Critics and Their Ways
WE are familiar Avitli Sterne’s bitter de-
▼ nimciation of criticism: “Of all the cants that ever were canted in this cantingworld, though the cant of hypocrisy is worst, the cant of criticism is the most tormenting-.” Bnt as Sterne died a hundred and twenty years ago we may wonder whether Criticism has made for itself any better reputation. The young writer should remember that the first criticism his MS. has to undergo is inflicted upon it by a professional “reader, “Whose business it is to report upon it to the publisher who employs him. The” reader “is the” ghost “of the publisher’s office. He is suj)- posed to be a man of large reading and competent judgment in literary matters, and to he always on the outlook for literature which his master can turn to account. Thus at the very first the unknown writer has to undergo a very licriloiis process. The MS. may fall into the hands of the Avrongman - a strong enough man in many directions, hnt in this particuhxr instance the very worst man that coukl he appointed to the critic’s chair. Even so small a thing as the author’s handwriting may ruin the prospects of his hook. One of the greatest printers in England s1ioa ed me an MS. in his office hardly a word of Avhicli I could make out. If it had come to me for judgment I should have condemned it as hearing evidence of a most disorderly mind. In every respect the penmanshiji was as had as it is possihlefor penmanship to When, however, I was told that it was the j)enmanship of Lord Brougham, of course it settled itself into legiljleness and hetrayed evidence of singular energy and originality. But a man has to make himself a Lord Brougham before printers can afford to hestow the necessary care upon him. Take” The Crossing of the Bar,” in the handwriting of Lord Tennyson; who can read it with fluency? Who has time to sjiell out the peculiar caligraphy? Of course, when it is known that the 2)enniansliip is actually Lord Tennyson’s, the task of deciphering it becomes as fascinating as the solution of a puzzle. In one of the “Diary Notes “we read: “I have sent ‘Gareth ’ to
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press this morning’. The MS. is so ill written that I expect much confusion.” When a man is quite sure that he is a Tennyson he may write as he pleases, hut until he has proved that point he ought to come before the “reader” with a fair and tempting copy of his poem or story. Horace Greely wrote an illegible letter to a friend, who, utterly unable to decipher it, skilfully turned it to account by showing it as a free railway pass, not only without anybody being able to contradict him, but without being able to contradict himself, especially in view of the fact that the famous editor was a raihvay proprietor and director, and might have given such a pass to a friend. A young aspirant should not imagine himself to be a Horace Grreely simply because he writes an execrable hand, which nobody in these busy days has time to make out. Dean Stanley wrote in a way which left you in utter mystery as to whether he was coming or going, or sitting still, or falling asleep. AVhetlier he remained “Yours truly, tartly, terribly, or testily,” no living man could definitely say, though “truly” would probably be chosen as most agreeable to the receiver’s natural feelings. The point of penmanship is of little consequence where reputations have been secured, but it is of distinct importance that young writers should g’ive the professional “reader” no unnecessary trouble. I have no doubt that professional “readers” could excuse themselves in many instances for condemning- MSS. on the ground that they could not read them. On the other hand, it is wonderful what crabbed and cabalistic writing’ some “readers” are able to decipher.
It would be interesting to know how many mistakes, as to the value of MSS., have been made even by experienced “readers.” In recent years a comparatively unknown writer was offered, after many a disappointment, ten pounds for a batch of related articles, which, happily, he had self-respect enough to decline. Within twelve months the said articles, published in book form, secured a circulation of more than fifty thousand. One of the most widely read books of the last ten years was rejected by “reader” after “reader,” yet when it fell into the right hands it rajoidly” made a fortune for both author and jjublislier. To my personal knowledge an amateur in a department of practical science was offered a few shillings for an elaborate compilation of scientific facts and experiments. He was only a working man, but such confidence had he ill the value of his compihition that he horrowed a few pounds to bring out the book on his own responsibility, and within three years I know that he made a profit of five thousand pounds. I enlarge upon this point to cheer some hard workers whose efforts have hitherto ended in failure, and to point out to some critics that they, with all their expertness, may miss a “flood” in the “tide” of ofPered MSS.
On the other hand, it would be interesting to trace the successes and real influence of many “readers.” As a rule their estimates are just. Some editors are themselves “readers “; that is to say, they most generously criticise and suggest even where they cannot accept. Take the remarkable instance ol” Charles Dickens. What pains he took with the MSS. ofPered for insertion in his magazine! How he re-arranged the material, discriminated the characters, pruned verbal excesses, and set the whole situation in a clearer light! Think of the infinite patience of the man, and of his inexhaustible good-nature! To know what Dickens was in this respect compare his biography with the memoirs of other literary men, such as Carlyle or Lord Tennyson. These great men did nothing for amateurs and aspirants, whereas Dickens discovered men to themselves and cheered them with inspiring words. He would take a story in pieces, and show how much hotter the ])arts could he related, and point out what situations admitted more careful and ample treatment. And this was done by a man whose pen was perhaps the husiest in the world. Such service must be traced to that irrepressible benevolence which made Dickens in many respects the supreme philanthropist of his time. Many official “readers” have generously done, to the extent of their ability, what Dickens did on so large a scale. I myself have known instances in which their penetrating criticism has been of immense service to inexperienced writers l)y way of suggestion and encouragement.
After the “reader” comes the revieAver, the public critic, anonymous, but fearsome. Reviewers, like publishers, must be distributed into good and bad. The revicAver is not ahvays a leper; far from it. We all knoAV that there are revicAvers who are gentlemen — courteous, just, forbearing; and we also know that some critics lack both penetration and generosity, and some of them owe the con-CRITICS AND THEII? WAYS
tiliiiance of their lives to the thickness of the anus behind which they write their anonymous abuse. Some of them are supernaturally clever. They can review a book without reading it. A glance at half a dozen pages is enough for them. They see the style and taste the quality in sips and dribbles, and away they rush to their treasury of epithets, their stock-in-trade of peppermint compliments or diluted cursing. They seldom support their judgment by illustrative quotation. They make cruel fun which pleases themselves, and then they write anonymous articles in condemnation of vivisection. In the degree in which a revicAver is severe he is bound to show the justice of his severity by fair quotation from the book which he is reviewing. To deal in epithets only, the pettifogging exercise of dealing out anonymous adjectives, is to degrade the function of honest and competent criticism. Macaulay held up Montgomery’s “Satan” to contempt, but in every instance he allowed the “poet” to speak for himself, and thus to prove that he had not been unfairly judged. The Edinl)urgh reviewers endeavoured to bring Byron into contempt, but Avitli splendid energy he turned his sword upon them, and gave their carcases to the fowls of the air.
Jeft’ery’s review of the “Excursion” I have always regarded as the poorest effort at funny criticism to be found in literature. Wordsworth will probably live when JefPery will be forgotten. It is very questionable whether a review permanently affects the position and influence of any book. It is related that one of Tennyson’s books achieved a circulation of ten thousand, but that in the case of a following book, which was criticised severely in an influential review, the sale fell short of five hundred. The limited circulation, however, was not due to the review, but to an attack which Tennyson was supposed to have made upon a jjopular statesman. Macaulay was accustomed to say that the fate of a book depends upon what is in it, and not uj)on what is said about it. This is a commonplace which may be applied around the whole circumference of human effort.
It is becoming more generally known, probably in consequence of the spread of popular education, that revicAvers are in reality not anonymous demi-gods, but ordinary mortals like ourselves. When it is remembered that a revicAver is only a fellow-creature his influence is limited by his individual competence or incompetence.
So long as he is regarded as a deity residing in a paper house whose windows overlook the universe, and who has private telephonic communication with angels, good and bad, he must necessarily he regarded as a most formidable person. When it is known that he wears clothes and pays taxes, he will gradually come into the enjoyment of the degree of influence which is properly due to him. Many a review would ruin its own influence if signed by the name of the writer. Young authors should not be overmuch affrighted by nameless reviewers. They are sure to find encouragement, provided their work is good, in the criticism of upright and competent reviewers. For the honour of literature let us rejoice that there are critics, in no inconsiderable number, who arc able to appreciate the quality and value of literature.
It must ahvays be remembered that revicAvers have not escaped the kind of criticism which they have inflicted upon others. The pity is that the reviewers could not have been criticised and exposed by name. It is an extraordinary circumstance that journalists of all kinds are about the only persons who are permitted to work anonymously. We have no anonymous statesmen, no anonymous generals, captains, lawyers, or clergymen; nor have we any anonymous doctors: all these jjrofessioual men are registered and accessible. We might carry the inquiry further, with the result that we should never find a Imtcher, a baker, or a candlestick-maker carrying on his business anonymously. You can get at a prime-minister, but who can get at a newspaper editor? However, the baser sort amongst them have been trounced in nearly every form of satirical prose and poetry. Hear Lord Byron on the matter:
“As soon
Seek roses in December — ice in June, Hope, constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that’s false, before You trust in critics.”
Nor is the opinion of Churchill much more lenient:
“Though by whim, envy, or resentment led. They damn those authors whom they never read.”
We should expect from the mystic and gentle Coleridge a more reserved and balanced judgment, yet even he does not hesitate to use the avenging lash:
“llevieweis are usually people who would have been poets, historians, biographei’s, etc., if they could; they have tried their talents at one or the other, ami have failed; therefore they turn critics.”
Lord Beaconsfield, when Mr. Disraeli, said in the House of Commons, “It is much easier to he critical than to be correct “; and, indeed, he went still further, in Lothair, when he said, “You know who critics are P — the men who have failed in literature and art.” Who expects severity in Oliver Goldsmith? No man who knows the spirit of that gifted genius. His remark upon critics is thoroughly in harmony with his buoyant kindliness and sympathy:
“Blame where you must, be candid where you can, And be each critic the Good-natured Man.”
The brothers Hare, in their “Guesses at Truth,” innocently remark:
“Reviewei-s are for ever telling authors they can’t understand them. The author might often reply. Is that my fault?”
Perhaps the severest thing that has been said about critics in modern times was said by Russell LoAvell:
“Nature fits all her children with soruethii)g to do — He who would write and can’t write can surely review; Can set up a small booth as critic; and sell us his Petty conceit and his pi’ttier jealousies.”
Pope’s “Essay on Criticism” (the Bible of critics) abounds in maxims and epigrams which all reviewers would do well to consider. But the root of the whole mischief of malignant criticism lies in the practice of anonymousness. Many a man who is a coward when face to face with an author can be very courageous when quite sure that critic and author are separated by a thick blank wall.