BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1611, 30 November 1912, Page 9

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES OLD AND NEW. ' RED- LEAVES AND BOOKS. Brown leaves an' scarlet an''golden as a guinea, /. ' The West Wind he drives 'em, ho drives ,- 'cm ever so, ' j : All' down the field-path, an'-all a-down ; tho spinney; •• - ; - He' blows 1 'em an* shows 'em. the road they - go! ';. The North Wind's northerly, the South Wind's southerly, ~ . , The East Wind's easterly-oh, blue and , i hard he hails, , < . • • The West Wind's the best wmd-rfso friendly-an' so brotherly, • He bqhySr aii' showa /em the road the rooks''-tails_! ; , .; . Wild -is -the .'West'- Wind> bewilderin'■ the • twilight, • • , ... ,y TTi<i great clouds a-oomm liko tne : grey-geese off the seas, . , ■ , Wild blows his trumpets, his wind voices Where'fallin' an'- callin' the rooks tako, the trees! Daylight's difffrfn' time-from full shield i to new. sickle yv . .v; The moon's ; arrows• over are for true ; l6>'cra.:lo6s64f : But tiyilight is toy light,' so trumpetty ' ind musical ■ ;<' - , •„, , When'-tossed down the' West Wind the foitexdrpp.VtOiTObst!Black rooks v an' ■' gold leaves—oh, golder than a guinea, The wild Wind he drives em from- out ' - . the rbarin\ West, All down the sky-paths, an', all a-down ' ' the spinney, • : He -flings -. 'em. an', sings : 'em , to, roost V an'to rest! • " Ilie North Wind's northerly, the South Wind's southerly, The East. Wind's easterly—for. all his sunny looks— ■ ■ .. ' ;• tThe West Wind's, the best wind—so friendly an' so brotherly, jHe sweeps up the red leaves an' bjows '•' home the rooks! - '; / —P. R. C.

GRUB.STAKING.

We aro no hand'on this side the Atlantic (says an, English/paper) at coining new ."'words, nor even at. understanding'at ;sight those- that, on the other, are roinM'-for, us;'so.'-.'that--few will know what , "grub-staking" ->is.' It. is, however, only-;a now'name, for an old practice—the practice on a publisher's part of prepayment for work not yet done. It was the system by which Henslowe .'kept his galley of Elizabethan dramatists perpetually in his debt, and therefore / perpetually, chained to his oar 9; but a writer in one of the New -York papers,' who .has. made a referendum of the matter to' the pub-, Ushers' of to-day, : finds that they Uniterm-; ly condemn it. ' They-, condemn it ;n'ot only because they/, have:no'fancy for adding the callmgi;6f. money-lender;,to that ,of publisher,;\but'be<iausß "prepayment, generally mea^,'inferior/;work. . Whether it .is that the .consciousness, that when' his. book '•Is oomslety>:a;yarge..deduction will'• be, made. "proceeds damps.'"an,:'. au-' ' thor's. :ardbur,| or.' -because,'-' a 5..." 'Boswell, somewhere^;- suggests/:; hunger '.is mild' form work: paid for; in advance for. unly <%^mpl^tidn;v']|{^iMf& l thor may}? nndertake, more than 'he, can fulfil. '••^^>3^!.*^i^iration'f;'6onnte , f<ir ' say':;"l "shallwrite, tK:6jiort^lwi!j^':: Atlian. -he can say^^.Shelleysremihd>; : iisjS'-l..shall write : ■ that ho of an them in .his mihd" ; as: one -.comes 'upon a.- covey of birds;,-mia'fi6}d.,'.',dniß ,by one they tooic wings aid;:;flew;Cand:he could not flush another? ;?He';beat' the. covert industriously but gone. Now: if>an author has--been 1 , .-paid for, writing 'four short stories "arid-'can''only: write three, re-' lations between him-and- his .publisher are. opt to become straihed.'-.-Nevertheless ad-; varices are jbivriter.' may be already in debt -^3«^ : and the latter may subsidis&'him-'iiritil he'' produces a book that will pay both debt' and subsidy. Or he may require to travel for the 6ako. of his :-necessary local colbur, or # flnal^'f, i hje.;'ipay > .J>e brilliaritvbiit. improvident!' " All-those circumstances appeal to publishers, with the result that, although all alike disapprove the system of .advances, all alike are bound more or less--to -practise it. :^

OF PREFACES,

THE AUTHOR AXD HIS READER. /:

(By R.F.)

. There appears to bo a growing' tendency among modern readers-to-casually "skip," as a- waste :of' time,.the preface'toVa; book.; One must,"' of-.course,' confesjtHat some' prefaces'-are dry, rambling,''and'.ionff, but atvthe. ;sanle'''time,; if ttov'author, or' writer of "the pirefacej has; any -con'sciousnes's' at all he'-will not inflict r.iipon. the reader .ir preface that does: not/-contain lhatter - rpvelant; either to - the: story,-: to. the author., himself; or to history. ' Theauthor.,whq uses a preface'.purely.-as an. excuse for: writing thereby gives, himself away and the: intelligent reader'' usually prooeeds- no , further than that author's preface. 'A, preface /worthy of'the name has a purpose, and the purpose justifies the preface. As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle puts jt: "A preface had always seemed to Die an. unnecessary, impertinence, until I found ;by experience how easily one may be "misunderstood/*."' ' . - A ipraface should either stimulate the readers appetite for the story, to follow, or explain some point about which tho reader might bo in ignorance or might misunderstand, the author. It should, therefore,'.'be brief, not rambling or. too technical, and above all-interesting to an averago 1 reader. .A clever writer guages his prefaco by' his book. Thus, to a humorous; book, a witty preface is not amiss,* even if: the only reason for it. is to give'the'reader a'flavour of what is to follow^rSome.'of-.our greatest writers have written.iprefaces that give tlie-casual reader a-better'; insight their Teal character - than-' would probably bs ol> tained from "a perusal of their complete works. .be. w'ell to look upon a preface from this point of view. If anauthor presented one of -his books to a personal friend, he would, in all probability, say.. something about the book, when he presented it; If . he posted it then lie would enclose a short note; maybe he would say what prompted him to writo audi' a book, or whether he considered it was, in his own estimation, good or bad. Such a note would not be considered out of place, and would certainly be read' with.- interest. The then should berjust the same. So, if one would get into touch with an author, read -his preface, and any other, additional note or epilogue that may be attached to any particular book or set of books. Tho following selections are from diverse, tut well known authors,, and-may help to show haw interesting a preface can be to the ordinary-reader; Mr. H. G. Wells writes a most interesting -preface or introduction when he. chooses. . One of his most interesting is that prefixed to a volume of his short stories, entitled "The of the Blind and Other Stories." In this preface he discusses the short, story, and finishes by declaring that his'conoeptdon of the art of tho short story is "the' jolly art of making something very-bright and moving; it may. be, he says, "horrible or pathetic, or funny or beautiful, or profoundly illuminating, having only this essential,, that it should take from fifteen to twenty minutes to read aloud. All tho rest is 'just whatever invention and im : agination and'the mood can give—a vision of buttered slides on a busy day, or of unprecedented worlds." ' ' Speaking of his own short stories, he says he would rather they were found "in the bedrooms of convalescents, and in dentists' parlours .and.--railway .-trains -tha.ri in gentlemen's studies. . . .. I have, now reread them all, and I am glad-to think. I wrote them. I like them,_ but I cannot tell how much the associations of Old happinesses gives them a flavour for me. I make no claims for them, • and no apology; they will bo read as long as people read them. Things written either five or die;'unless it.be for a place, of judgment upon academic*impostors, thero is no apologetic intermediate state.' Such a preface is surely not to b9 missed. It is not bombastic; it is interesting; and it certainly' rouses the reader's interest in the author, and; consequently in his etorie3. , . Mr. Bernard Shaw nearly always writes a long: preface to his plays, and sets out therein the whole pith of the play. If one does not read his preface,_ one is very ipt, after reading the play itself, to go

away, wifh the opinion that, although that' particular play may bo a brilliant piece of writing, it lacked a solid foundation. For instance, ono might quite easily, by neglecting the preface, como to this .conclusion in tho reading of his play ■"(Jotting. 1 Married." Tho preface liero contains the whole argument upon.which thei play is based. In' tho prefaces to his! novels one gets delightful glimpses of the author himself. In the preface to "Cashel Byron's Profession," ho says: "I nover think of 'Cashel Byron's Profession' .without a shudder at tho narrowness of my escape from becoming a' successful novelist -at tho age- of twenty-six. At that moment an adventurous publisher might have ruined me. Fortunately for me, there were no adventurous publishers at that time; and I was forced to fight my way, instead of being bought off at tlie. first, brush." Cashel Byron was ono ofi the.five novels which Mr. Shaw terms tho- "Novels of. my. 'Nonage.". In the ■ preface . to' "Love Among' the ■ Artists," ■ another of .his /-'nonage'' novels, 'ho excuses' himself rather naively: "I was but an irifant of twenty-four when, being at that time One of the unemployed, I sat down to mend my straitened. fortunes by writing 'The Irrational Knot.' I had dono the'same thing once before; and the next year, still .unemployed, I did it again.That third attempt'of mino is about to see the light in this volume. A n d now, '.a. few words of warning to you before you - 'begin-.it:-"I—"Though the wisdom of the book is the fruit ,of a quarter centuiy's experience, yet tlie earlier years of that . period '■wire.-much preoccupied with questions of bodily growth and nutrition; so that it may be as well to bear in mind that 'even the youngest of us may be wrong sometimes.' " 2—" 'Lovo Among the Artists is what is called a novel with, a purpose. I will not undertake to say at this distance of time what the main purpose Was;'but T remember- that-1 had a notion of. illustrating the difference between that enthusiasm for the fine arts which people gather from reading about them, and the genuine artistic faculty which cannot help creating, interpreting, or at least unaffectedly enjoying music and pictures. 3—"This book has no winding up at the end/'Mind! It is-not, as in 'The Irra'national Knot,' a case of the upshot being unsatisfactory! .There is absolutely no upshot at all. The parties are married in the middle of the book; and thoy do not elope with or divorce on,e another; or do anything unusual ..or improper. When as much is told'concerning them as-seemed' to me-'.at .the time germane to my; purpose,, the novel breaks ; off. But if you prefer something more conclusive,; pray do riot'scruple..to";add a ffinal eliap--ter'of your own invention." 4—"lf you find yourself displeased with my story, remember that it is not I but the generous and appreciative - publisher of the book who puts it forward as worth reading. ', Thns one is able, to a -certain extent, to get the • author's • matured thoughts .concerning his own earlier work. , If -anyone wishes to understand Bernard Shaw,Vthen' study, him- through his. pre-.

: ELilaire' Selloo; in ; dedicating Ms ■'latest novel,. "The , Green:. Overcoat). „to. the Hon." Maurice {Baring,-;, .vrho recently, visited New -Zealand,' writes an; apuisinff letter.. He compares 'the . title of his book: ■with' the title of a play of Mr.'Barings—"The Green Elephailt"—and go'e3,.on'.to explain why he 'called his book . "The .Green Overcoat.'*.; Ee writes; whimsically:* "My endeavbur-.was to copy yon, and, to: have a title that would, get. people mixed' .up,, so that {lie; ; great-hordes of cultivated' men and women desiring-to sec your play should talk by mistake, of" 'The Green Overcoat.' And-then their.aunts/'or per-;j haps, a prigwisitor, would;, say: 'Olv no, that is the.book!'- In thisvAyay,,;the'book, would be .Boomed. \That was: my?game. /; Sir Arthur. Conaii Doyle writes,-a most interesting, preface to - the author s-. edition of his complete -works, recently published, in twelve volumes by' Messrs. Smith,- Elder; and Co. - In this he .'gives us his. conception' of-:the art of fiction. He maintains that all'methods, and ■ schools, romance,, and realism, symbolism ana naturalism, have. the 'one' object, in .view-to .interest.. ■And - they :.are all good.-' so.. far ljvs: . they,■ attain -that,- and all useless, when.ithey, cease- to do;,.sp.: . The workers. or the' ni ore away from, {themselves' and - the' routine of their own , lives. And within the bounds of morality all methods are legitimate by. which-, this; canv>l)o,.. cftected.j .There : is "nothing inc&hslsfent in the. same .writer using every method m turn, so long as he can in each hold his reader and take his thoughts .from nis own selfish-interests... And. it .-is • ]ust. this power; of. holding .the attention of the . reader; - which,- according; to. Conan. Doyle, •forms of-.'frfpry.telling-an :art ; which ! : ; nia'y- be. devolcpedsand improved,. but>caniibt-.:be -.initiated.. .- . . Even - if', the - preface' is; -not written. by the author, it need not. be despised.' There may be matter' of great interest regarding- the author. In the; preface, to'-.the collected works of Mr. ,H.. S. Mernman, . published in,' fourteen, volumes ta #«ssp. Smith, Elder, rami'. C0.,-:6iio.; giitllexs#liat : his first ifote'-Sbvels,;:{ ,r Ypting;: ihstky, - : •"The Phantom "Suspense,:.■- and "Prisoners a n<U. werej.-by.nis ■own desire, .withdrawn/from the English, markets. . He did not wish to give his; copybooks -to, the world,-. 'He was powerless to. preveiit their publication in America, {so- he'.therefore revised and; abbreviated them,. "conscious)".;. as he himselt said in a preface,-': "of '4 hundred defects .whifch. the most careful, revision cannot -eliminate." ' „ ' '.' -Many readers of R.-L. Stevenson affirm that his collaboration with Mr. Lloyd Osbourne was not advantageous to him. In a-note or preface to "The Ebb Tide (Swanston edition), Mr. Osbourne himself discusses this. He says: "The.critics resented such an unequal partnership, and made it impossible for us to; continue it. It may be they-were right; they wanted | Stevenson's best, and felt pretty- su-re they-, would not get it in our collaboration. But . when they' ascribe all the good- in our three books to Stevenson, and all the too me, they went a little-beyond the 1 mark. It is a pleasure to me to recall that the early part of both 'The Wrecker' and-'The Ebb.-Eido' -Hvas almost'-entirely my own; so also were the storm scenes of ty (North-Creina';' so:also, tlie fight on-:the 'Elyiiig Sc'Ud' j .-so .also tlie incep-t tion'.-of .Huish's .scheme,-the -revelation of ifc"to; his companions, hisrlanding on tho atoll'with the bottle.-of vitriol in his breast'.,'.-' On the-other hand, the Paris, portion of 'The Wreckers' was all Stevenson's, as well as the concluding chapters of 'both the South Sea books." From the. foregoing, one may better-judge whether the who condemned the collaboration were wise or not, and.by reading, the same preface, further learn the method of collaboration adopted : by. Stevenson and Osbourne. To any reader' of Stevenson this is really of great interest, and if such'a preface' is skipped much is there-by-lost to the reader., ■ The above extracts are taken moro or less haphazard from modern books of fiction. By this, let it not be thought that only in books of fiction should the preface be read; a preface to a book on philosophy, on economics, or mathematics may be just as readable—in fact, it may bo the most readable' part of the book. However, to the average ; reader'.the:abbve will no doubt serve as a hint that there are prefaces and prefaces, and' maybe next time he is tempted to skip one. 110 Will think twice and read it: it is to bo hoped it will be an interesting preface, 60 that he will not bo disappointed at tho outset. . .

STEVENSON'S DRAMATIC SENSE.

. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote novels and verses, letters and tracts, short stories and essays, but he did not write for the stage. Reading much of his work once again, tis this new edition encourages us to do, a feeling , of wonder has come that this ono province of the author was neglectcd by a man whose versatility was not the least of his qualities. The dramatic instinct really exists, and Stevenson had it. § No man ever wrote with greater. consciousness of his readers; He. could write to Henley that "there.is something, in-mo worth 'saying," but it was not in him to give his thoughts crudo to the world. Perhaps the most remarkable thing in his career as a man of letters was his deliberate attempt to acquire stylo from tho study of those'whom-ho held to bo the masters, a plan which to many'must seem so ridiculous that it can only be justified by its .results. But it is very easy to imagine that a writer beginning as n dramatist would take pains to learn from tho work of others the necessary conventions of the stage. In each case the natural man is forgotten because of an acute and almost painful consciousness of the public. ' Bad and artificial work is to be expected from this kind of slavery, but Stevenson, like th<j great playwrights, be-

longed to the type of creator that serves willingly. This is not to say that lie was ever ready to execute a publisher's orders, elso wo should have had his projected novol of tho "forty-five," but his way was.rather to forestall and to avoid adverse criticism than to provoke it by work for which tho world was unready. 'Writing was to him a craft as well as an art, and his "Studies of Men and Books" shows that he had begun early to learn its technicalities. His memory was long, and to tho end ho had about him something of the critic's habit of spectacled observation, j "Treasure Island," say some, cannot bo read properly without a map. Tho comment is a hint of tho way in which the author wrote. Indolent persons, who can only enjoy a book indolently, aro worried by the chart to which, for lack of memory, they must be always turning; but it existed before a single word of the story had been put: on paper. It stood to 1 Stevenson -as a-plan- of the. stage, on which were 1 marked the entrances and the exits Dnd every piece of furniture. He knew its importance as a guide, and when it was lost it had to be constructed again. He had always been impatient with mere artistry, and would have no liberties taken'with the facts of fiction, blaming Hugo for some small errors which ha"d crept into "Les Travailleurs de la Mer," though they might well have escaped.y'any- but a professional sailor. He read as.' he- wrote, seeing men' and things placed before him as'in a thedtre. Nothing but his. love of detail _ and his j desire for accuracy, could'have given him -his sympathy with' Samuel Pepys, a man whose pliable naturo" would have otliermse altogether revolted him. Those who care nothing for such things, and above all else abhor maps, are heard to say that their sole memory of "Treasure Island" is tho sound of tho man with the wooden leg stumping .up'the road to the inn. A dull Scot, they may call him, but thatJittle mechanical device has impressed them. It is like tho shouting ot the crowd -behind tho scenes, or the call which is answered "off"; it is a recognition of the fact that.a book read.in a quiet hour -may have'its appeal to the ear as woll-as to other organs of sense. It-was in Stevenson's' power to convey impressions as/vividly by words as other men do by scenes and acts; and in consciously performing this task' he was never greater than in his talc of the duel which the Master of Ballantrae fought with Mr. Henry Durie. Tho reader sees just .as much and just as.little of: the combat did Mackellar by; the light of the candles under the frosted trees. The 'watcher"of tho-fight tells how "my teeth ■smoto each other-in-my mouth" at the beginning, and how, in the end, the Master leaped back "with a little sobbing oath"; and if we have a little more courage than the faithful servant of the house we can still enter into all his feelings 'as the scene.and the actors rise from the printed, page.' Actually it is a piece of writing: so- grimly effective that n'o staging could, possibly, give it more life than ■'it .already, possesses. Putting aside all -other reasons, and a number of practical 'difficulties arising from', ill-health and much travel, .we, guess "that Stevenson's power of vivid- presentation; made the means of the theatre of. little account to him. The sound .of. applause was denied to him, but he' could come into the closest .touch; with his. public .without the aid of intermediaries.' , Since' his :' death ; "J)r, ;Jekyil and Mr.' Hyde" has been':seen on :the stage'in an edition mutilated'for acting: purposes, but.it lias not.been. a.great success!-' His.vdesire to account for ■everything) even-in a mystical story; may |ba taken as the dramatic instinct run to excess;.,- ' - '' ' ..-. ~.'■' .. . The . power to. niake-a- 1 scene from 'words Beanie to Stevenson,' 1 . along with' his;partial-.-■ityj.foi:.. the Shorter • Catechism,;, . direct from ■ -his '• ."forbears o' the.... persecution" 'and from ■ - his :early'' reading .. of their books..-; These two. legacies which he re.ceived are 'by'-'nb means as' incompatible as''first thoughts 1 would "'■■ suggest? ' The •scribes ofvCpveriantiiifj' 'days;'were gifted ;.with "a ■ burning imagination, which constantly left'cold "truth'far' behind. Stevienson always claimed that his first literary ideals.: were formed in When his' nurse '-read- to. him the "AnaJecta''«.of.. Robert;,"iVodrow and Patrick "ViiidiSatlon of Cameron," and Ji'i'om' thesei' strange works he must have learnt even more than he suspected. His first masters, with the Bible as their solo guide.for both life and letters, had fan. I 'unsurpassed ability in. making a few words give colour to a story J "John Brown, having performed the worship of God in his family, was going with a spade in his hand to make ready some p:at ground, the mist - being very dark, knew not until bloody, cruel Claverkouso compassed, him with three troops of, horses, brought him to his. house, and there examined-him." The quotation is from • Walker, 'and the facts merely tell of the arrest of a fanatic rebel, but the worship, the family, the spade, and. the mist are all items which the writer hasused to throw into relief the picture of a quiet and peaceful nian hunted to death by. the King's soldiers. They are the dramatic touches without which the narrative would be merely a paragraph from a newspaper. They were the food on which the spirit of Camerop. was to be kept alive; and as he read these and the like tales Stevenson, must have thought that the conventicles of his fathers held more matter' for him than was' in any theatre. There is plenty of drama • the lighter sort in such stories,- as "The Wrong Box" and "The Dynamiter," and there is melodrama in "The Wrecker"; but his pictures aro never so vivid as when they show the life and people of Scotland,' and. never so convincing as when they deal with those most akin to tho Covenanters. The Jacobites are, perhaps, a trifle too theatrical! Alanßreck may be called a Porthos garbed with literary skill and a kilt, and the Master may be held almost inconceivably wicked. But there is never the least doubt about the minister of Balweary, in the vale of Dule, and it was quite in the nature of things that ; John Christie should see the Black Man passing tho Muckle Cairn. Remarkable adventures were the commonplaces of that sort, as is proven by almost every page of. the "Analecta, in which veracious chronicle of "providences, mostly relating to Scotch ministers ■ and Christians," are recounted wonders to cause envy to the jealous shade of Herodotus. There was no need for Stevenson to use his South Sea experiences when such things lay behind him in-the north. "The tradition of the country, and nothing more," was Hazlitt's ill-tempered comment on Scott's genius, and for the moment the critic may have his own way, but the tradition is good enough itself, and -even Sir Walter Scott did not exhaust it.—"Saturday Review."