, and they can deal in a more or less lively fashion with what are known as the “ questions and problems ” of the day. Such novels come rather under the heading of journalism (that is, the observation and recording of facts) than under the heading of creative literature.

There are, easily, dozens of clever writers, who can turn out at least one or two specimens of this kind of book, to one who can produce a work of pure creative imagination, where the writer gets completely outside his own experience of feelings, and presents to the reader a different world (peopled with other characters) from that in which he and they live. "The world of those characters must be reasonable and consistent, they must be influenced by ordinary human motives, but they may (and therein lies their charm) be touched with that fantasy, that beauty, and that heroism which are not found in the careful chronicling of prosaic facts.

The historical novel allows the widest possible scope for the work of the high-, est imaginative, creative quality. The neatest romance writers have always set their subject matter in the past or else so transformed the world about them that it is scarcely recognisable. The really great creative mind has never been satisfied by careful copies of the commonplace. It will not be strange if the fine writers of the future turn seriously to the historical novel as it is understood nowadays.

One cannot conclude without a word about the lurid, sensational, historical “ biographies ” which, dealing with some no-inan’s-land between fact and fiction, threaten to become the fashion and, alas I to swamp the work both of the genuine historian and the genuine romancist. These, hatefully labelled as “ colourful,” splash about in a riot of adjectives which convey nothing at all, try to give a modern air by-using all the most provoking cliches of psyeho-analysis, and carefully put forward only the vulgar, the gaudy, the “ sensational ” aspect of their unfortunate victim. Carelessly writen, with the obvious purpose of satisfying a supposed popular taste, these hybrids, sham history, false romance, will, if encouraged, go far to discredit serious productions in this field. But one hopes that they will create a disgust .which will cause serious readers to prefer even the dull but honest productions of the old Dr Dryasdust school.—John o’ London’s Weekly.