The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1912-08-06
I MISM
IN FICTION
In This Age Of Morbid Fiction III the
Art and Spirit OF Mr..
w. W. Jacobs.

ItdUeI, lUiIOol'p
The condition to which the art OF
fiction has lately come and that 10
which il has brought the majority VI
readers ia England should De 1aceo
by the historic fact that stories were
once upon d time told for run. Inc
told story was not at first used for the
Of pity. terror, and purIfica-
ton. but mainly for fun. Shall we
make a great exception Of the Book
of Job, the inspired novel all occu-
pied with it's subject, the history OF
a single valuable soul? A family swept
out of life are of no to that
novelist, save as their fate causes the
affection of Job. BY and by he shall
be comforted with other sons and
daughters. These, like the dead ones
are negligible except as sons ana
daughters to one not negligible man.
Never was art truer to q single IN
tention. The earlier family have no
names named, but the latter receive
names because they are to go on hV-
ing for the final JOY OF a momentous
man.
If we may be permitted Cor may
be permitted as time goes on 10
read Genesis. too. as q divine and all
significant novel, here Is an even
Cos VI 49, '
with the gravest intention and with
simple and economic art. Here the
STARS also are swept into being as
the sons of job are swept out of it,
in a phrase hat does not pause upon
the universe hat was to live, as the
phrase did not pause upon the beautl-
full young men who were to die. The
earth is central for that purpose and
Job for this.
The Habit Of \ Pastime.
But leaving aside, as a digression,
the case of these divine examples of
grave fiction. and that of the parallels
OF the Gospel with them, We find an
art Of story telling. whether in Ara
bia Or in Tuscany, devised chiefly or
altogether for pastime. 1t is an art
of childish origins-the pretending
that such things came to pass, h
making things come to pass at the
speakers Whiln. 1t is an arbitrary
make-believe and irresponsible, where
as the drama must, as it were. make
good its words by making a show.
When the novel began in Italy it
raised a childish laugh by jests I'M
childish. It ended happily even though
iniquitOusly. A mere pastime, it filled
lone by the idlest hour, or the wea
lest hour Of rest. 1t was proportionate.
There was little Of it, and it did not
encroach. 1t is 8 question whether
the habit into which we in our time
have slipped-fictiOn as a custom and
a habits prOportiOnate; and all
Our modern pastimeS are in like nan
ner questionable as to their quantity.
And when the pastime Of the greater
nuInber-the reading Of the novel
is charged by the novelist with SO
many functions As it now carries we
cannot but wonder that irresponsible
hands should claim, and into those
hands should be given, purposes so
various and %purporting to Do SO
grave.
1t is the novelist. then. with no
n to whom he must answer, with
no facts to which he must be bound,
and with only such truths as he sets
in secret before his eyes. in whose
power is the suggestion that is fol
lowed by a million souls. The idle
reader opens h novel for pleasure
and learns to find that pleasure ir
painful things. A pessimist has hin
by the ear, having captured him a,
the mischief of his idleness and hi:
desire for passive pleasure. On tn
pessimist authors side also there i
some spiritual sloth in his activities
for pessimism is the easier way. I
he would confess he would tell u
that 1t is SO. And one of his fruit.
is the obvious destruction of comedy
but the other. equally lamentabl
though less obvious, is the destruction
OF tragedy.
We AVE all been troubled b
Dante's lack Of pity for the peopl
OF his Internal pilgrimage. 1t is tru
that he has compassion upon Frances
ca, (fOr the dreadful fact is tina h
had Known as "a little radiant girl
the very woman whom he saw i
eternal wOe.) but he witnesses un
moved the wounded displaying befor
him their immortal wounds and Il
miserable recounting to him thei
i'm W 20 4 ~~s
stand that some misery is beneat
living compassion and thai pity an
terror do not pass the limits of life
known and Ineligible ways, tt
ways OF customary men, where Al
guish is not cut off from good, an
hope. a hanished angel, is not abo
ished? If so. 1t is easier to understap
why the literature of despair is l,
deed not tragic. why it denies tragei
as comedy itself does not. If pessin
ism robs us of laughter it has do,
worse by ~"beguiling us Of our tear
not hat for its sake they are, b