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Henry James. "The Art of Fiction".
Henry James. "The Art of Fiction".
HENRY JAMES
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HENRY JAME S
THE AR T O F FICTIO N
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HENRY JAME S
fact that fictio n is one of the fine arts, deserving in its turn of all the honours
and emolument s tha t hav e hithert o bee n reserve d fo r th e successfu l
profession o f music , poetry, painting , architecture . I t i s impossibl e t o
insist to o much o n s o important a truth , an d th e plac e tha t Mr . Besan t
demands for the wor k of the novelis t may be represented , a trifl e les s
abstractly, b y sayin g that h e demand s no t onl y tha t i t shal l b e repute d
artistic, bu t tha t i t shal l b e repute d ver y artistic indeed . I t i s excellent
that h e should have struck this note, fo r his doing so indicates tha t ther e
was nee d o f it, tha t hi s propositio n ma y b e t o man y peopl e a novelty .
One rub s one's eye s at the thought ; but the res t of Mr. Besant' s essa y
confirms th e revelation . I suspec t i n trut h tha t i t woul d b e possibl e
to confirm it still further, an d tha t on e would not b e far wrong in saying
that i n addition t o the people to whom it has never occurred tha t a novel
ought t o b e artistic, ther e ar e a grea t man y other s who, i f this principl e
were urge d upo n them , woul d b e fille d wit h a n indefinabl e mistrust .
They woul d fin d i t difficul t t o explai n thei r repugnance , bu t i t woul d
operate strongl y to pu t the m o n thei r guard . "Art, " in ou r Protestan t
communities, where so many thing s have go t s o strangely twiste d about ,
is supposed i n certai n circle s to hav e som e vaguely injurious effect upo n
those wh o mak e i t a n importan t consideration , wh o le t i t weig h i n th e
balance. I t i s assume d t o b e oppose d i n som e mysteriou s manne r t o
morality, to amusement, to instruction. Whe n it is embodied i n the work
of th e painte r (th e sculpto r i s anothe r affair! ) yo u kno w wha t i t is : i t
stands there before you, in the honesty of pink and green and a gilt frame;
you ca n se e the worst of it a t a glance , an d yo u ca n b e o n you r guard .
But whe n i t i s introduce d int o literatur e i t become s mor e insidious
there is danger of its hurting you before you know it. Literatur e should be
either instructiv e or amusing , an d ther e i s in many mind s an impressio n
that thes e artisti c preoccupations , th e searc h fo r form , contribut e t o
neither end , interfer e indeed wit h both . The y ar e to o frivolou s t o b e
edifying, an d to o serious to be diverting ; and the y are moreove r priggis h
and paradoxical an d superfluous . That , I think , represents th e manne r
in which the latent thought of many people who read novels as an exercise
in skippin g woul d explai n itsel f if i t wer e t o becom e articulate . The y
would argue , o f course, that a novel ought to be "good," but the y would
interpret thi s ter m i n a fashio n o f their own , whic h indee d woul d var y
considerably from on e critic to another. On e would say that being good
means representing virtuous and aspiring characters, placed i n prominen t
positions; another woul d say that i t depend s o n a "happ y ending," on a
distribution a t th e las t o f prizes , pensions , husbands , wives , babies ,
millions, appende d paragraphs , an d cheerfu l remarks . Anothe r stil l
would sa y that i t mean s being ful l o f incident an d movement , s o that w e
THE AR T O F FICTIO N
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shall wish to jump ahead , t o see who was the my sterious stranger, and if
the stole n wil l wa s eve r found , an d shal l no t b e detracte d ^ rom thi s
pleasure b y an y tiresom e analysi s or "description." J3u t the y would al l
agree tha t the "artistic " idea would spoil some of their fun - On e would
hold i t accountable fo r all th e description, another wo u^ see ^ revealed
in th e absenc e o f sympathy. It s hostilit y t o a happ y endin g woul d b e
evident, an d i t might even in some cases render an y ending at al l impossible. Th e "ending" of a novel is, for many persons , like that f a god
dinner, a course of dessert and ices, and the artist iu fi ctin i s regarded as a
sort of meddlesome doctor who forbid s agreeabl e aftertastes . I t i s therefore tru e tha t thi s conception o f Mr. Besant' s of the nove l a s a superio r
form encounter s no t onl y a negativ e bu t a positive indifference . I t
matters little that as a work of art it should really be as little or as mucri f
its essenc e t o suppl y happ y endings , sympatheti c c tiaracters> an d a n
objective tone, as if it were a work of mechanics: the association o f ideas,
however incongruous, might easily be too much f 0r i t if an eloquent voice
were not sometimes raised to call attention to the f ac t tha t it is at onc e as
free an d a s serious a branch o f literature as any other .
Certainly this might sometimes be doubted in presence of the enormous
number o f works of fiction that appeal to the credulit y of our generation,
for i t might easil y seem that ther e could b e no great character in a com"
modity s o quickly and easil y produced . I t mus t be admitted tha t ood
novels ar e muc h compromise d b y ba d ones , an d that th e fiel d a t larg e
suffers discredi t from overcrowding . I think , however* that thi s injury is
only superficial , an d tha t th e superabundanc e of written fictio n prove s
nothing against th e principle itself. I t ha s been Vulga^isedJ hk e all other
kinds of literature, like everything else to-day, and it has proved more than
some kind s accessible to vulgarisation . Bu t ther e i s ^s muc h differenc e
as there eve r was between a goo d nove l an d a ba d on^ ' the bad i s swept
with all the daubed canvase s and spoile d marble into s^me unvisited limbo, or infinite rubbish-yar d beneath the back-window^ of the world, and
the goo d subsist s and emit s its light and stimulate s ou* * de sire fo r perfec tion. A s I shal l take the liberty o f making but a single criticism o f Mr .
Besant, whose tone is so full o f the lov e of his art, I may as well have done
with it at once . He seem s to me to mistak e i n attemptin g to say so
definitely beforehan d what sor t o f an affai r th e g ood j^ove l will be. T o
indicate the dange r of such a n erro r as that ha s been tl^e purpose of these
few pages ; t o sugges t tha t certai n tradition s o n the subject , applie d a
priori, have already had much t o answer for, and that th e goo d healt h of
an ar t whic h undertakes s o immediatel y to reproduc e hf e mus t deman d
that i t be perfectl y free . I t live s upon exercise, and tr^e very meaning of
exercise is freedom. The onl y obligatio n to whic h ir > advanc e we may
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THE AR T O F FICTIO N
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repetition o f a few familiar cliches, cuts short its development, and lead s us
straight up to a dead wall . Catchin g the very note and trick , the strange
irregular rhyth m o f life, tha t i s the attemp t whos e strenuous force keep s
Fiction upo n her feet . In proportio n as in what she offers us we see lif e
without rearrangemen t d o w e fee l tha t w e ar e touchin g th e truth ; i n
proportion a s we see it with rearrangement d o w e fee l tha t w e are bein g
put of f with a substitute , a compromis e an d convention . I t i s not un common t o hea r a n extraordinar y assuranc e o f remark i n regar d t o thi s
matter of rearranging, whic h is often spoke n of as if it were the las t word of
art. Mr . Besan t seems to me in danger of falling into the great error with
his rather unguarde d tal k about "selection. " Ar t i s essentially selection,
but it is a selection whose main car e is to be typical, to be inclusive. For
many people art mean s rose-coloured window-panes, and selectio n means
picking a bouquet for Mrs. Grundy. The y will tell you glibly that artistic
considerations hav e nothin g t o d o wit h th e disagreeable , wit h th e ugly ;
they will rattle of f shallow commonplace s abou t th e provinc e o f art an d
the limit s o f art til l yo u ar e move d t o som e wonde r i n retur n a s to th e
province an d th e limit s of ignorance. I t appear s t o me tha t n o one can
ever have made a seriously artistic attempt withou t becoming conscious of
an immens e increase a kin d o f revelationof freedom . On e perceives
in that caseb y the light of a heavenly raythat the province of art i s all
life, al l feeling , al l observation , al l vision . A s Mr . Besan t so justly intimates, i t i s al l experience . Tha t i s a sufficien t answe r t o thos e wh o
maintain tha t i t mus t no t touc h th e sa d thing s o f life, wh o stic k into it s
divine unconsciou s boso m littl e prohibitor y inscription s o n th e en d o f
sticks, suc h a s we see in publi c gardens"I t i s forbidden t o wal k o n th e
grass; i t i s forbidden t o touc h th e flowers ; i t i s not allowed t o introduc e
dogs or to remain afte r dark ; it is requested t o keep t o th e right." Th e
young aspirant i n the lin e of fiction whom we continue to imagine will do
nothing without taste, for in that cas e his freedom would be of little use to
him; but th e first advantage o f his taste will be to reveal to him the absurdity o f the little sticks and tickets . I f h e have taste, I must add, o f course
he will have ingenuity , and m y disrespectful referenc e t o that qualit y just
now was not mean t t o impl y tha t i t i s useless i n fiction . Bu t i t i s only a
secondary aid ; th e firs t i s a capacit y fo r receivin g straigh t impressions .
Mr. Besan t ha s som e remark s o n th e questio n o f "the story " whic h I
shall not attempt to criticise, thoug h the y seem to me to contain a singular
am&iguity, because I do not think I understand them . I cannot see what
is meant b y talking as if there were a part of a novel which is the story and
part o f it which fo r mystical reasons is notunless indee d th e distinction
be made i n a sens e in which i t is difficult t o suppose that an y on e should
attempt t o conve y anything . "Th e story, " i f i t represent s anything ,
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represents the subject , th e idea, the donnee of the novel ; and ther e is surely
no "school"Mr . Besan t speaks o f a schoolwhic h urge s tha t a nove l
should b e al l treatmen t an d n o subject . Ther e mus t assuredl y b e
something t o treat ; ever y schoo l i s intimatel y consciou s o f that . Thi s
sense of the story being the idea, the starting-point, of the novel, is the only
one tha t I see in which it can b e spoken of as something different fro m it s
organic whole ; and sinc e in proportio n a s the wor k i s successful th e idea
permeates an d penetrate s it, inform s an d animate s it , s o that ever y wor d
and ever y punctuation-point contribut e directl y to the expression, i n that
proportion d o we lose our sens e of the stor y being a blad e whic h may b e
drawn mor e o r les s ou t o f its sheath. Th e stor y and th e novel , th e idea
and th e form , ar e th e needle and thread, an d I neve r hear d o f a guil d of
tailors who recommended th e use of the threa d withou t the needle, o r th e
needle without the thread. Mr . Besant i s not the only critic who may be
observed t o hav e spoke n a s i f ther e wer e certai n thing s i n lif e whic h
constitute stories , and certai n other s which d o not I fin d th e sam e od d
implication i n an entertainin g articl e i n th e Pall Mall Gazette, devoted, as
it happens , t o Mr . Besant' s lecture. "Th e stor y i s the thing! " say s thi s
graceful writer , a s i f wit h a ton e o f oppositio n t o som e othe r idea . I
should thin k it was, as every painter who, as the tim e for "sending in " hi s
picture loom s i n th e distance , finds himself stil l i n ques t o f a subjecta s
every belate d artis t not fixed about his theme wil l heartily agree . Ther e
are som e subject s which spea k t o u s an d other s whic h d o not , bu t h e
would b e a clever ma n wh o shoul d undertak e t o giv e a rulea n index
expurgatoriusby whic h th e stor y an d th e no-stor y shoul d b e know n
apart. I t i s impossible (t o me a t least ) t o imagine an y suc h rul e whic h
shall not be altogether arbitrary . Th e write r i n the Pall Mall opposes the
delightful (a s I suppose ) nove l o f Margot l a Balafree t o certai n tale s i n
which "Bostonia n nymphs " appea r t o hav e "rejecte d Englis h duke s for
psychological reasons. " I a m no t acquainte d wit h th e romanc e jus t
designated, and ca n scarcely forgive the Pall Mall critic for not mentionin g
the nam e o f the author, bu t th e title appears to refer to a lad y wh o may
have received a scar in some heroic adventure. I am inconsolabl e at no t
being acquainte d wit h thi s episode , bu t a m utterl y a t a los s t o se e why
it is a story when the rejection (or acceptance) o f a duke is not, and wh y a
reason, psychologica l o r other, i s not a subjec t when a cicatri x is . The y
are al l particles o f the multitudinou s life wit h which th e nove l deals, an d
surely n o dogm a whic h pretend s t o make i t lawfu l t o touc h th e one an d
unlawful t o touch th e other wil l stand fo r a moment o n its feet. I t i s the
special picture that must stand or fall, accordin g a s it seem to possess truth
or t o lac k it . Mr . Besan t doe s not , t o m y sense , light u p th e subjec t b y
intimating tha t a story must, under penalt y of not being a story, consis t of
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The essenc e of moral energ y is to surve y the whol e field, and I shoul d
directly revers e Mr . Besant' s remar k an d sa y not tha t th e Englis h novel
has a purpose, but that it has a diffidence. T o what degree a purpose in a
work o f art i s a sourc e o f corruption I shal l no t attemp t t o inquire ; th e
one tha t seem s t o me leas t dangerou s i s the purpos e o f making a perfect
work. A s for our novel, I may sa y lastly on this score that as we find it in
England to-da y i t strike s m e a s addresse d i n a larg e degre e t o "youn g
people," an d tha t thi s i n itsel f constitutes a presumptio n tha t i t wil l b e
rather shy. Ther e are certai n thing s which i t i s generally agree d no t t o
discuss, no t even t o mention , befor e youn g people . Tha t i s very well,
but th e absence o f discussion is not a symptom of the moral passion . Th e
purpose of the English novel"a truly admirable thing , and a great caus e
for congratulation"strike s m e therefor e a s rathe r negative.
There i s one poin t a t whic h th e mora l sens e an d th e artisti c sens e lie
very near together ; that i s in th e ligh t o f the ver y obvious trut h tha t th e
deepest qualit y o f a work o f art wil l always be the qualit y o f the mind of
the producer. I n proportion a s that intelligenc e is fine will the novel, the
picture, th e statu e partak e of the substanc e of beauty an d truth . T o b e
constituted o f such elements is, to my vision, to have purpose enough. N o
good nove l will ever proceed fro m a superficial mind; that seem s to me an
axiom which , for the artist i n fiction, will cover all needful mora l ground:
if the youthfu l aspiran t tak e i t to heart it will illuminate for him many of
the mysterie s o f "purpose. " Ther e ar e man y othe r usefu l thing s tha t
might be said to him, but I hav e com e to the end of my article, and can
only touc h the m a s I pass . Th e criti c i n th e Pall Mall Gazette, whom I
have alread y quoted , draw s attentio n t o th e danger , i n speakin g of th e
art of fiction, of generalising. The dange r tha t he has in mind is rather, I
imagine, tha t of particularising, for there are some comprehensive remarks
which, i n additio n t o thos e embodie d i n Mr . Besant' s suggestiv e lecture,
might withou t fea r o f misleadin g hi m b e addresse d t o th e ingenuou s
student. I should remind hi m first of the magnificence of the form that is
open t o him, which offers t o sight so few restrictions and suc h innumerable
opportunities. Th e othe r arts , i n comparison, appea r confine d an d
hampered; th e variou s condition s unde r whic h the y ar e exercise d are so
rigid and definite . Bu t the only condition that I can think of attaching to
the compositio n o f the nove l is , as I hav e alread y said, tha t i t be sincere .
This freedo m i s a splendi d privilege , an d th e firs t lesso n o f the youn g
novelist is to learn t o be worthy of it. "Enjo y i t as it deserves," I should
say t o him ; "tak e possession of it, explor e i t t o it s utmost extent , publish
it, rejoic e i n it . Al l lif e belong s t o you, an d d o no t liste n eithe r to thos e
who would shu t you u p int o corner s o f it and tel l yo u tha t i t is only her e
and ther e that art inhabits , o r to those who would persuad e yo u that thi s
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