A Novelist on Novels

In Short

This collection of essays serves as a sharp, spirited diagnostic of the English novel in the early 20th century. Examining the craft of contemporary writers like D. H. Lawrence and Sheila Kaye-Smith alongside literary giants like Falstaff, the text explores the tension between creative ambition and the "steam civilization" of the modern era. It argues that the novel is often treated as a mere sedative for tired commuters, failing to fulfill its true potential as a provocative, life-affirming art form that challenges social conventions and exposes the "inane" structures of modern life.

The Story

The narrative arc begins with an examination of the literary marketplace, where the author observes that modern readers—exhausted by work and dulled by sensationalist journalism—approach novels like drugs rather than art. This sets the stage for a broader investigation into why the novel is held in such low esteem in England. The author posits that the novelist is fundamentally an outsider, a "queer" and "shameless" figure who, by reflecting society’s face in the mirror, inevitably earns the scorn of bishops, judges, and the bourgeoisie.

As the argument deepens, the focus shifts to the practitioners themselves. The author profiles three "young novelists," D. H. Lawrence, Amber Reeves, and Sheila Kaye-Smith, evaluating their successes and failures in navigating the modern tangle of money, politics, and emotion. Here, the text highlights the difficulty of writing with sincerity in a country where "sex is cast under a thick veil of ellipse." The author laments the "secret terrorism" of circulating libraries and the publishing industry, which sterilize fiction to avoid offending a neurotic, puritanical public.

The mid-section provides a fascinating detour into the nature of character and literary greatness through three "comic giants": Tartarin, Falstaff, and Muenchausen. These figures serve as archetypes of the "instinctive animal" who believes in the impossible and defies all limitations. Their ability to live life with total commitment—unburdened by skepticism—serves as a foil to the modern novelist, who is constantly forced to moralize, analyze, and justify their work in the face of a mechanized world.

Finally, the text reaches a philosophical conclusion regarding the "twilight of genius." The author surveys history to define what constitutes a truly great mind, finding in figures like Napoleon, Lincoln, and Galileo a rare ability to synthesize the general and the particular. The conclusion is somber but clear: in an age increasingly dominated by science, state power, and the "super-mob," the arts are being dwarfed. While literature will persist, it faces a future as a "little stimulant," struggling to be heard above the roar of a spinning world that prioritizes financial gain and political control over the life-affirming power of the creative imagination.

How It Unfolds

The plight of the reader The narrative begins by critiquing how modern, overworked people consume literature as a way to dull their minds rather than stimulate them. It notes that the influence of newspapers and headlines has made it nearly impossible for the average person to concentrate on serious, creative writing.

The novelist as outsider The focus turns to the uneasy social status of the writer, who is viewed as a "nasty" figure for exposing the hypocrisy of political and moral codes. It is suggested that novelists are so disliked that they often flee to journalism to find a "serious" platform.

The study of the young The book examines the temperaments of emerging writers like D. H. Lawrence and Amber Reeves. It highlights their struggle to balance deep artistic vision with the necessity of navigating a world driven by money and class habits.

The comic archetypes A shift occurs toward the "comic giants," whose unshakeable faith and ability to create their own realities stand in stark contrast to the modern condition. These characters illustrate the power of living without self-doubt or the need for constant, cynical analysis.

The twilight of the arts The conclusion weighs the future of genius in an age of mechanical progress. It argues that as the state and science gain supremacy, the arts are destined to become marginalized, serving only as minor voices in a society that lacks the capacity for true artistic appreciation.

The People

The book focuses on the "young novelists" who must navigate a landscape of "emotional tone" and "vulgar pleasure." D. H. Lawrence is depicted as a writer of immense promise whose temperament—a mix of "Northern brutality and wistful melancholy"—is often marred by an excessive analysis that threatens to burn his characters out. Amber Reeves is presented as a judicial observer who stands out for her grasp of "business and politics," though the author worries that her tendency to idealize the rich signals a dangerous withdrawal from true social criticism. Sheila Kaye-Smith represents the writer struggling to reconcile the "horse-plough" of tradition with a modern, steam-driven civilization.

Beyond these, the "comic giants" provide a standard of greatness. Falstaff is the embodiment of "gross, but artistic glee," a man who respects no limits and finds beauty even in highwaymen. Tartarin serves as the master of appearances, a man who believes so fully in his own costume and adventure that he becomes a hero to his own imagination. Muenchausen closes this trio as the ultimate egocentric, a man who stares at the world with simple, unshakeable wonder, convinced that he is the sole actor on the stage of life. Finally, historical figures like Napoleon and Galileo emerge as the ultimate standard for genius, possessing an "infinite capacity for seeing all things" and the singular strength to maintain their vision despite being mocked, imprisoned, or surrounded by chaos.

In Its Own Voice

"The object of a novel is not to send the reader to sleep, not to make him oblivious of time on a railway journey; it is meant to show character, to stimulate observation, to make life vivid."

The author defines the true function of the novelist, arguing against the tendency to treat books as mere sedatives.

"We are queer people, nasty people, but we are neither nastier nor queerer than our fellows; we are merely more shameless and exhibit what they hide."

This passage captures the author’s perspective on the novelist’s contentious role as a mirror to a society that prefers to keep its flaws concealed.

"For art and letters there is little hope in a growingly mechanical civilisation, because the modern powerful depend upon the mob and not upon each other; therefore, as Napoleon said, they must be a little like the mob—be the super-mob."

The author concludes with a somber reflection on the diminishing power of art in a world increasingly governed by mass influence and mechanical efficiency.

What It's Really About

The central argument concerns the "sterilisation" of the English novel. The author posits that literature is trapped by a culture that demands moral conformity, resulting in a hollow, insincere output. The book questions whether a novelist can ever be truly free in a society where "money and domination" are valued above all else. It explores the tension between the artist’s need to expose the "barbarous" moral codes of society and the public’s desire for comforting, "morphean" entertainment. Ultimately, the work serves as a defense of the "creative and emotional" life, mourning the loss of a time when the arts could engage with the fullness of the human experience rather than merely provide distractions.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate sharp, polemical criticism will find this book deeply rewarding. It provides a rare, grounded look at the anxieties of the early 20th-century literary world, capturing the exact moment when the "modern" novel was still defining its own boundaries. The prose is warm yet unsparing, and the author’s ability to weave together literary theory, historical biography, and social observation remains remarkably fresh.

However, the reader should be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes, particularly regarding the role of women and the rigid class structures of the era. Some of the references to then-contemporary authors and political figures may require a reader to do a bit of context-gathering, though the core arguments regarding the "mob" and the "mechanical civilization" feel eerily predictive of current media climates. You will not find the polished, detached tone of modern academic criticism here; instead, you get a candid, passionate, and sometimes cynical voice that feels as though the author is speaking directly to you from the pages. It is a book for those who want to understand the "footprints on the sands of time" that our literary predecessors left behind, and who are willing to confront the uncomfortable, enduring question of whether art can ever truly thrive when it is treated as a commodity.