Dr. Conan Doyle: A Character Sketch: Difference between revisions
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[[File:the-young-man-1894-07-p223-dr-conan-doyle-a-character-sketch.jpg|thumb|250px|right|[[The Young Man]] (july 1894, p. 223)]] | [[File:the-young-man-1894-07-p223-dr-conan-doyle-a-character-sketch.jpg|thumb|250px|right|[[The Young Man]] (july 1894, p. 223)]] | ||
The first impression which one takes of [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]] is that of strength, and the more one knows of him the more dominant does the impression become. He is at the furthest possible remove from the traditional conception of the author, "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." He might readily be taken for a person of sea faring experiences, an ex-soldier of the Guards, a Central African explorer, an adventurer and sportsman worthy of the comradeship of Mr. Selous, or indeed anything implying a life of resolute and daring action. And in conveying this impression, Nature does not lie. Edward Fitzgerald, in one of his delightful letters, speaks of the substantial goodness of the peasantry, as being the "funded virtue" of generations of sturdy and much - enduring men and women. There must be a good deal of funded manliness in Conan Doyle, for he comes of a fighting race. If I am not misinformed, no fewer than five of his family fought at Waterloo. | The first impression which one takes of [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]] is that of strength, and the more one knows of him the more dominant does the impression become. He is at the furthest possible remove from the traditional conception of the author, "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." He might readily be taken for a person of sea faring experiences, an ex-soldier of the Guards, a Central African explorer, an adventurer and sportsman worthy of the comradeship of Mr. Selous, or indeed anything implying a life of resolute and daring action. And in conveying this impression, Nature does not lie. Edward Fitzgerald, in one of his delightful letters, speaks of the substantial goodness of the peasantry, as being the "funded virtue" of generations of sturdy and much - enduring men and women. There must be a good deal of funded manliness in [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]], for he comes of a fighting race. If I am not misinformed, no fewer than five of his family fought at Waterloo. | ||
He himself has had a career calling for very high qualities of courage, and no one who knows him can doubt that in a life of stirring action he would display fine elements, and find a theatre admirably adapted to his tastes. | He himself has had a career calling for very high qualities of courage, and no one who knows him can doubt that in a life of stirring action he would display fine elements, and find a theatre admirably adapted to his tastes. | ||
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The blunt honesty and manliness of his nature come out in all he does and says. He forms clear and straightforward judgments on men and things, and expresses them with fearless frankness. He will never be a partisan, or a member of a literary clique. He will never go out of his way to win an audience, or even to conciliate a prejudice. He once told me that he had no faith whatever in criticism, and thought that in the long run neither adulation nor depreciation had much to do with the fortunes of a book. A book might be puffed into notoriety, but never into fame: it might be neglected or depreciated, but if it deserved fame it would assuredly win it. His faith was not in the professional critics, but in the great public itself, which had a shrewd idea as to what suited it, and after all bought not what the critics liked, but what it liked. Moreover, the public did not need to be told that a book was good : it found it out for itself, and not all the mob of gentlemen who write with ease could prevent that discovery, though occasionally they might do something to accelerate it. For whatever else he is not, [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]] is a very ardent democrat, with the most complete faith in the people, not merely in the matter of the soundness of their general judgment on books, but also in all the great questions of social welfare, and political life and progress. | The blunt honesty and manliness of his nature come out in all he does and says. He forms clear and straightforward judgments on men and things, and expresses them with fearless frankness. He will never be a partisan, or a member of a literary clique. He will never go out of his way to win an audience, or even to conciliate a prejudice. He once told me that he had no faith whatever in criticism, and thought that in the long run neither adulation nor depreciation had much to do with the fortunes of a book. A book might be puffed into notoriety, but never into fame: it might be neglected or depreciated, but if it deserved fame it would assuredly win it. His faith was not in the professional critics, but in the great public itself, which had a shrewd idea as to what suited it, and after all bought not what the critics liked, but what it liked. Moreover, the public did not need to be told that a book was good : it found it out for itself, and not all the mob of gentlemen who write with ease could prevent that discovery, though occasionally they might do something to accelerate it. For whatever else he is not, [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]] is a very ardent democrat, with the most complete faith in the people, not merely in the matter of the soundness of their general judgment on books, but also in all the great questions of social welfare, and political life and progress. | ||
My first acquaintance with [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]]'s writings began with ''[[Micah Clarke]]'', which I esteemed then, and still think to be, his finest book. In this opinion he himself would not agree. It is well known that he prefers the ''[[The White Company|White Company]]''. I suspect however, that this preference arises from a vivid memory of the laborious pains by which the ''[[The White Company|White Company]]'' was begotten, and of the hundred and fifty books of hard historical reading which were needed for its production. It is a habit of authors to think the book which costs them most toil their best book; whereas the reverse is often true, and the finest book is that which is written rapidly, in some gracious mood of temper, when the imagination works with ease and harmony, and labour is forgotten in delight. ''[[Micah Clarke]]'' is such a book. Canon Prothero once declared that it presented a finer picture of West Country life and character than Lorna Doone; at all events, we may grant that it deserves to rank with Mr. Blackmore's masterpiece as one of the best books of the century. But it is, in a more accurate sense than can be claimed for Lorna Doone, a great historical novel, wrought out with a fine consistence, with fidelity and insight and true literary craftsmanship. It is alike excellent as a piece of historical exposition, and as a striking and picturesque narrative. It gives an intensely interesting and sympathetic study of Puritanism in its disorganization: persecuted, dismembered, suspected, impotent, yet still cherishing the old fire in its heart, still leaping to the clarion-cry of liberty, and ready at a moment's notice to sharpen the rusty swords that had tasted blood at Naseby, and to fight stubbornly with all the ancient valour of the Ironside. Occasionally, too, the story sparkles into terse aphorisms which express the very spirit of Puritanism. It is the authentic Cromwellian who speaks in Master Stephen Timewell, Mayor of Taunton, when he says, | My first acquaintance with [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]]'s writings began with ''[[Micah Clarke]]'', which I esteemed then, and still think to be, his finest book. In this opinion he himself would not agree. It is well known that he prefers the ''[[The White Company|White Company]]''. I suspect however, that this preference arises from a vivid memory of the laborious pains by which the ''[[The White Company|White Company]]'' was begotten, and of the hundred and fifty books of hard historical reading which were needed for its production. It is a habit of authors to think the book which costs them most toil their best book; whereas the reverse is often true, and the finest book is that which is written rapidly, in some gracious mood of temper, when the imagination works with ease and harmony, and labour is forgotten in delight. ''[[Micah Clarke]]'' is such a book. Canon Prothero once declared that it presented a finer picture of West Country life and character than ''Lorna Doone''; at all events, we may grant that it deserves to rank with Mr. Blackmore's masterpiece as one of the best books of the century. But it is, in a more accurate sense than can be claimed for ''Lorna Doone'', a great historical novel, wrought out with a fine consistence, with fidelity and insight and true literary craftsmanship. It is alike excellent as a piece of historical exposition, and as a striking and picturesque narrative. It gives an intensely interesting and sympathetic study of Puritanism in its disorganization: persecuted, dismembered, suspected, impotent, yet still cherishing the old fire in its heart, still leaping to the clarion-cry of liberty, and ready at a moment's notice to sharpen the rusty swords that had tasted blood at Naseby, and to fight stubbornly with all the ancient valour of the Ironside. Occasionally, too, the story sparkles into terse aphorisms which express the very spirit of Puritanism. It is the authentic Cromwellian who speaks in Master Stephen Timewell, Mayor of Taunton, when he says, "God's wrath comes with leaden feet, but it strikes with iron hands. It is not for us to instruct Him." When I closed the book, I felt that the writer of it must needs be a man of serious thought. I felt, also, that he was an artist, who knew how to treat a great theme as it deserved, and yet to treat it with a brilliance of narrative power which made it fascinating as a mere story. As a study it deserved the attention of serious readers. As an historical story it was the highest bid that had been made for popularity since Charles Reade published the Cloister and the Hearth. | ||
There will be no divergence of opinion as to Conan Doyle's faculty for telling a story, and with him it is not merely a faculty but a faith. We were talking once of a book, the first half-dozen chapters of which pass without anything happening. Such incident as there is might easily have been compressed into a single chapter of moderate dimensions, instead of which the thin stream of narrative trickles away over fifty pages. | There will be no divergence of opinion as to [[Arthur Conan Doyle|Conan Doyle]]'s faculty for telling a story, and with him it is not merely a faculty but a faith. We were talking once of a book, the first half-dozen chapters of which pass without anything happening. Such incident as there is might easily have been compressed into a single chapter of moderate dimensions, instead of which the thin stream of narrative trickles away over fifty pages. | ||
"That is fatal," he said. "The first object of a novelist is to tell a tale. If he has no story to tell, what is he there for? Possibly he has something to say which is worth saying, but he should say it in another form." | "That is fatal," he said. "The first object of a novelist is to tell a tale. If he has no story to tell, what is he there for? Possibly he has something to say which is worth saying, but he should say it in another form." | ||
Revision as of 00:38, 8 February 2022
Dr. Conan Doyle: A Character Sketch is an article written by W. J. Dawson about Arthur Conan Doyle published in The Young Man in july 1894.
Dr. Conan Doyle: A Character Sketch
The first impression which one takes of Conan Doyle is that of strength, and the more one knows of him the more dominant does the impression become. He is at the furthest possible remove from the traditional conception of the author, "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." He might readily be taken for a person of sea faring experiences, an ex-soldier of the Guards, a Central African explorer, an adventurer and sportsman worthy of the comradeship of Mr. Selous, or indeed anything implying a life of resolute and daring action. And in conveying this impression, Nature does not lie. Edward Fitzgerald, in one of his delightful letters, speaks of the substantial goodness of the peasantry, as being the "funded virtue" of generations of sturdy and much - enduring men and women. There must be a good deal of funded manliness in Conan Doyle, for he comes of a fighting race. If I am not misinformed, no fewer than five of his family fought at Waterloo.
He himself has had a career calling for very high qualities of courage, and no one who knows him can doubt that in a life of stirring action he would display fine elements, and find a theatre admirably adapted to his tastes.
The blunt honesty and manliness of his nature come out in all he does and says. He forms clear and straightforward judgments on men and things, and expresses them with fearless frankness. He will never be a partisan, or a member of a literary clique. He will never go out of his way to win an audience, or even to conciliate a prejudice. He once told me that he had no faith whatever in criticism, and thought that in the long run neither adulation nor depreciation had much to do with the fortunes of a book. A book might be puffed into notoriety, but never into fame: it might be neglected or depreciated, but if it deserved fame it would assuredly win it. His faith was not in the professional critics, but in the great public itself, which had a shrewd idea as to what suited it, and after all bought not what the critics liked, but what it liked. Moreover, the public did not need to be told that a book was good : it found it out for itself, and not all the mob of gentlemen who write with ease could prevent that discovery, though occasionally they might do something to accelerate it. For whatever else he is not, Conan Doyle is a very ardent democrat, with the most complete faith in the people, not merely in the matter of the soundness of their general judgment on books, but also in all the great questions of social welfare, and political life and progress.
My first acquaintance with Conan Doyle's writings began with Micah Clarke, which I esteemed then, and still think to be, his finest book. In this opinion he himself would not agree. It is well known that he prefers the White Company. I suspect however, that this preference arises from a vivid memory of the laborious pains by which the White Company was begotten, and of the hundred and fifty books of hard historical reading which were needed for its production. It is a habit of authors to think the book which costs them most toil their best book; whereas the reverse is often true, and the finest book is that which is written rapidly, in some gracious mood of temper, when the imagination works with ease and harmony, and labour is forgotten in delight. Micah Clarke is such a book. Canon Prothero once declared that it presented a finer picture of West Country life and character than Lorna Doone; at all events, we may grant that it deserves to rank with Mr. Blackmore's masterpiece as one of the best books of the century. But it is, in a more accurate sense than can be claimed for Lorna Doone, a great historical novel, wrought out with a fine consistence, with fidelity and insight and true literary craftsmanship. It is alike excellent as a piece of historical exposition, and as a striking and picturesque narrative. It gives an intensely interesting and sympathetic study of Puritanism in its disorganization: persecuted, dismembered, suspected, impotent, yet still cherishing the old fire in its heart, still leaping to the clarion-cry of liberty, and ready at a moment's notice to sharpen the rusty swords that had tasted blood at Naseby, and to fight stubbornly with all the ancient valour of the Ironside. Occasionally, too, the story sparkles into terse aphorisms which express the very spirit of Puritanism. It is the authentic Cromwellian who speaks in Master Stephen Timewell, Mayor of Taunton, when he says, "God's wrath comes with leaden feet, but it strikes with iron hands. It is not for us to instruct Him." When I closed the book, I felt that the writer of it must needs be a man of serious thought. I felt, also, that he was an artist, who knew how to treat a great theme as it deserved, and yet to treat it with a brilliance of narrative power which made it fascinating as a mere story. As a study it deserved the attention of serious readers. As an historical story it was the highest bid that had been made for popularity since Charles Reade published the Cloister and the Hearth.
There will be no divergence of opinion as to Conan Doyle's faculty for telling a story, and with him it is not merely a faculty but a faith. We were talking once of a book, the first half-dozen chapters of which pass without anything happening. Such incident as there is might easily have been compressed into a single chapter of moderate dimensions, instead of which the thin stream of narrative trickles away over fifty pages.
"That is fatal," he said. "The first object of a novelist is to tell a tale. If he has no story to tell, what is he there for? Possibly he has something to say which is worth saying, but he should say it in another form."
I told him that I had once seen a couple of school-boys waiting their turn to read one of his stories, each one jealously measuring the minutes during which the other held the book. What was it that fascinated them? Obviously the story. The school-boy likes brisk movement, clear narrative, fine incident, and is impatient of prosing3 by the way. The conversation re-called to me, perhaps also to him, a fragment of discussion at an earlier period, when he said, "There is no finer judge of the merits of a story, as a story, than the British school-boy. I should be very well pleased to write for the applause of the school-boy, for what the school-boy likes the majority of readers will like too." Here, again, we hear the democratic note which is distinctive of Dr. Doyle. Of course he did not mean to say, nor do I mean to imply, that the only test of a novel is narrative power, and that the school-boy should be the chief judge of literature. The man who writes a great story cannot help impregnating it with many ideas that are beyond the range of the school-boy. But Mr. Doyle's point was that the chief quality of a story is that it shall be a story, and not a pamphlet or sermon disguised in the attire of ineffective fiction. In this respect, at least, he himself has shown a splendid mastery. No one tells a tale better: few with anything like the same degree of succinctness, of
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