‘WE LEAVE THE CHAIR.’

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVII, Issue I, 4 July 1896, Page 10

‘WE LEAVE THE CHAIR.’

• A.M. ’ —l have carefully read both the verses and the story you sent me. You ask me to give you my candid opinion regarding them, and I shall endeavour to do so in short compass. But first let me give you a word of advice which is applicable to a great many young writers. You are anxious, you say, * to make money by writing (for few of us in this mercenary age can afford to write for the laurel wreath alone).* Now let me tell you at once that beginners who think of the reward for their work, whether in money or fame, more than of the work itself, are not going the right way to success. You do not suppose, do you, that the great poets thought first of remuneration and then of artistic truth and excellence ? Can you fancy Dante penning those terrible passages in the ’ Inferno,’ or Milton singing of seraphic choirs, or Shakespeare writing the sublime consummation of one of his tragedies—can you fancy any of these heirs of fame working with, as the Americans would put it, ‘an eye on the almighty dollar ? lam perfectly sure that you cannot. Nor. indeed, can you conceive any of the lesser lights in the literary firmament who have achieved fame bothering much about the money except as a side thought. The men and women who have done anything in literature, or indeed in any worthy walk of life, have loved the work for its own sake, and troubled themselves, as Matthew Arnold said of a distinguished writer, ‘ much more about perfection than about glory.’ Believe me, I am advising you for the best when I say that you should not be thinking of making money at this stage of the chapter, but of writing something that is really good. From an artistic point of view this is the best counsel I can give you, and even from the monetary point of view it is the best also. The stories which command a price nowadays must be good, and until you can write really good stories you need not enter the market, for in these days of universal education it is glutted with mediocre wares. I have had a good deal of experience in that market, and know how very difficult it is to get a stand in it. If you, like many of my young friends, cherish the belief that it is to be taken by storm, I can only say ‘ try it.’ Your verses are fair. There are one or two good ideas in * Death,’ though I could hardly say there are any which are very strikingly original. The thought is somewhat trite, and the rhythm not always quite satisfactory, the accent of the line shifting about. The verses on the ‘ Reform Dress ’ show a facility in rhyme and a sense of humour, but with a little more care you could have given them more point, I am sure. You might also have improved on some of the rhymes. For instance, ‘ reformers ’ does not fit very happily to ‘ enormous.’ * The Ring of Fate ’is very much like scores of other stories, a thread of incidents lightly strung together in fair enough English. The incidents are by no means novel in story book life, and cannot claim special attention on the ground of originality. But of course, novelty of incident is not essential to a good story. Some of the best books make use of the very oldest situations and every day plots. Shakespeare borrowed most of his. The commonest of materials suffice for the master’s hand. Putting aside your incidents what is there in the story ? You have attempted no particular representation of life, of feeling, of emotion, though in the plot as you sketch it there should be abundant opportunity for elaborate character drawing. I should certainly not care to discourage you from writing if you really feel you have a real bent in that direction. I would not, from the specimen of your work, predict that you will be successful, but at the same time I will not go so far as to say that you may net with practice and the study of the best models attain to something good. If you have pleasure in writing, and leisure, write on. The work will certainly be good for you, giving yon a command of English, and cultivating your imagination. I cannot offer you payment for either the verses or the story, but I might, if you like it, find a place for your * Dream of Fair Women.’ Drop me a postcard if you desire it. If I di not receive word from you I shall return the MSS.

• Alice.’ —I am sorry that I cannot make use of your MSS. Although I have a great deal of work on my shoulders I have given them my best consideration. The question you ask, ‘ whether it is worth your while continuing to write ?’ is one that you must answer for yourself. My advice to young writers has always been, ‘ write if yon feel you must write.’ In many respects I have formed a high opinion of your good sense, and for

that reason I am inclined to be more blunt in expressing my opinion than I might be to a young writer whom I feared to discourage. I tell yon frankly, therefore, that I doubt whether you can hope to attain to any high poetic standard. Almost anyone, as you are aware, may become pretty proficient in verse-making, but poetry is another thing. With regard to your story, it ranks in a different class from the most of those I receive—and I

get a great many. It is the work of a person who has a command of English, and can express her thoughts, which, alas! is not the case with too many of the embryo writers who seek my advice. But as a story it is not deeply interesting. I confess I much preferred your general treatment of the first story, though the subject was against its appearance in the Graphic. I return you the MSS. as requested, and shall be glad to hear from you at any time.

* Penelope.’—lf I mistake not Penelope is young and lively. At any rate her story is youthful and lively, and if from a critical standpoint it has a good many faults, still it is not devoid of a certain naturalness and spontaneity which cover a good many shortcomings. As the subject it deals with is at this moment a good deal under discussion, I should be willing to insert the tale later on among the unpaid contributions to theGRAPHic. Do you desire it ?

‘ C. Clyde.’—Your story shows that you are possessed of no little imagination, and although I regret I can make no use of it just at present, I shall be glad to hear from you some other time.