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making stories true as in making them typical； not so much in
capturing the lineaments of each fact； as in marshalling all of
them towards a common end。 For the welter of impressions； all
forcible but all discreet； which life presents； it substitutes a
certain artificial series of impressions； all indeed most feebly
represented； but all aiming at the same effect； all eloquent of the
same idea； all chiming together like consonant notes in music or
like the graduated tints in a good picture。 From all its chapters；
from all its pages； from all its sentences； the well…written novel
echoes and re…echoes its one creative and controlling thought； to
this must every incident and character contribute； the style must
have been pitched in unison with this； and if there is anywhere a
word that looks another way； the book would be stronger； clearer；
and （I had almost said） fuller without it。 Life is monstrous；
infinite； illogical； abrupt and poignant； a work of art； in
comparison； is neat； finite； self…contained； rational； flowing and
emasculate。 Life imposes by brute energy； like inarticulate
thunder； art catches the ear； among the far louder noises of
experience； like an air artificially made by a discreet musician。
A proposition of geometry does not compete with life； and a
proposition of geometry is a fair and luminous parallel for a work
of art。 Both are reasonable； both untrue to the crude fact； both
inhere in nature； neither represents it。 The novel； which is a
work of art； exists； not by its resemblances to life； which are
forced and material； as a shoe must still consist of leather； but
by its immeasurable difference from life； which is designed and
significant； and is both the method and the meaning of the work。
The life of man is not the subject of novels； but the inexhaustible
magazine from which subjects are to be selected； the name of these
is legion； and with each new subject … for here again I must differ
by the whole width of heaven from Mr。 James … the true artist will
vary his method and change the point of attack。 That which was in
one case an excellence； will become a defect in another； what was
the making of one book； will in the next be impertinent or dull。
First each novel； and then each class of novels； exists by and for
itself。 I will take； for instance； three main classes； which are
fairly distinct： first； the novel of adventure； which appeals to
certain almost sensual and quite illogical tendencies in man；
second； the novel of character； which appeals to our intellectual
appreciation of man's foibles and mingled and inconstant motives；
and third； the dramatic novel； which deals with the same stuff as
the serious theatre； and appeals to our emotional nature and moral
judgment。
And first for the novel of adventure。 Mr。 James refers； with
singular generosity of praise； to a little book about a quest for
hidden treasure； but he lets fall； by the way； some rather
startling words。 In this book he misses what he calls the 〃immense
luxury〃 of being able to quarrel with his author。 The luxury； to
most of us； is to lay by our judgment； to be submerged by the tale
as by a billow； and only to awake； and begin to distinguish and
find fault； when the piece is over and the volume laid aside。
Still more remarkable is Mr。 James's reason。 He cannot criticise
the author； as he goes； 〃because；〃 says he； comparing it with
another work； 〃I HAVE BEEN A CHILD； BUT I HAVE NEVER BEEN ON A
QUEST FOR BURIED TREASURE。〃 Here is； indeed； a wilful paradox； for
if he has never been on a quest for buried treasure； it can be
demonstrated that he has never been a child。 There never was a
child （unless Master James） but has hunted gold； and been a pirate；
and a military commander； and a bandit of the mountains； but has
fought； and suffered shipwreck and prison； and imbrued its little
hands in gore； and gallantly retrieved the lost battle； and
triumphantly protected innocence and beauty。 Elsewhere in his
essay Mr。 James has protested with excellent reason against too
narrow a conception of experience； for the born artist； he
contends； the 〃faintest hints of life〃 are converted into
revelations； and it will be found true； I believe； in a majority of
cases； that the artist writes with more gusto and effect of those
things which he has only wished to do； than of those which he has
done。 Desire is a wonderful telescope； and Pisgah the best
observatory。 Now； while it is true that neither Mr。 James nor the
author of the work in question has ever； in the fleshly sense； gone
questing after gold； it is probable that both have ardently desired
and fondly imagined the details of such a life in youthful day…
dreams； and the author； counting upon that； and well aware （cunning
and low…minded man！） that this class of interest； having been
frequently treated； finds a readily accessible and beaten road to
the sympathies of the reader； addressed himself throughout to the
building up and circumstantiation of this boyish dream。 Character
to the boy is a sealed book； for him； a pirate is a beard； a pair
of wide trousers and a liberal complement of pistols。 The author；
for the sake of circumstantiation and because he was himself more
or less grown up； admitted character； within certain limits； into
his design； but only within certain limits。 Had the same puppets
figured in a scheme of another sort； they had been drawn to very
different purpose； for in this elementary novel of adventure； the
characters need to be presented with but one class of qualities …
the warlike and formidable。 So as they appear insidious in deceit
and fatal in the combat； they have served their end。 Danger is the
matter with which this class of novel deals； fear； the passion with
which it idly trifles； and the characters are portrayed only so far
as they realise the sense of danger and provoke the sympathy of
fear。 To add more traits； to be too clever； to start the hare of
moral or intellectual interest while we are running the fox of
material interest； is not to enrich but to stultify your tale。 The
stupid reader will only be offended； and the clever reader lose the
scent。
The novel of character has this difference from all others： that it
requires no coherency of plot； and for this reason； as in the case
of GIL BLAS； it is sometimes called the novel of adventure。 It
turns on the humours of the persons represented； these are； to be
sure； embodied in incidents； but the incidents themselves； being
tributary； need not march in a progression； and the characters may
be statically shown。 As they enter； so they may go out； they must
be consistent； but they need not grow。 Here Mr。 James will
recognise the note of much of his own work： he treats； for the most
part； the statics of character； studying it at rest or only gently
moved； and； with his usual delicate and just artistic instinct； he
avoids those stronger passions which would deform the attitudes he
loves to study； and change his sitters from the humorists of
ordinary life to the brute forces and bare types of more emotional
moments。 In his recent AUTHOR OF BELTRAFFIO； so just in
conception； so nimble and neat in workmanship； strong passion is
indeed employed； but observe that it is not displayed。 Even in the
heroine the working of the passion is suppressed； and the great
struggle； the true tragedy； the SCENE…A…FAIRE passes unseen behind
the panels of a locked door。 The delectable invention of the young
visitor is introduced； consciously or not； to this end： that Mr。
James； true to his method； might avoid the scene of passion。 I
trust no reader will suppose me guilty of undervaluing this little
masterpiece。 I mean merely that it belongs to one marked class of
novel； and that it would have been very differently conceived and
treated had it