The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-12-20
THE REALISTIC IN FICTION,

town as models for the personages who figure
in recently published novel, much to the
discontinue of the originals and the appre-
hension of others who fear that they may
hnwittingly serve in like capacity in future
tales. It has been the custom Of writers of
romance from the earliest days to base their
creations, to a greater or less degree, upon
actual events and the doings of people who at
some time had existence and local habitation.
Indeed, when it is considered that all the
literature which comes under the general
mead Of fiction is supposed to represent hui
5manity in its varying conditions, the ne
scessity of study of nature by the producers
of such work must be admitted. It is only of
late, however, that the process Of delineating
human characteristics has become what might
be termed literary photography, from the
fidelity with which every smallest line and
wrinkle, every physical and mental detail,
significant or otherwise are set forth. There
was time when imagination had its part in
the construction of novels, not only in the ev
olution Of the plot-which, by the way, re-
quires less of fancy than of a certain almost
mechanical ingenuity-but in the idealiza-
ton Of the characters. IL the latter were
sketched in the rough from close observa-
tion of individuals they were so TRANSPORTED
by the magic touch of the hand which guided
the pen that they were not recognized as
portraits of living models although their
general faithfulness to nature might
be rapturously acknowledged by the readers.
The heroes and heroines Of the old
fashioned romance were not puppets, nodded
in the exact and uninteresting likeness of peo-
Pile we meet, and then pulled about at the
ewill of the author. They were for the time
being, vivifed representations of nature itself.
They were like the people we know, but with
difference. The glamour of gifted magma
tions vested them with attributes wholly nat
1ral, and such as our friends and neighbors
may possess, but which our dulled eyes do not
always see. We are all sure, for instance, that
'.Mr. Micawber," "Peggotty," 'Poor Joe, the
Hdolls' dress maker" and a score of other crea-
lions of the 'Great Magician" must have
lived, and moved, and had their being, but
had we met them in real life we would
not recognize them, perhaps, because
of their possession of other quail
hies less agreeable and interesting
Hhan those chronicled, and which the novelist
discriminatory left in the background.
The modern writer would by no means sub
ordinate or suppress any trait on artistic or
aesthetic grounds; and the consequence is that
the 'Little Nells," the Captain Cuttles," the
i'Pickwicks," the '|Wellers" of to-day's fiction
are not the entertaining and charming people
I'VE once knew. Colonel Newcome" was gen.
.tleman whom we should have been glad to
know, feeling sure that a continued acquaint-
ance could only have made him more attract
i've. "Jane Eyre" was woman who lived,
loved and suffered; those who read of her are
concerned with her personality rather than
with that of her author, until the tale is
ended, and they pause to wonder at the genius
which created her. Now it is not So The
modern novel is a collection of photographs,
accompanied by painful dissection of mo-
tives and moral attributes, until the person
ages are bereft of all mystery and of the
veil which should hide the nakedness of
human soul even in fiction. There is nc room
for imagination. A new novel of the "popu-
lar" order is simply volume of bold, and
often horrible, realism which has no excuse
for being. The highest development of this
the lowest extreme in that of lola. That alb
normal creature, ''Mrs. Chancellor"
'Verena," the maiden orator, the grotesque
s'Miss Birdseye,p "Mrs. bartender" are rec
Dgnized in Boston as the portraits of actual
people, Notwithstanding the claim of Mr..
James that they are merely types There
is no concealment about them; no charm of
fancy is thrown over them; they are set before
us in as cold and uncompromisng way as if
paraded upon a stage for our inspection. This
may be art, but it is the art of the camera
which, it must be admitted, has reached
point near perfection; it has not the deft
finish which transforms the most common
place persons into beings we'll worthy of our
attention. The photograph is admirable when
every line and detail are wanted; but por-
trait having the colors laid on with a bold,
free hand, and a glimpse of the soul retained
on the canvas, is apt to be more satisfactory.
This process may be called idealizing, but if
the portrayal of character is sufficient for the
purposes of the story it is enough. No good