class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[xi]"/>CHAPTER XI

THE NOVEL v. THE SHORT STORY Practise the Short Story 154 Short Story Writers on their Art 159   CHAPTER XII SUCCESS: AND SOME OF ITS MINOR CONDITIONS The Truth about Success 164 Minor Conditions of Success 169   APPENDIX I The Philosophy of Composition. By Edgar Allan Poe 175   APPENDIX II Books Worth Reading 201   APPENDIX III Magazine Article on Writing Fiction 205

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HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL

 

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CHAPTER I

THE OBJECT IN VIEW

I am setting myself a task which some people would call very ambitious; others would call it by a name not quite so polite; and a considerable number would say it was positively absurd, accompanying their criticism with derisive laughter. Having discussed the possibility of teaching the art of writing fiction with a good many different kinds of people, I know quite intimately the opinions which are likely to be expressed about this little book; and although I do not intend to burden the reader with an account of their respective merits, I do intend to make my own position as clear as possible. First of all, I will examine the results of a recent symposium on the general question.[1:A] When asked as to the practicability of a School of Fiction, Messrs Robert Barr, G. Manville Fenn, M. Betham Edwards, Arthur Morrison, G. B. Burgin, C. J. C. Hyne, and "Mr" John Oliver Hobbes declared against it; Miss Mary L. Pendered and Miss Clementina Black—with certain reservations—spoke in favour of such an institution. True, these names do not include all representatives of the high places in Fiction, but they are quite respectable enough for my purpose. It will be seen that the vote is adverse to the object I have in view. Why? Well, here are a few reasons. Mr Morrison affirms that writing as a trade is far too pleasant an idea; John Oliver Hobbes is of opinion that it is impossible to teach anyone how to produce a work of imagination; and Mr G. B. Burgin asserts that genius is its own teacher—a remark characterised by unwitting modesty. Now, with the spirit of these convictions I am not disposed to quarrel. This is an age which imagines that everything can be crammed into the limits of an academical curriculum; and there are actually some people who would not hesitate to endow a chair of "Ideas and Imagination." We need to be reminded occasionally that there are incommunicable elements in all art.

An Inevitable Comparison

But the question arises: If there be an art of literature, why cannot its principles be taught and practised as well as those of any other art? We have schools of Painting, Sculpture, and Music—why not a school of Fiction? Let it be supposed that a would-be artist has conceived a brilliant idea which he is anxious to embody in literature or put on a canvas. In order to do so, he must observe certain well-established rules which we may call the grammar of art: for just as in literature a man may express beautiful ideas in ungrammatical language, and without any sense of relationship or development, so may the same ideas be put in a picture, and yet the art be of the crudest. Now, in what way will our would-be artist become acquainted with those rules? The answer is simple. If his genius had been of the first order he would have known them intuitively: the society of men and women, of great books and fine pictures, would have provided sufficient stimuli to bring forth the best productions of his mind. Thus Shakespeare was never taught the principles of dramatic art; Bach had an instinctive appreciation of the laws of harmony; and Turner had the same insight into laws of painting. These were artists of the front rank: they simply looked—and understood.

But if his powers belonged to the order which is called talent, he would have to do one of two things: either stumble upon these rules one by one and learn them by experience—or be taught them in their true order by others, in which case an Institute of Literary Art would already exist in an embryonic stage. Why should it not be developed into a matured school? Is it that the dignity of genius forbids it, or that pupilage is half a disgrace? True genius never shuns the marks of the learner. Even Shakespeare grew in the understanding of art and in his power of handling its elements. Professor Dowden says: "In the 'Two Gentlemen of Verona,' Porteus, the fickle, is set over against Valentine the faithful; Sylvia, the bright and intellectual, is set over against Julia, the ardent and tender; Launce, the humorist, is set over against Speed, the wit. This indicates a certain want of confidence on the part of the poet; he fears the weight of too much liberty. He cannot yet feel that his structure is secure without a mechanism to support the structure. He endeavours to attain unity of effect less by the inspiration of a common life than by the disposition of parts. In the early plays structure determines function; in the later plays organisation is preceded by life."[5:A]

A Model Lesson in Novel-Writing

When certain grumpy folk ask: "How do you propose to draw up your lessons on 'The way to find Local Colour'; 'Plotting'; 'How