ON CRITICISM.
Literary criticism in the present day has become a profession,--but
it has ceased to be an art. Its object is no longer that of proving
that certain literary work is good and other literary work is bad,
in accordance with rules which the critic is able to define. English
criticism at present rarely even pretends to go so far as this. It
attempts, in the first place, to tell the public whether a book be
or be not worth public attention; and, in the second place, so to
describe the purport of the work as to enable those who have not time
or inclination for reading it to feel that by a short cut they can
become acquainted with its contents. Both these objects, if fairly
well carried out, are salutary. Though the critic may not be a
profound judge himself; though not unfrequently he be a young man
making his first literary attempts, with tastes and judgment still
unfixed, yet he probably has a conscience in the matter, and
would not have been selected for that work had he not shown some
aptitude for it. Though he may be not the best possible guide to
the undiscerning, he will be better than no guide at all. Real
substantial criticism must, from its nature, be costly, and that
which the public wants should at any rate be cheap. Advice is given
to many thousands, which, though it may not be the best advice
possible, is better than no advice at all. Then that description
of the work criticised, that compressing of the much into very
little,--which is the work of many modern critics or reviewers,--does
enable many to know something of what is being said, who without it
would know nothing.
I do not think it is incumbent on me at present to name periodicals
in which this work is well done, and to make complaints of others
by which it is scamped. I should give offence, and might probably
be unjust. But I think I may certainly say that as some of these
periodicals are certainly entitled to great praise for the manner in
which the work is done generally, so are others open to very severe
censure,--and that the praise and that the censure are chiefly due
on behalf of one virtue and its opposite vice. It is not critical
ability that we have a right to demand, or its absence that we are
bound to deplore. Critical ability for the price we pay is not
attainable. It is a faculty not peculiar to Englishmen, and when
displayed is very frequently not appreciated. But that critics should
be honest we have a right to demand, and critical dishonesty we are
bound to expose. If the writer will tell us what he thinks, though
his thoughts be absolutely vague and useless, we can forgive him;
but when he tells us what he does not think, actuated either by
friendship or by animosity, then there should be no pardon for him.
This is the sin in modern English criticism of which there is most
reason to complain.
It is a lamentable fact that men and women lend themselves to this
practice who are neither vindictive nor ordinarily dishonest. It has
become "the custom of the trade," under the veil of which excuse so
many tradesmen justify their malpractices! When a struggling author
learns that so much has been done for A by the _Barsetshire Gazette_,
so much for B by the _Dillsborough Herald_, and, again, so much for C
by that powerful metropolitan organ the _Evening Pulpit_, and is told
also that A and B and C have been favoured through personal interest,
he also goes to work among the editors, or the editors' wives,--or
perhaps, if he cannot reach their wives, with their wives' first
or second cousins. When once the feeling has come upon an editor
or a critic that he may allow himself to be influenced by other
considerations than the duty he owes to the public, all sense of
critical or of editorial honesty falls from him at once. _Facilis
descensus Averni_. In a very short time that editorial honesty
becomes ridiculous to himself. It is for other purpose that he wields
the power; and when he is told what is his duty, and what should
be his conduct, the preacher of such doctrine seems to him to be
quixotic. "Where have you lived, my friend, for the last twenty
years," he says in spirit, if not in word, "that you come out now
with such stuff as old-fashioned as this?" And thus dishonesty begets
dishonesty, till dishonesty seems to be beautiful. How nice to
be good-natured! How glorious to assist struggling young authors,
especially if the young author be also a pretty woman! How gracious
to oblige a friend! Then the motive, though still pleasing, departs
further from the border of what is good. In what way can the critic
better repay the hospitality of his wealthy literary friend than
by good-natured criticism,--or more certainly ensure for himself a
continuation of hospitable favours?
Some years since a critic of the day, a gentleman well known then
in literary circles, showed me the manuscript of a book recently
published,--the work of a popular author. It was handsomely bound,
and was a valuable and desirable possession. It had just been given
to him by the author as an acknowledgment for a laudatory review in
one of the leading journals of the day. As I was expressly asked
whether I did not regard such a token as a sign of grace both in the
giver and in the receiver, I said that I thought it should neither
have been given nor have been taken. My theory was repudiated with
scorn, and I was told that I was strait-laced, visionary, and
impracticable! In all that the damage did not lie in the fact of
that one present, but in the feeling on the part of the critic that
his office was not debased by the acceptance of presents from those
whom he criticised. This man was a professional critic, bound by his
contract with certain employers to review such books as were sent
to him. How could he, when he had received a valuable present for
praising one book, censure another by the same author?
While I write this I well know that what I say, if it be ever noticed
at all, will be taken as a straining at gnats, as a pretence of
honesty, or at any rate as an exaggeration of scruples. I have
said the same thing before, and have been ridiculed for saying it.
But none the less am I sure that English literature generally is
suffering much under this evil. All those who are struggling for
success have forced upon them the idea that their strongest efforts
should be made in touting for praise. Those who are not familiar with
the lives of authors will hardly believe how low will be the forms
which their struggles will take:--how little presents will be sent to
men who write little articles; how much flattery may be expended even
on the keeper of a circulating library; with what profuse and distant
genuflexions approaches are made to the outside railing of the temple
which contains within it the great thunderer of some metropolitan
periodical publication! The evil here is not only that done to the
public when interested counsel is given to them, but extends to the
debasement of those who have at any rate considered themselves fit to
provide literature for the public.
I am satisfied that the remedy for this evil must lie in the
conscience and deportment of authors themselves. If once the feeling
could be produced that it is disgraceful for an author to ask for
praise,--and demands for praise are, I think, disgraceful in every
walk of life,--the practice would gradually fall into the hands only
of the lowest, and that which is done only by the lowest soon becomes
despicable even to them. The sin, when perpetuated with unflagging
labour, brings with it at best very poor reward. That work of running
after critics, editors, publishers, the keepers of circulating
libraries, and their clerks, is very hard, and must be very
disagreeable. He who does it must feel himself to be dishonoured,--or
she. It may perhaps help to sell an edition, but can never make an
author successful.
I think it may be laid down as a golden rule in literature that
there should be no intercourse at all between an author and his
critic. The critic, as critic, should not know his author, nor the
author, as author, his critic. As censure should beget no anger,
so should praise beget no gratitude. The young author should feel
that criticisms fall upon him as dew or hail from heaven,--which, as
coming from heaven, man accepts as fate. Praise let the author try to
obtain by wholesome effort; censure let him avoid, if possible, by
care and industry. But when they come, let him take them as coming
from some source which he cannot influence, and with which he should
not meddle.
I know no more disagreeable trouble into which an author may plunge
himself than of a quarrel with his critics, or any more useless
labour than that of answering them. It is wise to presume, at any
rate, that the reviewer has simply done his duty, and has spoken of
the book according to the dictates of his conscience. Nothing can be
gained by combating the reviewer's opinion. If the book which he has
disparaged be good, his judgment will be condemned by the praise
of others; if bad, his judgment will be confirmed by others. Or if,
unfortunately, the criticism of the day be in so evil a condition
generally that such ultimate truth cannot be expected, the author may
be sure that his efforts made on behalf of his own book will not set
matters right. If injustice be done him, let him bear it. To do so is
consonant with the dignity of the position which he ought to assume.
To shriek, and scream, and sputter, to threaten actions, and to swear
about the town that he has been belied and defamed in that he has
been accused of bad grammar or a false metaphor, of a dull chapter,
or even of a borrowed heroine, will leave on the minds of the public
nothing but a sense of irritated impotence.
If, indeed, there should spring from an author's work any assertion
by a critic injurious to the author's honour, if the author be
accused of falsehood or of personal motives which are discreditable
to him, then, indeed, he may be bound to answer the charge. It is
hoped, however, that he may be able to do so with clean hands, or he
will so stir the mud in the pool as to come forth dirtier than he
went into it.
I have lived much among men by whom the English criticism of the day
has been vehemently abused. I have heard it said that to the public
it is a false guide, and that to authors it is never a trustworthy
Mentor. I do not concur in this wholesale censure. There is, of
course, criticism and criticism. There are at this moment one or
two periodicals to which both public and authors may safely look
for guidance, though there are many others from which no spark of
literary advantage may be obtained. But it is well that both public
and authors should know what is the advantage which they have a right
to expect. There have been critics,--and there probably will be
again, though the circumstances of English literature do not tend to
produce them,--with power sufficient to entitle them to speak with
authority. These great men have declared, _tanquam ex cathedra_, that
such a book has been so far good and so far bad, or that it has been
altogether good or altogether bad;--and the world has believed them.
When making such assertions they have given their reasons, explained
their causes, and have carried conviction. Very great reputations
have been achieved by such critics, but not without infinite study
and the labour of many years.
Such are not the critics of the day, of whom we are now speaking. In
the literary world as it lives at present some writer is selected
for the place of critic to a newspaper, generally some young writer,
who for so many shillings a column shall review whatever book is sent
to him and express an opinion,--reading the book through for the
purpose, if the amount of honorarium as measured with the amount of
labour will enable him to do so. A labourer must measure his work by
his pay or he cannot live. From criticism such as this must for the
most part be, the general reader has no right to expect philosophical
analysis, or literary judgment on which confidence may be placed. But
he probably may believe that the books praised will be better than
the books censured, and that those which are praised by periodicals
which never censure are better worth his attention than those which
are not noticed. And readers will also find that by devoting an
hour or two on Saturday to the criticisms of the week, they will
enable themselves to have an opinion about the books of the day. The
knowledge so acquired will not be great, nor will that little be
lasting; but it adds something to the pleasure of life to be able to
talk on subjects of which others are speaking; and the man who has
sedulously gone through the literary notices in the _Spectator_
and the _Saturday_ may perhaps be justified in thinking himself as
well able to talk about the new book as his friend who has brought
that new book on the _tapis_, and who, not improbably, obtained his
information from the same source.
As an author, I have paid careful attention to the reviews which have
been written on my own work; and I think that now I well know where
I may look for a little instruction, where I may expect only greasy
adulation, where I shall be cut up into mince-meat for the delight
of those who love sharp invective, and where I shall find an equal
mixture of praise and censure so adjusted, without much judgment, as
to exhibit the impartiality of the newspaper and its staff. Among it
all there is much chaff, which I have learned how to throw to the
winds, with equal disregard whether it praises or blames;--but I have
also found some corn, on which I have fed and nourished myself, and
for which I have been thankful.