THE FEMININE TRADITION

New Zealand Listener, Volume 19, Issue 476, 6 August 1948, Page 10

THE FEMININE TRADITION

This talk, by

FRANK

SARGESON

was broadcast

in the 1YA session "Mainly About Books,’ on July 28

A Vath About Katherine Mansfield

’M afraid I find myself in a rather unhappy situation. The short stories of Katherine Mansfield are among the most famous stories of this centuryor at any rate, some of them are So I don’t feel it to be altogether an advantage that I myself have written short stories. I imagine that many writers of fiction just don’t read the

work of many of their fellow crafts-men-let alone talk about it in public. And I think for a very. good reason.

Because if you are a writer you will probably find’ you have to be very careful about your influences. You may know that the stories. of such and such a writer are generally reckoned to be very good stories indeed, but if they don’t happen to be more or less in the tradition that you are working in yourself, you may feel it necessary not to expose yourself to their influence too much. Still, I fancy most of us take the risk pretty frequently. Reading books is much easier than writing them, and very much more pleasant and ‘enjoyable: Now, you will have noticed that I used the word "tradition." There are readers, and there are even professiogal critics, who imagine that if you have a story to tell you simply tell it, and don’t concern yourself with any particular tradition, or style, or method of approach. But I am afraid this view-

point is a mistake. And certainly it turns out to be a fallacy if you endeavour to apply it to Katherine Mansfield’s stories. There are, of course, many traditions, and many points to be considered about each one of them. For instance, many critics have referred to the influence of Russian short stories on Katherine Mansfield’s work, particularly those by Anton Tchekov. And certain it is that if you read Tchekov you see the influence, But I would like to show that Katherine Mansfield established herself in a_ tradition that hasn’t a great deal to do with anything she may have derived from this.. Russian writer. What I think every reader must feel, and feel very strongly, is that she is in the feminine tradition,

And ‘perhaps my saying that will make some listeners laugh and say, Why, of course, silly-she was a woman, wasn’t she? * But my reply is that is isn’t nearly so clear-cut and straightforward as all that. Because what I have’called the feminine tradition in fiction was to a very great extent brought into being by a London printer‘and bookseller of the 18th Century. His name was Samuel

Richardson, and one of his novels he calls Pamela. The story is told in the form of letters, most of them signed bv Pamela her-

self, and if the name, Samuel Richardson, were not on the title page, I imagine many _-ireaders

might find it impossible to believe that a man could compose letters so saturated with what we call feminine sensibility. The book is, indeed, an astonishing performance, but you have only to think of some novel written in a more masculine tradition (one say, by Richardson’s great contemporary, Henry Fielding), to see how serious its shortcomings are. It is, in fact, what I would call a minor novel. And I think it is fair to go on and say that the feminine tradition is the minor tradition, That’s not a reproach though, not necessarily -indeed it might very well be a compliment. Because it is in this feminine, this minor tradition of fiction-writing, that you find some of the best stories. Those of Jane Austen, for instance,

And, coming on to our own times, those of Mr. E. M. Forster. And, coming to our own place, some of those of Katherine Mansfield. Because, as you all know, Katherine Mansfield was New Zealand born. i b 4 2 UT before I try to explain just how I feel about some of her stories I must first answer this question: What is one of the outstanding characteristics of novels and stories in the feminine tradition? And the answer is this: A tendency to be concerned with the part rather than the whole-in other words, a tendency to make your story depend for its effectiveness on the isolated details and moments of life. These details and moments can, of course, be very beautifully and significantly rendered; and when you have a writer of the stature of, say, Jane Austen, they nearly always are. But the point to remember is that if they are not, the story will not only fail, but fail very badly. Because everything is so very tenuouseverything is, as it were, hanging by the finest of threads. Now that I have given you some brief idea of my line of approach to Katherine Mansfield’s work, let me say something about two of her stories. First, one called The Voyage. ‘This, to me, is without question one of the finest things she wrote. It is about a child and her grandmother who are crossing by night boat from Picton to Wellington. All you are given are little details about the trip, and littie scraps of con-versation-but you gather that the child’s mother has died, and the grandmother is taking her back home to live with her in Wellington. The child, Fenella, looks after a troublesome umbrella, and her grandmother says her prayers and deals with stewards and stewardesses. Here is Katherine Mansfield at her best. The old lady has seen a basket of sandwiches: She went up to-them and touched the top one delicately with her finger. "How much are the sandwiches?" she asked. ‘ "Tuppence!""" bawled a rude steward, slamming down a knife and fork. Grandma could hardly believe it. "Tuppence each?" she asked. "That’s right,"’ said the steward, ‘and he winked at his companion. Grandma made a small astonished face. Then she whispered primly to Fenella, "What wickedness!"

Now a good story is like a good din-mer-or a good anything else. If it satisfies you, there is nothing much to say about it-except perhaps murmur something rather vague that is intended to express your appreciation. But I would like you to note two points about this story. The first is that the characters tend to be somewhat @arger than’ life. That is, they are, not just a child anda grandmother. There is a sense in which it is true to say that the child is everybody’s child, and the old lady everybody’s grandmother. And when you feel something like that about a story, it is always a sign that it is a good story. And the second point I would like you to notice is this: towards the end of the story the child enters her grandpa’s bedroom, and above the bed there is a text. It reads: Lost! One Golden Hour Set with Sixty Diamond Minutes No Reward is offered For it is GONE FOREVER! Now I think that text may have a significance the author hardly intended it should. Because always, as I have hinted, it is the moments (the diamond minutes and the golden hours) that are so important in Katherine Mansfield’s stories. . And I think I can illustrate this point by what I have to say about the second story I have chosen. It .is (continued on next page)

KATHERINE MANSFIELD

(continued from previdus page) called Her First Ball-and the title by itself almost tells the story. A young country girl is staying with her town cousins who take her to a drill-hall ball. It is all very much in the feminine tradition. Dresées, gloves, powder, flowers-and the similes come’ tumbling out: A girl’s dark head pushes above her white fur like a flower through snow ... .. little satin shoes chase each other like birds. ... But later on we come to the point of the story. The girk Leila, bewildered and enchanted by it all, is breathless with excitement. How heavenly, how simply heavenly! she thinks. She dances with young men with glossy hair-and then with an older man who is both bald and fat. He perceives that it is her first dance and tells her that he has been doing this sort of thing for’ 30 years. Then he goes on and pictures Leila herself in’ years to come. Her pretty arms will have turned into short fat ones, he says. And she will be sitting up on the stage with the chaperones while her daughter dances down below. And his words destroy the girl’s happiness. The music suddenly sounds sad. And she asks herself an agonising question: Why doesn’t happiness last forever? "Deep inside her," we read, "a little girl threw her pinafore over her head and _ sobbed." And of course she hates the bald fat man. ~ Now I don’t know how my listeners will feel about this story, but for me it just doesn’t come off. It is, no doubt, true enough of many young girls, but for my part I’m afraid I can’t help making some comparisons. For instance, had any of Shakespeare’s young heroines (wonderful ones, say, like Perdita in The Winter's Tale, or Marina in Pericles)-had they. encountered that elderly bald fat man, and had he told them that shocking truth-well, I don’t know, but I fancy they would have just laughed and asked him why he wanted to say anything so obvious, In other words, young female character can be made of somewhat sterner stuff, and there is something in my make-up which refuses to accept the suggestion that that particular trying moment in the girl’s life was really so important and significant as it is intended to be. & % a 5 HERE is another story which. is called, very simply, Bliss. And agai you have a young woman who experiences a few hours of intense happiness. For no particular reason. She is just happy to be alive, that is all. But it all ends with the discovery that her husband is engaged in a love-affair with a woman they have been entertaining at dinner. But here’s the point-if the mere fact of being alive will make you happy, then you must be careful, because being alive must always imply that you will have to be prepared to face disagreeable experiences. And so many of Katherine Mansfield’s young women are unprepared. There is, indeed, a rather startling lack of variety in them, and Miss Kathleen Raine, an English critic, has gone so far as. to say that she lacked the gift for inventing characters. And if this is true, perhaps the explanation may be partly

found in the fact that Katherine Mansfield, both as a woman and a writer, spent much of her life in a state of suspension between two hemispheres, As a young woman she hated New Zealand and longed to get away from it, yet it was Wellington she wrote about towards the end of her life when she was doing her finest work. But I don’t think a state of suspension is a good state’ to be in when it is a question of inventing characters. You have to Gepend on yourself too much-and what you find in yourself. Suspension (or to use another word, freedom) always has its dangers, and it is particularly dangerous for a writer to be virtually free from any sense of social tradition, And up to a point it is true to say that is the situation Katherine Mansfield found herself in. But I don’t want to leave you with the impression that her work is nearly all shortcomings.- Not at all. Perhaps it is still a little too soon to say for certain just how good a writer she was. But in the meantime one can at least say that there are, as there are with all good writers, certain of her stories that are "musts." And I want very briefly to refer to one of them. It is The Life of Ma Parker-a sketch of a London charwoman, and here is a taste of Kath erine Mansfield at her best. The old char is with her grandson: "Gran, gi’ us a penny!’ he ¢oaxed. "Be off with you; Gran ain’t got no pennies." "Yes, you ‘ave." "No, I ain't.’ "Yes, you ‘ave. Gi’ us one!" _ Already she was feeling for the old, Squashed, black leather purse, "Well, what'll you give your Gran?" He gave a shy little laugh and pressed closer. She felt his eyelid quiveving against her cheek. "I ain’t got nothing,’’ he mursmuired. | .6 2 sis. .