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LITERATURE (FICTION), AMERICAN. 



seek in literature the revelation that shall justify 

 the varied, and seemingly cruel, activities of con- 

 temporary existence. Fiction has thus come to 

 mean more to this generation than to our fore- 

 fathers. We demand ot it not merely amusement, 

 but enlightenment; not that it shall simply tickle 

 our jaded imaginations, but that it shall widen 

 and clarify our vision of life. The novelist is no 

 longer looked upon as a maker of toys though 

 many are the playthings of an hour that he 

 puts forth but. in his highest development, as a 

 seer, a prophet, a guide, teacher, and, it may be, 

 reformer. " Fiction," says Hamilton W. Maine, 

 "is unquestionably the most attractive and in- 

 fluential form through which men of literary 

 genius express themselves to-day; and no fact of 

 social significance, no human relationship, no 

 class limitation, capacity, or condition, will escape 

 the instinctive search tor life which possesses this 

 generation.'' In this search for life, and the ulti- 

 mate significance of the phenomena of this life, 

 the newer and higher realism is beginning to make 

 itself manifest. In The Octopus, by Frank Norris, 

 and in The Portion of Labor, by Mary E. Wilkins, 

 we find a realism that is almost epic when com- 

 pared with the tentative, tea-table realism of a 

 school that saw and depicted clearly only the in- 

 essential, insignificant features of contemporary 

 existence. It would be easy to point out glaring 

 defects in either one of these products of a tend- 

 ency in realistic fiction that promises much for 

 the future. It does not require keen critical in- 

 sight to find in Norris a habit of repetition that 

 is at times annoying, nor to observe that he is 

 not always masterly in the manipulation of his 

 material. Neither is it difficult to grasp the fact 

 that Miss Wilkins has sacrificed much of the 

 strength of her powerful story for the sake of a 

 conventional ending. These and other minor in- 

 dictments may be justly lodged against the novels 

 under discussion, but when every legitimate reser- 

 vation has been made, it can still be said with 

 truth that The Portion of Labor and The Octo- 

 pus add much to the dignity of recent American 

 fiction and stand forth as pioneer efforts in a 

 broader and nobler realism than this country has 

 yet produced. 



The classification of Winston Churchill's The 

 Crisis from various points ot view the most im- 

 portant American novel of the year is somewhat 

 difficult. Combining deftly both romance and 

 realism, fact and fiction, historical personages and 

 imaginary characters, it won success at a bound, 

 and apparently promises to retain a permanent 

 place among the few novels of the day that bid 

 fair to be read by posterity. When it was an- 

 nounced that the brilliant young author of Rich- 

 ard Carvel was at work upon a novel dealing with 

 the mighty tragedy of the civil war, to come forth 

 under the all-embracing title of The Crisis, the 

 hope was widely entertained that the heroic splen- 

 dor of the nation's titanic struggle for preserva- 

 tion might find at last an adequate presentation 

 in fiction. Now, if ever, was the long-heralded 

 " great American novel " to be given to a people 

 weary of watching and waiting for its advent. 

 All the conditions seemed to be favorable to the 

 fulfilment of this hope. In The Celebrity and 

 Richard Carvel, Churchill had displayed many of 

 the qualifications that must be possessed by the 

 author who shall satisfy a self-conscious nation's 

 craving for an epic tale that shall serve for all 

 time as the American Iliad. Careful in his work- 

 manship, always readable, and never hysterical, 

 possessing the narrative gift and a firm grasp of 

 the more obvious manifestations of character, in 

 thorough touch with the whole history of the 



nation's growth, broad in his sympathies, and har- 

 boring no narrow sectional prejudice, Churchill 

 was splendidly equipped for the task that he had 

 essayed. To say that The Crisis has not fully 

 satisfied the high hopes of an appreciative public 

 is not to assert that it is not a novel of which 

 the author and the nation may well be proud. 

 Its shortcomings are not a reproach to the writer, 

 but serve to emphasize the impossibility of de- 

 picting upon a single canvas the multitudinous 

 contrasts begotten by the most complex and stu- 

 pendous national tragedy of modern times. Mr. 

 Churchill's success has consisted in giving to us a 

 very real and convincing presentation of various 

 episodes in one of the rebellion's areas of high 

 pressure, and of Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, and 

 other leading actors in the great melodrama of 

 the war. But is it unfair to the author of The 

 Crisis to assert that to justify the all-embracing 

 title of his story he should have followed the 

 precedent established by European novelists 

 who have made use of epic material, basing the 

 outcome of his tale upon the result of some great 

 battle that settled the fate not of a campaign but 

 of a whole war? Could not Gettysburg have 

 served in The Crisis the end accomplished by the 

 battle of Borodino in Tolstoi's War and Peace? 

 The question is asked not in a spirit of carping 

 criticism, not in black ingratitude for what Win- 

 ston Churchill has actually achieved, but to illus- 

 trate the generally accepted proposition that 

 while The Crisis has won, and will always hold, a 

 very high place among American historical novels, 

 it has not said the last word in fiction concerning 

 the war of the rebellion. 



The Cavalier is another tale of the civil war 

 that must be mentioned among the notable books 

 of the hour. Its author, George W. Cable, has 

 held for many years a foremost position among 

 American novelists. Perhaps, when his work is 

 considered in its entirety, he may be placed by 

 future critics in the highest place among the 

 American fictionists of this generation. But it is 

 safe to say that his strongest claim to the regard 

 of posterity will not be made by his latest novel, 

 brilliant in many ways as The Cavalier unques- 

 tionably is. While several of the situations in 

 the story, handled with the deftness of a master of 

 taletelling, are equal in power and interest to 

 any to be found in his earlier novels, the book as 

 a whole is more conventional and less character- 

 istic and convincing than The Grandissimes, Dr. 

 Sevier, or Old Creole Days. One feels in reading 

 The Cavalier that its author has made concessions 

 to contemporary demands by the public some- 

 what in defiance of the dictates of his real genius. 

 Nevertheless, Mr. Cable's novel is a striking and 

 most readable contribution to the fiction of a 

 year that has not been rich in the work of 

 writers whose fame time has guaranteed as 

 genuine. 



There is danger that a critic, as was said above, 

 may mistake delusive exceptions for a general 

 tendency, and it is especially difficult for one who 

 reviews the published fiction of a given year to 

 make safe generalizations that shall serve to clar- 

 ify the present outlook and to throw a gleam of 

 light upon the immediate future. If, as has been 

 intimated above, American fiction has shown of 

 late a tendency toward a more comprehensive and 

 exalted realism than it has yet known, it has, 

 upon the other hand, displayed this year a 

 marked enthusiasm for what is somewhat vaguely 

 called the romantic school. With its insistence 

 upon an adequate interpretation through novels 

 of the life of to-day, the reading public demands 

 at the same moment new tales of old times, a 



