Evening star., 1944-09-17
The Neev Books
AnutoIe France

oy JuCOU AIStTuu. fauTpCTJ
Being herself critic and not .
biographer. the reviewer holds the
opinion that the best way to know
an author is by his work. She has
never understood, the kind of liter
ary enthusiasm which drives its pos
SCISSOR to great labors in portraying
some creator of literature "as q
human being" to use the trade
phrase for it. For the significance
of creator of literature Is in his
creation, not in his incidental
humanity.
He writes his own biography-if
he deserves one. Generations Of
scholars have moiled in the dust of
the archives trying to find out
something about Shakespeare "as
human being" and have failed. Are
the plays the worse for it? To the
reviewers critically biased mind, it
has been one of the real providen-
tial dispensations of literary history
that the genius of the worlds great
est dramas should remain unknown.
1t is lesson, a lesson in reading, If
you will, saying, Read the man
himself for yourself" But it is so
profound a lesson and so obvious a
one that it remains unnoticed by
practically everybody.
So the researching and the con-
sequent biographical writing con-
tinues. And, if you have taste for
it, here is fine example. The
work which Jacob Axelrad has done
on the human side of Anatole
France, and which finds its express
sion in this "definitive biography"
is exhaustive. 1t gives us France,
the man. 1t gives us France the
man in such length and detail that
1t made the reviewer wonder why
1t was not named jacques es-Anatole-
Francois Thibault. For that, after
all, was the mans" name.
There can be no doubt, either,
that this human" portrayal is
labor of love. The colors from Mr..
Axelrad's brush tremble with en-
thusiasm and a real consummation
has evidently taken place between
him and his subject. He has alb
sorbed it in more than an intellec-
tual sense. He has made it part of
himself. He has created his con-
cept Of France the man by passing
1t through his own soul. But, in
the process, his soul has merged
somewhat with the concept, and the
creative passion, moreover. has in
duced fragrant indifference to the
chill rules of English grammar. So
the finished product stands warm
with the life of the creator. instead
OF with that of the subject, and
rough in execution, too.
What a pity all this is! Anatole
France the artist was, above all
things, detached and Olympian
observer Of human folly who paid
personal tribute to nothing but the
classic concepts of beauty. That is
the testimony which he wrote him.
self. And so we have Anatole France
the man displayed strictly in terms
OF his temporal attachments, his in
dolence, his timidities, his gaucher-
les. his personal relations, his fumb-
ling motions toward politics. All
true, OF course. But how little rele-
want to the immortal .ironist who
dwelt within this man" and gave
him his significance! Had Mr.. Axel-
rad rounded out his human" por-
trait with any equally understand
ing portrait of the artist one might
not be SO distressed by the per-
formance. But in his comments on
the artist he voices only the con-
ventional appreciation; he becomes,
then. a sort of literary Baedeker.
So. for those who prefer to think of
creators of literature in critical
terms, this Is not the book. But for
the personal touch-why, you could
not do better.