The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1901-03-31
A QUESTION OF LITERARY CAN'T.
Not True that Real Genius Is Ham
pered by the "YOung Person."

New York Tribune.
Matilde Serao, the italian novelist. is the
subject of an essay by Mr.. Henry James in
a recent number of the North American
Review. Her qualities, though not of q
sort to command general acceptance in
this country, are interesting TO the student
Of contemporary fiction. Mr.. James makes
the most OF them, but ii IS neither with
his praise nor with his blame that we are
now concerned. Rather by his incidental
remarks on his authors freedom from the
conventions which he thinks control Amer
lean and English novelists does he invite an
inquiry as TO whether those conventions
are really as potent as he thinks they are.
Is it true that they have "blighted our fc-
ton" by excluding this or that subject from
the range of the novelist? Is it true that,
largely out of consideration for the nno-
cence or the young person., we have en-
tered into a conspiracy OF silence" about
matters which TO the rest of the world
seem the very things most desirable for
treatment in fiction? Mr.. James is of the
opinion that this is a fact, and he is sorry
for us. 1t pains him to realize that our
eccentricity,' as he calls it, lis, ewher
than among ourselves, pretty well hello to
have put us out of court" AT the risk of
appearing shamelessly d-isrespectful of con-
tinental opinion we must add that if such
Is the case, why. so much the worse for the
selves" Mr.. James is obviously sincere,
yet he is really echoing the cant of certain
uninstructed ''lit'rary circles"
There is no such thing as a conspiracy
of silence" in this business. Politely but
firmly we must assure Mr.. James that we
are not arguing, we are telling him. We
regret 10 find him repeating this venerable
chestnut, the common excuse offered by lit
tie men for their failure in the attempt to
pull themselves up by their bootstraps to
the level Of their betters. A novelist of
this stamp takes up an unsavory theme
and treats 1t not only crudely, but with
vulgarity; he dwells with fatuous sapience
on its basest e~xternals, never linking it
by so much as a thought to the serious
issues of human life, never appealing by
a single word to mature men and women.
Such readers, uninfluenced by solicitude for
the young person" but simply out of con-
tempt for what is conceited, shallow and
trashy. remove the offending book at the
end of the tongs. Promptly the outraged
dabbler in dangerous waters raises a great
hubbub about the inalienable rights of
art" he bewails the preposterous domina-
ton of the young reader who smells of
bread and butter; and, with a pious air of
martyrdom, he explains that If she could
only be suppressed he would soon show
mankind what a truly sublime genius he
is, and what colossal Inspiration is shown
by his consummate elucidation of the
poetry and passion in a dunghill. on which
the merely intelligent reader. with a taste
for sanitation, remarks 'Fudgei' Mr..
James himself would, of course, disdain
such acts, but unconsciously he gives them
countenance by his specious plea for what
it is fashionable TO call iberality.
No English or American writer worth his
salt was ever yet kept from unburdening
his soul of any perilous stuff it may have
contained. Such a man has no more to fear
from conventions" or a conspiracy of ST.
%lence," or the young person than he has
TO fear from the sumptuary legislation of
the Ak1oond of Swat. He finds a publish
er for his book without the smallest diff
Guilty, and the Anglo-SaXon race unhesi-
tatingly reads him, prOfiting by the expert
ence. He writes, as a matter of course, like
a gentleman. If in his portrait of a man
he has warts, physical and spiritual, to deal
with, he paints them freely, but not as
though his hero's life began and ended with
disease. If he is irresistibly drawn to show
the tragedy of vice and crime he interests
US in it on high grounds; he does not waste
his time in such analysis of things criminal
and vicious as is properly left to the scient-
lists, nor does he tell his tale with the snig-
ger Of the smart decadent retailing nasty
anecdotes to a crOny over a glass Of alb
sinthe. In short. this cant about free
dom" and art in literature is detestable.
and in season and out of season it ought
TO be shown up for the cheap and fabby
thing hat it is. When the right man arises
he does not stop to envy the untrammeled
freedom of Flaubert or lola, of Tolstoi or
Maupassant, of D'Annunzio or Matilde
Serao. of any other continental author,
good or bad. He is unconscious of any,
thing enviable. He utters his truths re-
gardless of what mankin may think, and
mankind is never the worse for what he
saws.