One of the greatest rewards which literary fame has to give must be the power which it lends an author of being on intimate terms with his public. An author has won his spurs, his public know and love him, and he can then, if he will, talk to them in print as he might chat with friends. Trivial subjects become important because he chooses to write about them. He is at ease with his readers, so much so that he can drop all formality and discuss questions of the day, or tell them what he saw in a morning walk, or what he thinks on this or that literary subject, in much the same tone of voice that he might discuss the same things at his breakfast-table. It must be a pleasure to do this. It must be enjoyable to feel that one has the right to ramble from one topic to another, unchecked by the question which confronts a young author whether the topic of which he writes is « timely» or « vital.» In the hands of a master, any subject is both timely and vital. He may write about that which interests himself, and he may be sure it will interest others. In his book 'Literature and Life', Mr. Howells has allowed himself all latitude in the choice of the subjects of the essays which compose the books. Lest some readers should not understand exactly what motive threw some random impressions of the horse show and an essay on the relation of the young contributor to the editor between the same covers, Mr. Howells has explained in his preface: « I have never been able to see much difference between what seemed to me Literature and what seemed to me Life. . . . Out of this way of thinking and feeling about these two great things, about Literature and Life, there may have arisen a confusion as to which is which. But I do not wish to part them, and in their union I have found since I learned my letters a joy in them both which I hope will last till I forget my letters.» The joy which Mr. Howells has felt in « these two great things,» he has conveyed in his writing. One feels that it was work which it gave him pleasure to do. It is one of those books where the author permits one to make his acquaintance; as he lingers over the book, the reader receives the impression that he had listened to someone talking rather than that he had been reading a printed page. It is certain that Mr. Howells is one of the few writers who can produce such work. These essays approach in spirit and in form the French feuilleton which, in the hands of such men as Anatole France, has attained such perfection.
Оглавление
William Dean Howells. Literature And Life
CONTENTS:
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
THE MAN OF LETTERS AS A MAN OF BUSINESS
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
CONFESSIONS OF A SUMMER COLONIST
I
II
III
IV
THE EDITOR’S RELATIONS WITH THE YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
LAST DAYS IN A DUTCH HOTEL (1897)
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
SOME ANOMALIES OF THE SHORT STORY
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
SPANISH PRISONERS OF WAR
I
II
III
IV
AMERICAN LITERARY CENTRES
I
II
III
IV
V
THE STANDARD HOUSEHOLD-EFFECT COMPANY
I
II
STACCATO NOTES OF A VANISHED SUMMER
I
II
III
IV
V
WORRIES OF A WINTER WALK
I
II
III
SUMMER ISLES OF EDEN
I
II
III
IV
WILD FLOWERS OF THE ASPHALT
I
II
III
IV
A CIRCUS IN THE SUBURBS
I
II
III
IV
A SHE HAMLET
I
II
III
THE MIDNIGHT PLATOON
I
II
III
IV
V
THE BEACH AT ROCKAWAY
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
SAWDUST IN THE ARENA
I
II
III
AT A DIME MUSEUM
I
II
AMERICAN LITERATURE IN EXILE
I
II
THE HORSE SHOW
I
II
III
IV
THE PROBLEM OF THE SUMMER
I
II
III
AESTHETIC NEW YORK FIFTY-ODD YEARS AGO
I
II
FROM NEW YORK INTO NEW ENGLAND
I
II
III
IV
V
THE ART OF THE ADSMITH
I
II
III
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PLAGIARISM
I
II
PURITANISM IN AMERICAN FICTION
I
II
THE WHAT AND THE HOW IN ART
I
II
III
POLITICS OF AMERICAN AUTHORS
I
II
III
IV
STORAGE
I
II
III
IV
“FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER ON THE O-HI-O”
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
Отрывок из книги
Literature And Life
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
.....
In this inquiry it is always the author rather than the publisher, always the contributor rather than the editor, whom I am concerned for. I study the difficulties of the publisher and editor only because they involve the author and the contributor; if they did not, I will not say with how hard a heart I should turn from them; my only pang now in scrutinizing the business conditions of literature is for the makers of literature, not the purveyors of it.
After all, and in spite of my vaunting title, is the man of letters ever am business man? I suppose that, strictly speaking, he never is, except in those rare instances where, through need or choice, he is the publisher as well as the author of his books. Then he puts something on the market and tries to sell it there, and is a man of business. But otherwise he is an artist merely, and is allied to the great mass of wage-workers who are paid for the labor they have put into the thing done or the thing made; who live by doing or making a thing, and not by marketing a thing after some other man has done it or made it. The quality of the thing has nothing to do with the economic nature of the case; the author is, in the last analysis, merely a working-man, and is under the rule that governs the working-man’s life. If he is sick or sad, and cannot work, if he is lazy or tipsy, and will not, then he earns nothing. He cannot delegate his business to a clerk or a manager; it will not go on while he is sleeping. The wage he can command depends strictly upon his skill and diligence.
