CHAPTER X_A Manual of the Art of Fiction

THE NOVEL, THE NOVELETTE, AND THE SHORT-STORY

Novel, Novelette, and Short-Story--The Novel and the Novelette--The

Short-Story a Distinct Type--The Dictum of Poe--The Formula of

Brander Matthews--Definition of the Short-Story--Explanation of

This Definition: 1. "Single Narrative Effect"; 2. "Greatest Economy

of Means"; and 3. "Utmost Emphasis"--Brief Tales That Are Not

Short-Stories--Short-Stories That Are Not Brief--Bliss Perry's

Annotations--The Novelist and the Writer of Short-Stories--The

Short-Story More Artistic Than the Novel--The Short-Story Almost

Necessarily Romantic.

=Novel, Novelette, and Short-Story.=--Turning our attention from the

epic and the drama, and confining it to the general type of fiction

which in the last chapter was loosely named novelistic, we shall find

it possible to distinguish somewhat sharply, on the basis of both

material and method, between three several forms,--the novel, the

novelette, and the short-story. The French, who are more precise than

we in their use of denotative terms, are accustomed to divide their

novelistic fiction into what they call the _roman_, the _nouvelle_,

and the _conte_. "Novel" and "novelette" are just as serviceable terms

as _roman_ and _nouvelle_; in fact, since "novelette" is the

diminutive of "novel," they express even more clearly than their

French equivalents the relation between the two forms they designate.

But it is greatly to be regretted that we do not have in English a

distinctive word that is the equivalent of _conte_. Edgar Allan Poe

used the word "tale" with similar meaning; but this term is so

indefinite and vague that it has been discarded by later critics. It

is customary at the present day to use the word "short-story," which

Professor Brander Matthews has suggested spelling with a hyphen to

indicate that it has a special and technical significance.

The French apply the term _roman_ to extensive works like "Notre Dame

de Paris" and "Eugénie Grandet"; and they apply the term _nouvelle_ to

works of briefer compass but similar method, like the "Colomba" and

the "Carmen" of Prosper Mérimée. In English we may class as novels

works like "Kenilworth," "The Newcomes," "The Last of the Mohicans,"

"The Rise of Silas Lapham"; and we may class as novelettes works like

"Daisy Miller," "The Treasure of Franchard," "The Light That Failed."

The difference is merely that the novelette (or _nouvelle_) is a work

of less extent, and covers a smaller canvas, than the novel (or

_roman_). The distinction is quantitative but not qualitative. The

novelette deals with fewer characters and incidents than the novel; it

usually limits itself to a stricter economy of time and place; it

presents a less extensive view of life, with (most frequently) a more

intensive art. But these differences are not definite enough to

warrant its being considered a species distinct from the novel. Except

for the restrictions imposed by brevity of compass, the writer of

novelettes employs the same methods as the writer of novels; and,

furthermore, he sets forth similar materials.

=The Novel and the Novelette.=--More and more in recent years, the

novel has tended to shorten to the novelette. A stricter sense of art

has led to the exclusion of digressive and discursive passages; and

the hurry and preoccupation of contemporary readers has militated

against the leisurely and rambling habit of the authors of an earlier

time. The lesson of excision and condensation has been taught by

writers as different in tone as Mérimée, Turgénieff, and Stevenson.

"The three-volume novel is extinct," as Mr. Kipling stated in the

motto prefixed to the poem called "The Three-Decker," in which, with a

commingling of satire and sentiment, he chanted its requiem. It was

nearly always, in the matter of structure, a slovenly form; and there

is therefore little cause for regret that the novelette seems destined

to supplant it. For the novelette accomplishes the same purpose as the

novel, with necessarily a more intensive emphasis of art, and with a

tax considerably less upon the time and attention of the reader.

=The Short-Story a Distinct Type.=--But the _conte_, or short-story,

differs from the novel and the novelette not only quantitatively, but

also qualitatively, not only in length, but also in kind. In such

_contes_ as "The Necklace" of de Maupassant and "The Last Class" of

Daudet, in such short-stories as "Ligeia," "The Ambitious Guest,"

"Markheim," and "Without Benefit of Clergy," the aim of the author is

quite distinct from that of the writer of novels and of novelettes. In

material and in method, as well as in extent, these stories represent

a type that is noticeably different.

The short-story, as well as the novel and the novelette, has always

existed. The parable of "The Prodigal Son," in the fifteenth chapter

of the Gospel according to Luke, is just as surely a short-story in

material and method as the books of "Ruth" and "Esther" are novelettes

in form. But the critical consciousness of the short-story as a

species of fiction distinct in purpose and in method from the novel

dates only from the nineteenth century. It was Edgar Allan Poe who

first designated and realized the short-story as a distinct form of

literary art. In the scholarly and thorough introduction to his

collection of "American Short Stories,"[3] Professor Charles Sears

Baldwin points out that Poe, more than any of his predecessors in the

art of fiction, felt narrative as structure. It was he who first

rejected from the tale everything that was, from the standpoint of

narrative form, extraneous, and made the narrative progress more

direct. The essential features of his structure were (to use Professor

Baldwin's words) harmonization, simplification, and gradation. He

stripped his stories of every least incongruity. What he taught by his

example was reduction to a straight predetermined course; and he made

clear to succeeding writers the necessity of striving for unity of

impression through strict unity of form.

=The Dictum of Poe.=--Poe was a critic as well as a teller of tales;

and what he inculcated by example he also stated by precept. In his

now famous review of Hawthorne's "Tales," published originally in

_Graham's Magazine_ for May, 1842, he thus outlined his theory of the

species:--

"The ordinary novel is objectionable, from its length, for reasons

already stated in substance. As it cannot be read at one sitting, it

deprives itself, of course, of the immense force derivable from

_totality_. Worldly interests intervening during the pauses of

perusal, modify, annul, or counteract, in a greater or less degree,

the impressions of the book. But simple cessation in reading would, of

itself, be sufficient to destroy the true unity. In the brief tale,

however, the author is enabled to carry out the fulness of his

intention, be it what it may. During the hour of perusal the soul of

the reader is at the writer's control. There are no external or

extrinsic influences--resulting from weariness or interruption.

"A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not

fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents; but having

conceived, with deliberate care, a certain unique or single _effect_

to be wrought out, he then invents such incidents--he then combines

such events as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived

effect. If his very initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of

this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In the whole

composition there should be no word written, of which the tendency,

direct or indirect, is not to the one preëstablished design. And by

such means, with such care and skill, a picture is at length painted

which leaves in the mind of him who contemplates it with a kindred

art, a sense of the fullest satisfaction. The idea of the tale has

been presented unblemished, because undisturbed; and this is an end

unattainable by the novel. Undue brevity is just as exceptionable here

as in the poem; but undue length is yet more to be avoided."

=The Formula of Brander Matthews.=--From the very outset, the currency

of Poe's short-stories was international; and his concrete example in

striving for totality of impression exerted an immediate influence not

only in America but even more in France. But his abstract theory,

which (for obvious reasons) did not become so widely known, was not

received into the general body of critical thought until much later in

the century. It remained for Professor Brander Matthews, in his

well-known essay on "The Philosophy of the Short-story," printed

originally in _Lippincott's Magazine_ for October, 1885,[4] to state

explicitly what had lain implicit in the passage of Poe's criticism

already quoted, and to give a general currency to the theory that the

short-story differs from the novel essentially,--and not merely in the

matter of length. In the second section of his essay, Professor

Matthews stated:--

"A true short-story is something other and something more than a mere

story which is short. A true short-story differs from the novel

chiefly in its essential unity of impression. In a far more exact and

precise use of the word, a short-story has unity as a novel cannot

have it. Often, it may be noted by the way, the short-story fulfills

the three false unities of the French classic drama: it shows one

action, in one place, on one day. A short-story deals with a single

character, a single event, a single emotion, or the series of emotions

called forth by a single situation. Poe's paradox that a poem cannot

greatly exceed a hundred lines in length under penalty of ceasing to

be one poem and breaking into a string of poems, may serve to suggest

the precise difference between the short-story and the novel. The

short-story is the single effect, complete and self-contained, while

the novel is of necessity broken into a series of episodes. Thus the

short-story has, what the novel cannot have, the effect of 'totality,'

as Poe called it, the unity of impression.

"Of a truth, the short-story is not only not a chapter out of a novel,

or an incident or an episode extracted from a longer tale, but at its

best it impresses the reader with the belief that it would be spoiled

if it were made larger, or if it were incorporated into a more

elaborate work....

"In fact, it may be said that no one has ever succeeded as a writer of

short-stories who had not ingenuity, originality, and compression; and

that most of those who have succeeded in this line had also the touch

of fantasy."

=Definition of the Short-Story.=--On the basis of these theories, the

present writer essayed a few years ago to formulate within a single

sentence a definition of the short-story. Thus: _The aim of a

short-story is to produce a single narrative effect with the greatest

economy of means that is consistent with the utmost emphasis._[5]

=Explanation of This Definition: 1. "Single Narrative Effect."=--Because

of its succinctness, this sentence needs a little explanation. A narrative

effect necessarily involves the three elements of action, characters,

and setting. In aiming to produce a narrative effect, the short-story,

therefore, differs from the sketch, which may concern itself with only

one of these elements, without involving the other two. The sketch most

often deals with character or setting divested of the element of action;

but in the short-story something has to happen. In this regard, the

short-story is related more closely to the novel than to the sketch. But

although in the novel any two, or all three, of the narrative elements

may be so intimately interrelated that no one of them stands out clearly

from the others, it is almost always customary in the short-story to

cast a marked preponderance of emphasis on one of the elements, to the

subversion of the other two. Short-stories, therefore, may be divided

into three classes, according as the effect which they purpose to

produce is primarily an effect of action, or of character, or of setting.

"The Masque of the Red Death" produces an effect of setting, "The

Tell-Tale Heart" an effect of character, and "The Cask of Amontillado" an

effect of action. For the sake of economy it is incumbent on the

author to suggest at the outset which of the three sorts of narrative

effect the story is intended to produce. The way in which Poe

accomplished this in the three stories just mentioned may be seen at once

upon examination of the opening paragraph of each. Having selected his

effect the author of a short-story should confine his attention to

producing that, and that alone. He should stop at the very moment when his

preëstablished design has been attained; and never during the progress

of his composition should he turn aside for the sake of a lesser effect

not absolutely inherent in his single narrative purpose. Stevenson

insisted on this focus of attention in a passage of a personal letter

addressed to Sir Sidney Colvin:--

"Make another end to it? Ah, yes, but that's not the way I write; the

whole tale is implied; I never use an effect when I can help it,

unless it prepares the effects that are to follow; that's what a story

consists in. To make another end, that is to make the beginning all

wrong. The _dénouement_ of a long story is nothing, it is just 'a full

close,' which you may approach and accomplish as you please--it is a

coda, not an essential member in the rhythm; but the body and end of a

short-story is bone of the bone and blood of the blood of the

beginning."

=2. "Greatest Economy of Means"; and 3. "Utmost Emphasis."=--The

phrase "single narrative effect," with all its implications, should

now be clear. The phrase "with the greatest economy of means"

implies that the writer of a short-story should tell his tale with

the fewest necessary number of characters and incidents, and should

project it in the narrowest possible range of place and time. If he

can get along with two characters, he should not use three. If a

single event will suffice for his effect, he should confine himself

to that. If his story can pass in one place at one time, he must

not disperse it over several times and places. But in striving

always for the greatest possible conciseness, he must not neglect

the equally important need of producing his effect "with the utmost

emphasis." If he can gain markedly in emphasis by violating the

strictest possible economy, he should do so; for, as Poe stated,

undue brevity is exceptionable, as well as undue length. Thus the

parable of "The Prodigal Son," which might be told with only two

characters--the father and the prodigal--gains sufficiently in

emphasis by the introduction of a third--the good son--to warrant

this violation of economy. The greatest structural problem of the

writer of short-stories is to strike just the proper balance between

the effort for economy of means--which tends to conciseness--and

the effort for the utmost emphasis--which tends to amplitude of

treatment.

=Brief Tales That Are Not Short-Stories.=--There can be no doubt that

the short-story, thus rigidly defined, exists as a distinct form of

fiction,--a definite literary species obeying laws of its own. Now and

again before the nineteenth century, it appeared unconsciously. Since

Poe, it has grown conscious of itself, and has been deliberately

developed to perfection by later masters, like Guy de Maupassant. But

it must be admitted frankly that brief tales have always existed, and

still continue to exist, which stand entirely outside the scope of

this rigid and rather narrow definition. Professor Baldwin, after a

careful examination of the hundred tales in Boccaccio's "Decameron,"

concluded that only two of them were short-stories in the modern

critical sense,[6] and that only three others approached the totality

of impression that depends on conscious unity of form. If we should

select at random a hundred brief tales from the best contemporary

magazines, we should find, of course, that a larger proportion of them

would fulfill the definition; but it is almost certain that the

majority of them would still be stories that merely happen to be

short, instead of true short-stories in the modern critical sense. Yet

these brief fictions, which are not short-stories, and for which we

have no name, are none the less estimable in content, and sometimes

present a wider view of life than could be encompassed within the

rigid limits of a technical short-story. Hawthorne's tales stand

higher in the history of literature than Poe's, because they reveal a

deeper insight into life, even though the great New England dreamer

often violates the principle of economy of means, and constructs less

firmly than the mathematically-minded Poe. Washington Irving's brief

tales, such as "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,"

which are not short-stories in the technical sense of the term, are

far more valuable as representations of humanity than many a

structural masterpiece of Guy de Maupassant. "For my part," Irving

wrote to one of his friends, "I consider a story merely as a frame on

which to stretch the materials; it is the play of thought, and

sentiment, and language, the weaving in of characters, lightly yet

expressively delineated; the familiar and faithful exhibition of

scenes in common life; and the half-concealed vein of humor that is

often playing through the whole,--these are among what I aim at, and

upon which I felicitate myself in proportion as I think I succeed."

There is much to be said in favor of this meandering and leisurely

method; and authors too intent upon a merely technical accomplishment

may lose the genial breadth of outlook upon life which men like Irving

have so charmingly displayed. Let us admit, therefore, that the

story-which-is-merely-short is just as worthy of cultivation as the

technical short-story.

=Short-Stories That Are Not Brief.=--But if there exist many brief

tales which are not short-stories, so also there exist certain

short-stories which are not brief. "The Turn of the Screw," by Henry

James, is a short-story, in the technical sense of the term, although

it contains between two and three hundred pages. Assuredly it is not a

novelette. It aims to produce one narrative effect, and only one; and

it is difficult to imagine how the full force of its cumulative

mystery and terror could have been created with greater economy of

means. It is a long short-story. Stevenson's "Dr. Jekyll and Mr.

Hyde," which is conceived, and for the most part executed, as a

short-story, is longer than the same author's "The Beach of Falesá,"

which is conceived and executed as a novelette. Edward Everett Hale's

famous short-story, "The Man Without a Country," is long enough to be

printed in a little volume by itself. The point to be remembered,

therefore, is that the two different types of brief fiction are to be

distinguished one from the other not by comparative length but by

structural method. The critic may formulate the technical laws of the

stricter type; but it must not be forgotten that these laws do not

apply (and there is no reason whatever that they should) to those

other estimable narratives which, though brief, stand outside the

definition of the short-story.

=Bliss Perry's Annotations.=--Bearing in mind this limitation of

the subject, we may proceed to a further study of the strict

short-story type. In an admirable essay on "The Short Story,"[7]

Professor Bliss Perry had discussed at length its requirements and

restrictions. Admitting that writers of short-stories usually cast a

marked preponderance of emphasis on one of the three elements of

narrative, to the subversion of the other two, Professor Perry

calls attention to the fact that in the short-story of character,

"the characters must be unique, original enough to catch the eye at

once." The writer does not have sufficient time at his disposal to

reveal the full human significance of the commonplace. "If his

theme is character-development, then that development must be

hastened by striking experiences." Hence this class of short-story,

as compared with the novel, must set forth characters more unusual

and unexpected. But in the short-story of action, on the other

hand, the plot may be sufficient unto itself, and the characters

may be the merest lay figures. The heroine of "The Lady or the

Tiger," for example, is simply _a_ woman--not any woman in particular;

and the hero of "The Pit and the Pendulum" is simply _a_ man--not

any man in particular. The situation itself is sufficient to hold

the reader's interest for the brief space of the story. Hence,

although, in the short-story of character, the leading actor is

likely to be strikingly individualized, the short-story of action

may content itself with entirely colorless characters, devoid of any

personal traits whatever. Professor Perry adds that in the class of

short-story which casts the main emphasis on setting, "both

characters and action may be almost without significance"; and he

continues,--"If the author can discover to us a new corner of the

world, or sketch the familiar scene to our heart's desire, or

illumine one of the great human occupations, as war, or commerce, or

industry, he has it in his power, through this means alone, to give

us the fullest satisfaction."

From the fact that the short-story does not keep the powers of the

reader long upon the stretch, Professor Perry deduces certain

opportunities afforded to short-story writers but denied to

novelists,--opportunities, namely, "for innocent didacticism, for

posing problems without answering them, for stating arbitrary

premises, for omitting unlovely details and, conversely, for making

beauty out of the horrible, and finally for poetic symbolism." Passing

on to a consideration of the demands which the short-story makes upon

the writer, he asserts that, at its best, "it calls for visual

imagination of a high order: the power to see the object; to penetrate

to its essential nature; to select the one characteristic trait by

which it may be represented." Furthermore, it demands a mastery of

style, "the verbal magic that recreates for us what the imagination

has seen." But, on the other hand, "to write a short-story requires no

sustained power of imagination"; "nor does the short-story demand of

its author essential sanity, breadth, and tolerance of view." Since he

deals only with fleeting phases of existence--"not with wholes, but

with fragments"--the writer of the short-story "need not be

consistent; he need not think things through." Hence, in spite of the

technical difficulties which beset the author of short-stories, his

work is, on human grounds, more easy than that of the novelist, who

must be sane and consistent, and must be able to sustain a prolonged

effort of interpretive imagination.

=The Novelist and the Writer of Short-Stories.=--These points have

been so fully covered and so admirably illustrated by Professor Perry

that they do not call for any further discussion in this place. But

perhaps something may be added concerning the different equipments

that are required by authors of novels and authors of short-stories.

Matthew Arnold, in a well-known sonnet, spoke of Sophocles as a man

"who saw life steadily and saw it whole"; and if we judge the novelist

and the writer of short-stories by their attitudes toward life, we may

say that they divide this verse between them. Balzac, George Eliot,

and Meredith look at life in the large; they try to "see it whole" and

to reproduce the chaos of its intricate relations: but Poe, de

Maupassant, and Mr. Kipling aim rather to "see steadily" a limited

phase of life, to focus their minds upon a single point of experience,

and then to depict this point briefly and strikingly. It follows that

the novelist requires an experience of life far more extensive than

that which is required by the writer of short-stories. The great

novelists have all been men of mature years and accumulated wisdom.

But if an author knows one little point of life profoundly, he may

fashion a great short-story, even though that one thing be the only

thing he knows. Of life as it is actually lived, of genuine humanity

of character, of moral responsibility in human intercourse, Edgar

Allan Poe knew nothing; and yet he was fully equipped to produce what

remain until this day the most perfect examples of the short-story in

our language. It is therefore not surprising that, although the great

novels of the world have been written for the most part by men over

forty years of age, the great short-stories have been written by men

in their twenties and their thirties. Mr. Kipling wrote two or three

short-stories which are almost great when he was only seventeen.

Steadiness of vision is a quality of mind quite distinct from the

ability to see things whole. "Plain Tales from the Hills" are in many

ways the better stories for being the work of a lad of twenty:

whatever Mr. Kipling saw at that very early age he envisaged steadily

and expressed with the glorious triumphant strength of youth. But if

at the same period he had attempted a novel, the world undoubtedly

would have found out how very young he was. He would have been

incapable of slicing a cross-section clean through the vastitude of

human life, of seeing it whole, and of representing the appalling

intricacy of its interrelations. On the other hand, most of the mature

men who have been wise enough to do the latter, have shown themselves

incapable of focussing their minds steadily upon a single point of

experience. Wholeness and steadiness of vision--few are the men who,

like Sophocles, have possessed them both. The same author, therefore,

has almost never been able to write great short-stories and great

novels. Scott wrote only one short-story,--"Wandering Willie's Tale"

in "Redgauntlet"; Dickens also wrote only one that is worthy of being

considered a masterpiece of art,--"A Child's Dream of a Star"; and

Thackeray, Cooper, George Eliot, and Meredith have written none at

all. On the other hand, Poe could not possibly have written a novel;

Guy de Maupassant shows himself less masterly in his more extended

works; and Mr. Kipling has yet to prove that the novel is within his

powers. Hawthorne is the one most notable example of the man who,

beginning as a writer of short-stories, has developed in maturer years

a mastery of the novel.

=The Short-Story More Artistic Than the Novel.=--Unlike the

short-story, the novel aims to produce a series of effects,--a

cumulative combination of the elements of narrative,--and acknowledges

no restriction to economy of means. It follows that the novel, as a

literary form, requires far less attention than the short-story to

minute details of art. Great novels may be written by authors as

careless as Scott, as lazy as Thackeray, or as cumbersome as George

Eliot; for if a novelist gives us a criticism of life which is new and

true, we forgive him if he fails in the nicer points of structure and

style. But without these nicer points, the short-story is impossible.

The economy of means that it demands can be conserved only by rigid

restriction of structure; and the necessary emphasis can be produced

only by perfection of style. The great masters of the short-story,

like Poe and Hawthorne, Daudet and de Maupassant, have all been

careful artists: they have not, like Thackeray, been slovenly in

structure; they have not, like Scott, been regardless of style. The

artistic instinct shows itself almost always at a very early age. If a

man is destined to be an artist, he usually exhibits a surprising

precocity of expression at a period when as yet he has very little to

express. This is another reason why the short-story, as opposed to the

novel, belongs to youth rather than to age. Though a young writer may

be obliged to acknowledge inferiority to his elders in maturity of

message, he may not infrequently transcend them in fineness of

technical accomplishment.

=The Short-Story Almost Necessarily Romantic.=--Another point that

remains to be considered, before we relinquish this general discussion

in order to devote our attention more particularly to a technical

study of the structure of the short-story, is that, although the novel

may be either realistic or romantic in general method, the short-story

is almost of necessity obliged to be romantic. In the brief space

allotted to him, it is practically impossible for the writer of

short-stories to induce a general truth from particular imagined facts

imitated from actuality: it is far simpler to deduce the imagined

details of the story from a central thesis, held securely in the

author's mind and suggested to the reader at the outset. It is a

quicker process to think from the truth to facts than to think from

facts to the truth. Daudet and de Maupassant, who worked realistically

in their novels, worked romantically in their _contes_; and the great

short-stories of our own language have nearly all been written by

romantic authors, like Poe, Hawthorne, Stevenson, and Mr. Kipling.

[3] A contribution to "The Wampum Library"; Longmans, Green & Co.,

1904.

[4] This paper, later included in _Pen and Ink_, 1888, has since been

published by itself in a little volume: Longmans, Green & Co.,

1901.

[5] This definition was printed first in the _Bookman_ for February,

1904, and later in the _Reader_ for February, 1906. It has

subsequently been repeated in nearly every book that deals with

this special aspect of the art of fiction.

[6] The second story of the second day, and the sixth story of the

ninth day. See "American Short Stories," p. 28.

[7] Published first in _The Atlantic Monthly_ for August, 1902, and

since included, as Chapter XII. in "A Study of Prose Fiction":

Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1904.

REVIEW QUESTIONS

1. Distinguish between the novel, the novelette, and the short-story.

2. Define the short-story.

3. Explain the contributions made by Edgar Allan Poe and Brander

Matthews to the consciousness of the short-story as a special form

of art.

4. What are the advantages and disadvantages of the short-story as

compared with the novel?

5. Is realism possible in the short-story? If not, why not?