Micah Clarke (review august 1889)
Noticeable Books. 3. Micah Clarke is an article written by R. E. Prothero published in The Nineteenth Century in august 1889.
This is a review of Arthur Conan Doyle's novel : Micah Clarke (1889).
Review
MICAH CLARKE 1
It is not unreasonable that a prejudice should exist against historical novels. Their composition resembles the acrobatic accomplishment of riding two horses at once, and the evident difficulty of the author's feat renders the task of the reader equally difficult. But there are exceptions to every rule, and Micah Clarke is the exception which proves the general truth. Throw aside prejudice, and read Micah Clarke. To class the book 'among the most popular productions of the day' would be no distinction ; does not this category admit of 365 'popular productions' every twelve months and one extra in leap-year? To say that it is 'above the ordinary run' is a vague eulogy which is scarcely less indefinite than the 'general reader,' and implies the same degraded standard. But Micah Clarke is a noticeable book, because it carries the reader out of the beaten track; it makes him now and then hold his breath with excitement; it presents a series of vivid pictures and paints two capital portraits; and it leaves upon the mind the impression of well-rounded symmetry and completeness.
The scene of Micah Clarke is laid during Monmouth’s rebellion, The subject is artistically chosen. The episode admits of detached and isolated treatment; it is concentrated within a brief space of time, surrounded by the romantic halo of a lost cause, rich in the elements of dignity and of pathos which belong to a warlike ebullition of religious zeal, and leading rapidly through stirring incidents to an inevitable and tragic catastrophe. And the treatment is as successful as the choice of the subject. The story exists for its own sake, and not for the sake of the accessories. Mr. Doyle waives his opportunity to be tiresome by following Boileau's advice — 'Soyez vif et pressé.' Pedantic in detail and ambitious of display, historical novelists, when astride of their antiquarian Pegasus, generally embarrass the reader much as the sporting-tailor on a hard-mouthed brute encumbers the hunting-field. Each bit of learning is so precious, that it must be brought in by hook or by crook. But Mr. Doyle scarcely ever introduces irrelevant touches of historic detail, or invites admiration of the antiquity of his furniture. Almost always he writes of the past as unconsciously as he would of contemporary life, and the appropriate colouring seems to suggest itself so spontaneously that his mind is never distracted from the rapid progress of his narrative. There is nothing excessive or obtrusive in the sixteenth-century accessories; they are so disposed that there is no appearance of crowding or of design in the arrangement; they are met with, as it were, incidentally. The period is quite sufficiently indicated to produce that suspension of the critical faculties which constitutes imaginative belief. The facts are not too solid to arouse incredulity of the fiction, nor the fiction so wild that it fosters suspicion of the facts. Thus Mr. Doyle escapes the great peril of the historical novelist. Science, history, and theology generally look as awkward in fiction as policemen in plain clothes. But the first and strongest impression which Micah Clarke creates is that it is an excellent story excellently told. Subsequent reflection shows that it is also an admirable piece of imitative art, a tour de force of correctness and vigour, a faithful yet dramatic picture of an historical episode.
Micah Clarke is fall of incident. In subject it may be called sensational, if we remember that whatever depreciatory meaning attaches to that epithet belongs only to the treatment. Mr. Doyle never strains after impressions beyond his power. He does not stud his pages with volcanic phrases; he is not feverishly intent upon extracting from his incidents the maximum of horror; he revels in no nightmare effects. His villains are not moral Calibans, He interpolates quiet intervals of repose, employs sober tints for his backgrounds instead of splashing on lurid colours by the pailful, avoids the spasmodic style or the gorgeous treatment of simple incident, and never mistakes exaggeration for force. His method is that of Scott rather than of Bulwer. The latter centres his interest on the well-known historical figures of Rienzi, Harold, or the King-maker. But Mr. Doyle, like Scott, seeks his chief actors in subordinate and imaginary characters. Monmouth, Ferguson, Jeffreys move across, the stage at intervals, but the true heroes are Micah Clarke, the Hampshire yeoman, Decimus Saxon, the soldier of fortune, Sir Gervas Jervoise, the broken-down but imperturbably courageous baronet. The portraits of the two last personages could hardly be better painted; Saxon is an English Dugald Dalgetty, and Sir Gervas is true to the life. Besides these leading figures, there are a crowd of minor actors distinguished from one another by strongly marked individualities, not merely assembled on the principle on which Falstaff filled his company — 'Mortal men, mortal men — they'll fill a pit as well as better.'
The novel with which Micah Clarke challenges comparison is Lorna Doone; and as a work of art we may well consider it to be superior. It is, in the first place, very much shorter. Length is to the novelist what flesh is to the pedestrian; he cannot 'stay the distance'. But the comparative brevity of Micah Clarke enables Mr. Doyle to maintain the same rapid pace throughout with unflagging vigour and undiminished speed. In the second place, though Micah Clarke is a Hampshire Jan Ridd in bravery, straightforward honesty, and herculean strength, he is morally elevated above his Devonshire rival by the strong puritan element in his character. A sweet refined gentlewoman like Lorna Doone, with her delicacy, culture, and aristocratic feeling, might have married Micab; she could never have been happy with the horny-handed plodding yeoman who was her husband. But enough of ungrateful comparisons between two admirable novels. I end as I began. Forget your prejudices against historical fiction, and read Micah Clarke.
R. E. Prothero.
1. Micah Clarke, By A. Conan Doyle. London: Longmans. 1889.
