The times. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1890-1903, 1891-03-08

Somebody has undertaken - write on
American fiction in the Edinburgh Review,
and tins somebody speaks with intimate
knowledge # the material Of his subject. for
he has much 10 say of writers of whose ex-
stence ulue-teuths OF Americans never
heard. But American fiction IS some
thing larger and something apart from
a list Of its writers. and 10 Is doubtful if it can
be dis used apart from the wider and allen
bracing theme itself The writer IN the Ediu-
burgh Review sets himself the task of ex-
planning why American nOyelists are realistic,
ANALYTICAL and anatomical. and finds the an
ser, TO his own satisfaction, IN the mental
md physical Deficiencies of the Amcri-
can nation" OF course this answer also
settles the relative merit Of realism. analv-
sis. and anatomy. But in conclusion the
writer seems to have found u charm in Ameri-
can fiction which wouldnot be guessed Of him
nc the opening Of his interesting essay. The
truth IS that real American fiction has been
Obscured by American mitatOrs OF foreign lit
erature and by literary photographers. We
have among us a horde OF clever vampires.
who are governed 10y the worst traditions If
French novel writing. Ii IS unnecessary to
complain Of the imitatOrs OF English writers
beyond expressing wish that they might
succeed little better. II We could have an
American delineation of rural life as rich as
that Of Hardy it would be agreeable. but
il is impossible. Ages of cast and gen
erations of family stability have gone to
the making of the English clown. There
is none like him here The nearest approach
10 him is the half savage half-nourished
Georgia cracker or New England mountaineer
American colonial history might receive the
sympathetic treatment which Blackmore has
given TO English history. and the time is
coming when the background will have taken
on the tone of age sufficiently to permit it
There can be no complaint OF any American
writer who will tell stories as well rs the best
Of the Englishmen. With the imltators Of the
worst French fiction, however. the case is diff
ferent. They are simply detestable. The
English tongue is not fitted 10 their purpose
Ii cannot be licentlOus except in honest
bestiality Compared with the French in
this respect it is like the periodical
drunkard compared with the constant sip
per of absinthe. The posing of the creatures
who write the nauseOus stun as American an
thors is al insult 10 the country they misrep-
resent and an injury TO the better men and
women who are doing honest and worthy
work. Mr. Howells Is our chief literary pho
tographer and microscopic, and his strength
and weakness are admirably summed up by
the Edinburgh Review writer in the following
pregnant sentences: He has no story to tell.
lie does not deal in sentiment. he avoids
catastrophes; he distrusts imagination; he
breads melodrama; he eschews theatrical
effects: be shrinks from exaggeration. The
result is sum Of negations" Mr. Howells is
not an American artist; he is a cosmopolitan
photographer. The American novelist IS a diff
ferent kind of person. We have American
fiction, AS this writer admits. and IL ia full of
the life of the country. IL 1t seems thin and
quick and epigrammatic 10 the Englishman. or
ANALYTICAL and anatomical, II is because of our
social conditions and the absence of those
social contrasts and oppositions which our
critic enjoys. American fiction must depict