although the style is not necessarily that of a novel.

Points in Conversation

Never allow the reader to be in doubt as to who is speaking. When he has to turn back to discover the speaker's ident.i.ty, you may be sure there is something wrong with your construction. You need not quote the speaker's name in order to make it plain that he is speaking: all that is needed is a little attention to the "said James" and "replied Susan"

of your dialogues. When once these two have commenced to talk, they can go on in catechism form for a considerable period. But if a third party chimes in, a more careful disposition of names is called for.

Beginners very often have a good deal of trouble with their "saids,"

"replieds," and "answereds."

Here, again, a little skilful manoevring will obviate the difficulty.

This is a specimen of third-cla.s.s style.

"I'm off on Monday," _said_ he.

"Not really," _said_ she.

"Yes, I have only come to say goodbye," _said_ he.

"Shall you be gone long?" _asked_ she.

"That depends," _said_ he.

"I should like to know what takes you away," _said_ she.

"I daresay," _said_ he, smiling.

"I shouldn't wonder if I know," _said_ she.

"I daresay you might guess," _said_ he.

Could anything be more wooden than this perpetual "said he, said she,"

which I have accentuated by putting into italics? Now, observe the difference when you read the following:--

_Observed_ Silver.

_Cried_ the Cook.

_Returned_ Morgan.

_Said_ Another.

_Agreed_ Silver.

_Said_ the fellow with the bandage.

There is no lack of suitable verbs for dialogue purposes--remarked, retorted, inquired, demanded, murmured, grumbled, growled, sneered, explained, and a host more. Without a ready command of such a vocabulary you cannot hope to give variety to your character-conversations, and, what is of graver importance, you will not be able to bring out the essential qualities of such remarks as you introduce. For instance, to put a sarcastic utterance into a man's mouth, and then to write down that he "replied" with those words is not half so effective as to say he "sneered" them.[93:A]

Probably you will be tempted to comment on your dialogue as you write by insinuating remarks as to actions, looks, gestures, and the like. This is a good temptation, so far, but it has its dangers. The ancient Hebrew writer, in telling the story of Hezekiah, said that Isaiah went to the king with these words:

"Set thine house in order: for thou shalt die and not live."

_And Hezekiah turned his face to the wall--and prayed._

If you can make a comment as dramatic and forceful as that, _make it_.

But avoid useless and uncalled-for remarks, and remember that you really want nothing, not even a fine epigram, which fails to contribute to the main purpose.

"Atmosphere"

It will not be inappropriate to close this chapter with a few words on what is called "atmosphere." The word is often met with in the vocabulary of the reviewer; he is marvellously keen in scenting atmospheres. Perhaps an ill.u.s.tration may be the best means of exposition. The reviewer is speaking of Maeterlinck's "Alladine and Palomides," "Interior," and "The Death of Tintagiles." He says, "We find in them the same strange atmosphere to which we had grown accustomed in 'Pelleas' and 'L'Intruse.' We are in a region of no fixed plane--a region that this world never saw. It is a region such as Arnold Bocklin, perhaps, might paint, and many a child describe. A castle stands upon a cliff. Endless galleries and corridors and winding stairs run through it. Beneath lie vast grottoes where subterranean waters throw up unearthly light from depths where seaweed grows." This is very true, and put into bald language it means that Maeterlinck has succeeded in creating an artistic environment for his weird characters; it is the _setting_ in which he has placed them. In the first scene of _Hamlet_, Shakespeare creates the necessary atmosphere to introduce the events that are to follow. The soldiers on guard are concerned and afraid; the reader is thereby prepared, step by step, for the reception of the whole situation; everything that will strengthen the impression of a coming fatality is seized by a master hand, and made to do service in creating an atmosphere of such expectant quality. An artist by nature will select intuitively the persons and facts he needs; but there is no reason why a study of these necessities, a slow and careful pondering, should not at last succeed in alighting upon the precise and inevitable details which delicately and subtly produce the desired result. In this sense the matter can hardly be called a minor detail, but the expression has been sufficiently guarded.

FOOTNOTES:

[81:A] Shuman, "Steps into Journalism," p. 201.

[83:A] "The Art of Writing Fiction," p. 40.

[88:A] "Autobiography," vol. ii. p. 58.

[93:A] See Bates' "Talks on Writing English." An excellent manual, to which I am indebted for ideas and suggestions.

CHAPTER VII

PITFALLS

Items of General Knowledge

I propose to show in this chapter that a literary artist can never afford to despise details. He may have genius enough to write a first-rate novel, and sell it rapidly in spite of real blemishes, but if a work of art is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well. No writer is any the better for slovenly inaccuracy. Take the details of everyday life. Do you suppose you are infallible in these commonplace things? If so, be undeceived at once. It is simply marvellous with what ease a mistake will creep into your narrative. Even Mr Zangwill once made a hansom cab door to open with a handle from the inside, and the mistake appeared in six editions, escaping the reviewers, and was quietly altered by the author in the seventh. There is nothing particularly serious about an error of this kind; but at the same time, where truth to fact is so simple a matter, why not give the fact as it is?

Trivialities may not interfere with the power of the story, but they often attach an ugliness, or a smack of the ridiculous, which cannot but hinder, to some extent, the beauty of otherwise good work. Mistakes such as that just referred to, arise, in most instances, out of the pa.s.sion and feeling in which the novelist advances his narrative. The detail connected with the opening of the hansom door (doors) was nothing to Mr Zangwill, compared to the person who opened it. I should advise you, therefore, to master all the necessary _minutiae_ of travelling, if your hero and heroine are going abroad; of city life if you take them to the theatre for amus.e.m.e.nt--in fact, of every environment in which imagination may place them. Then, when all your work is done, read what has been written with the microscopic eyes of a Flaubert.

Specific Subjects

For instance, the plot suggested in the previous chapters deals with Judaism. Now, if you don't know Jewish life through and through, it is the height of foolishness to attempt to write a novel about it. (The same remark applies to Roman Catholicism.) You will find it necessary to study the Bible and Hebrew history; and when you have mastered the literature of the subject and caught its spirit, you will turn your attention to the sacred people as they exist to-day--their isolation, their wealth, their synagogues, and their psychological peculiarities.

Does this seem to be too big a programme? Well, if you are to present a living and truthful picture of the Jewess and her surroundings, you can only succeed by going through such a programme; whereas, if you skip the hard preparatory work you will bungle in the use of Hebrew terms, and when you make the Rabbi drop the scroll through absent-mindedness, you will very likely say that "the congregation looked on half-amused and half-wondering." Just visit a synagogue when the Rabbi happens to drop the scroll. The congregation would be "horribly shocked." The same law applies whatever be your subject. If you intend to follow a prevailing fashion and depict slum life, you will have to spend a good deal of time in those unpleasant regions, not only to know them in their outward aspects, but to know them in their inward and human features. Even then something important may escape you, with the result that you fall into error, and the expert enjoys a quiet giggle at your expense; but you will have some consolation in the thought that you spared no pains in the diligent work of preparation.

Perhaps your novel will take the reader into aristocratic circles. Pray do not make the attempt if you are not thoroughly acquainted with the manners and customs of such circles. Ignorance will surely betray you, and in describing a dinner, or an "At Home," you will raise derisive laughter by suggesting the details of a most impossible meal, or spoil your heroine by making her guilty of atrocious etiquette. The remedy is close at hand: _know your subject_.

Topography and Geography

Watch your topography and geography. Have you never read novels where the characters are made to walk miles of country in as many minutes? In fairy tales we rather like these extraordinary creatures--their startling performances have a charm we should be sorry to part with. But in the higher world of fiction, where ideal things should appear as real as possible, we decidedly object to miraculous journeys, especially, as in most instances, it is plainly a mistake in calculation on the part of the writer. Of course the writer is occasionally placed in an awkward position. A dramatic episode is about to take place, or, more correctly, the author wishes it to take place, but the characters have been dispersed about the map, and time and distance conspire against the author's purpose. It is madness to "blur" the positions and "risk" the reader's acuteness, but it is almost equally unfortunate to fail in observing the difficulty, and write on in blissful ignorance of the fact that nature's laws have been set at defiance. The drawing of a map, as before suggested, will obviate all these troubles.