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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1890 Field and Tuer edition. + + + + + +HOW TO FAIL IN LITERATURE: A LECTURE BY ANDREW LANG + + + + +PREFACE + + + +This Lecture was delivered at the South Kensington Museum, in aid of +the College for Working Men and Women. As the Publishers, perhaps +erroneously, believe that some of the few authors who were not +present may be glad to study the advice here proffered, the Lecture +is now printed. It has been practically re-written, and, like the +kiss which the Lady returned to Rodolphe, is revu, corrige, et +considerablement augmente. + +A. L. + + + +HOW TO FAIL IN LITERATURE + + + +What should be a man's or a woman's reason for taking literature as a +vocation, what sort of success ought they to desire, what sort of +ambition should possess them? These are natural questions, now that +so many readers exist in the world, all asking for something new, now +that so many writers are making their pens "in running to devour the +way" over so many acres of foolscap. The legitimate reasons for +enlisting (too often without receiving the shilling) in this army of +writers are not far to seek. A man may be convinced that he has +useful, or beautiful, or entertaining ideas within him, he may hold +that he can express them in fresh and charming language. He may, in +short, have a "vocation," or feel conscious of a vocation, which is +not exactly the same thing. There are "many thyrsus bearers, few +mystics," many are called, few chosen. Still, to be sensible of a +vocation is something, nay, is much, for most of us drift without any +particular aim or predominant purpose. Nobody can justly censure +people whose chief interest is in letters, whose chief pleasure is in +study or composition, who rejoice in a fine sentence as others do in +a well modelled limb, or a delicately touched landscape, nobody can +censure them for trying their fortunes in literature. Most of them +will fail, for, as the bookseller's young man told an author once, +they have the poetic temperament, without the poetic power. Still +among these whom Pendennis has tempted, in boyhood, to run away from +school to literature as Marryat has tempted others to run away to +sea, there must be some who will succeed. But an early and intense +ambition is not everything, any more than a capacity for taking pains +is everything in literature or in any art. + +Some have the gift, the natural incommunicable power, without the +ambition, others have the ambition but no other gift from any Muse. +This class is the more numerous, but the smallest class of all has +both the power and the will to excel in letters. The desire to +write, the love of letters may shew itself in childhood, in boyhood, +or youth, and mean nothing at all, a mere harvest of barren blossom +without fragrance or fruit. Or, again, the concern about letters may +come suddenly, when a youth that cared for none of those things is +waning, it may come when a man suddenly finds that he has something +which he really must tell. Then he probably fumbles about for a +style, and his first fresh impulses are more or less marred by his +inexperience of an art which beguiles and fascinates others even in +their school-days. + +It is impossible to prophesy the success of a man of letters from his +early promise, his early tastes; as impossible as it is to predict, +from her childish grace, the beauty of a woman. + +But the following remarks on How to fail in Literature are certainly +meant to discourage nobody who loves books, and has an impulse to +tell a story, or to try a song or a sermon. Discouragements enough +exist in the pursuit of this, as of all arts, crafts, and +professions, without my adding to them. Famine and Fear crouch by +the portals of literature as they crouch at the gates of the +Virgilian Hades. There is no more frequent cause of failure than +doubt and dread; a beginner can scarcely put his heart and strength +into a work when he knows how long are the odds against his victory, +how difficult it is for a new man to win a hearing, even though all +editors and publishers are ever pining for a new man. The young +fellow, unknown and unwelcomed, who can sit down and give all his +best of knowledge, observation, humour, care, and fancy to a +considerable work has got courage in no common portion; he deserves +to triumph, and certainly should not be disheartened by our old +experience. But there be few beginners of this mark, most begin so +feebly because they begin so fearfully. They are already too +discouraged, and can scarce do themselves justice. It is easier to +write more or less well and agreeably when you are certain of being +published and paid, at least, than to write well when a dozen +rejected manuscripts are cowering (as Theocritus says) in your chest, +bowing their pale faces over their chilly knees, outcast, hungry, +repulsed from many a door. To write excellently, brightly, +powerfully, with these poor unwelcomed wanderers, returned MSS., in +your possession, is difficult indeed. It might be wiser to do as M. +Guy de Maupassant is rumoured to have done, to write for seven years, +and shew your essays to none but a mentor as friendly severe as M. +Flaubert. But all men cannot have such mentors, nor can all afford +so long an unremunerative apprenticeship. For some the better plan +is NOT to linger on the bank, and take tea and good advice, as Keats +said, but to plunge at once in mid-stream, and learn swimming of +necessity. + +One thing, perhaps, most people who succeed in letters so far as to +keep themselves alive and clothed by their pens will admit, namely, +that their early rejected MSS. DESERVED TO BE REJECTED. A few days +ago there came to the writer an old forgotten beginner's attempt by +himself. Whence it came, who sent it, he knows not; he had forgotten +its very existence. He read it with curiosity; it was written in a +very much better hand than his present scrawl, and was perfectly +legible. But READABLE it was not. There was a great deal of work in +it, on an out of the way topic, and the ideas were, perhaps, not +quite without novelty at the time of its composition. But it was +cramped and thin, and hesitating between several manners; above all +it was uncommonly dull. If it ever was sent to an editor, as I +presume it must have been, that editor was trebly justified in +declining it. On the other hand, to be egotistic, I have known +editors reject the attempts of those old days, and afterwards express +lively delight in them when they struggled into print, somehow, +somewhere. These worthy men did not even know that they had despised +and refused what they came afterwards rather to enjoy. + +Editors and publishers, these keepers of the gates of success, are +not infallible, but their opinion of a beginner's work is far more +correct than his own can ever be. They should not depress him quite, +but if they are long unanimous in holding him cheap, he is warned, +and had better withdraw from the struggle. He is either incompetent, +or he has the makings of a Browning. He is a genius born too soon. +He may readily calculate the chances in favour of either alternative. + +So much by way of not damping all neophytes equally: so much we may +say about success before talking of the easy ways that lead to +failure. And by success here is meant no glorious triumph; the +laurels are not in our thoughts, nor the enormous opulence (about a +fourth of a fortunate barrister's gains) which falls in the lap of a +Dickens or a Trollope. Faint and fleeting praise, a crown with as +many prickles as roses, a modest hardly-gained competence, a good +deal of envy, a great deal of gossip--these are the rewards of genius +which constitute a modern literary success. Not to reach the +moderate competence in literature is, for a professional man of +letters of all work, something like failure. But in poetry to-day a +man may succeed, as far as his art goes, and yet may be unread, and +may publish at his own expense, or not publish at all. He pleases +himself, and a very tiny audience: I do not call that failure. I +regard failure as the goal of ignorance, incompetence, lack of common +sense, conceited dulness, and certain practical blunders now to be +explained and defined. + +The most ambitious may accept, without distrust, the following advice +as to How to fail in Literature. The advice is offered by a mere +critic, and it is an axiom of the Arts that the critics "are the +fellows who have failed," or have not succeeded. The persons who +really can paint, or play, or compose seldom tell us how it is done, +still less do they review the performances of their contemporaries. +That invidious task they leave to the unsuccessful novelists. The +instruction, the advice are offered by the persons who cannot achieve +performance. It is thus that all things work together in favour of +failure, which, indeed, may well appear so easy that special +instruction, however competent, is a luxury rather than a necessary. +But when we look round on the vast multitude of writers who, to all +seeming, deliberately aim at failure, who take every precaution in +favour of failure that untutored inexperience can suggest, it becomes +plain that education in ill-success, is really a popular want. In +the following remarks some broad general principles, making disaster +almost inevitable, will first be offered, and then special methods of +failing in all special departments of letters will be ungrudgingly +communicated. It is not enough to attain failure, we should deserve +it. The writer, by way of insuring complete confidence, would +modestly mention that he has had ample opportunities of study in this +branch of knowledge. While sifting for five or six years the +volunteered contributions to a popular periodical, he has received +and considered some hundredweights of manuscript. In all these +myriad contributions he has not found thirty pieces which rose even +to the ordinary dead level of magazine work. He has thus enjoyed +unrivalled chances of examining such modes of missing success as +spontaneously occur to the human intellect, to the unaided ingenuity +of men, women, and children. {1} + +He who would fail in literature cannot begin too early to neglect his +education, and to adopt every opportunity of not observing life and +character. None of us is so young but that he may make himself +perfect in writing an illegible hand. This method, I am bound to +say, is too frequently overlooked. Most manuscripts by ardent +literary volunteers are fairly legible. On the other hand there are +novelists, especially ladies, who not only write a hand wholly +declining to let itself be deciphered, but who fill up the margins +with interpolations, who write between the lines, and who cover the +page with scratches running this way and that, intended to direct the +attention to after-thoughts inserted here and there in corners and on +the backs of sheets. To pin in scraps of closely written paper and +backs of envelopes adds to the security for failure, and produces a +rich anger in the publisher's reader or the editor. + +The cultivation of a bad handwriting is an elementary precaution, +often overlooked. Few need to be warned against having their MSS. +typewritten, this gives them a chance of being read with ease and +interest, and this must be neglected by all who have really set their +hearts on failure. In the higher matters of education it is well to +be as ignorant as possible. No knowledge comes amiss to the true man +of letters, so they who court disaster should know as little as may +be. + +Mr. Stevenson has told the attentive world how, in boyhood, he +practised himself in studying and imitating the styles of famous +authors of every age. He who aims at failure must never think of +style, and should sedulously abstain from reading Shakespeare, Bacon, +Hooker, Walton, Gibbon, and other English and foreign classics. He +can hardly be too reckless of grammar, and should always place +adverbs and other words between "to" and the infinitive, thus: +"Hubert was determined to energetically and on all possible +occasions, oppose any attempt to entangle him with such." Here, it +will be noticed, "such" is used as a pronoun, a delightful flower of +speech not to be disregarded by authors who would fail. But some one +may reply that several of our most popular novelists revel in the +kind of grammar which I am recommending. This is undeniable, but +certain people manage to succeed in spite of their own earnest +endeavours and startling demerits. There is no royal road to +failure. There is no rule without its exception, and it may be urged +that the works of the gentlemen and ladies who "break Priscian's +head"--as they would say themselves--may be successful, but are not +literature. Now it is about literature that we are speaking. + +In the matter of style, there is another excellent way. You need not +neglect it, but you may study it wrongly. You may be affectedly +self-conscious, you may imitate the ingenious persons who carefully +avoid the natural word, the spontaneous phrase, and employ some other +set of terms which can hardly be construed. You may use, like a +young essayist whom I have lovingly observed, a proportion of eighty +adjectives to every sixty-five other words of all denominations. You +may hunt for odd words, and thrust them into the wrong places, as +where you say that a + +man's nose is "beetling," that the sun sank in "a cauldron of +daffodil chaos," and the like. {2} You may use common words in an +unwonted sense, keeping some private interpretation clearly before +you. Thus you may speak, if you like to write partly in the tongue +of Hellas, about "assimilating the ethos" of a work of art, and so +write that people shall think of the processes of digestion. You may +speak of "exhausting the beauty" of a landscape, and, somehow, convey +the notion of sucking an orange dry. Or you may wildly mix your +metaphors, as when a critic accuses Mr. Browning of "giving the +irridescence of the poetic afflatus," as if the poetic afflatus were +blown through a pipe, into soap, and produced soap bubbles. This is +a more troublesome method than the mere picking up of every newspaper +commonplace that floats into your mind, but it is equally certain to +lead--where you want to go. By combining the two fashions a great +deal may be done. Thus you want to describe a fire at sea, and you +say, "the devouring element lapped the quivering spars, the mast, and +the sea-shouldering keel of the doomed Mary Jane in one coruscating +catastrophe. The sea deeps were incarnadined to an alarming extent +by the flames, and to escape from such many plunged headlong in their +watery bier." + +As a rule, authors who would fail stick to one bad sort of writing; +either to the newspaper commonplace, or to the out of the way and +inappropriate epithets, or to the common word with a twist on it. +But there are examples of the combined method, as when we call the +trees round a man's house his "domestic boscage." This combination +is difficult, but perfect for its purpose. You cannot write worse +than "such." To attain perfection the young aspirant should confine +his reading to the newspapers (carefully selecting his newspapers, +for many of them will not help him to write ill) and to those modern +authors who are most praised for their style by the people who know +least about the matter. Words like "fictional" and "fictive" are +distinctly to be recommended, and there are epithets such as "weird," +"strange," "wild," "intimate," and the rest, which blend pleasantly +with "all the time" for "always"; "back of" for "behind"; "belong +with" for "belong to"; "live like I do" for "as I do." The authors +who combine those charms are rare, but we can strive to be among +them. + +In short, he who would fail must avoid simplicity like a sunken reef, +and must earnestly seek either the commonplace or the bizarre, the +slipshod or the affected, the newfangled or the obsolete, the +flippant or the sepulchral. I need not specially recommend you to +write in "Wardour-street English," the sham archaic, a lingo never +spoken by mortal man, and composed of patches borrowed from authors +between Piers Plowman and Gabriel Harvey. A few literal translations +of Icelandic phrases may be thrown in; the result, as furniture- +dealers say, is a "made-up article." + +On the subject of style another hint may be offered. Style may be +good in itself, but inappropriate to the subject. For example, style +which may be excellently adapted to a theological essay, may be but +ill-suited for a dialogue in a novel. There are subjects of which +the poet says + + +Ornari res ipsa vetat, contenta doceri. + + +The matter declines to be adorned, and is content with being clearly +stated. I do not know what would occur if the writer of the Money +Article in the Times treated his topic with reckless gaiety. +Probably that number of the journal in which the essay appeared would +have a large sale, but the author might achieve professional failure; +in the office. On the whole it may not be the wiser plan to write +about the Origins of Religion in the style which might suit a study +of the life of ballet dancers; the two MM. Halevy, the learned and +the popular, would make a blunder if they exchanged styles. Yet +Gibbon never denies himself a jest, and Montesquieu's Esprit des Lois +was called L'Esprit sur les Lois. M. Renan's Histoire d'Israel may +almost be called skittish. The French are more tolerant of those +excesses than the English. It is a digression, but he who would fail +can reach his end by not taking himself seriously. If he gives +himself no important airs, whether out of a freakish humour, or real +humility, depend upon it the public and the critics will take him at +something under his own estimate. On the other hand, by copying the +gravity of demeanour admired by Mr. Shandy in a celebrated parochial +animal, even a very dull person may succeed in winning no +inconsiderable reputation. + +To return to style, and its appropriateness: all depends on the work +in hand, and the audience addressed. Thus, in his valuable Essay on +Style, Mr. Pater says, with perfect truth: {3} + +"The otiose, the facile, surplusage: why are these abhorrent to the +true literary artist, except because, in literary as in all other +arts, structure is all important, felt or painfully missed, +everywhere?--that architectural conception of work, which foresees +the end in the beginning, and never loses sight of it, and in every +part is conscious of all the rest, till the last sentence does but, +with undiminished vigour, unfold and justify the first--a condition +of literary art, which, in contradistinction to another quality of +the artist himself, to be spoken of later, I shall call the necessity +of MIND in style." + +These are words which the writer should have always present to his +memory, if he has something serious that he wants to say, or if he +wishes to express himself in the classic and perfect manner. But if +it is his fate merely to be obliged to say something, in the course +of his profession, or if he is bid to discourse for the pleasure of +readers in the Underground Railway, I fear he will often have to +forget Mr. Pater. It may not be literature, the writing of +causeries, of Roundabout Papers, of rambling articles "on a +broomstick," and yet again, it MAY be literature! "Parallel, +allusion, the allusive way generally, the flowers in the garden"--Mr. +Pater charges heavily against these. The true artist "knows the +narcotic force of these upon the negligent intelligence to which any +DIVERSION, literally, is welcome, any vagrant intruder, because one +can go wandering away with it from the immediate subject . . . In +truth all art does but consist in the removal of surplusage, from the +last finish of the gem engraver blowing away the last particle of +invisible dust, back to the earliest divination of the finished work +to be lying somewhere, according to Michel Angelo's fancy, in the +rough-hewn block of stone." + +Excellent, but does this apply to every kind of literary art? What +would become of Montaigne if you blew away his allusions, and drove +him out of "the allusive way," where he gathers and binds so many +flowers from all the gardens and all the rose-hung lanes of +literature? Montaigne sets forth to write an Essay on Coaches. He +begins with a few remarks on seasickness in the common pig; some +notes on the Pont Neuf at Paris follow, and a theory of why tyrants +are detested by men whom they have obliged; a glance at Coaches is +then given, next a study of Montezuma's gardens, presently a brief +account of the Spanish cruelties in Mexico and Peru, last--retombons +a nos coches--he tells a tale of the Inca, and the devotion of his +Guard: Another for Hector! + +The allusive style has its proper place, like another, if it is used +by the right man, and the concentrated and structural style has also +its higher province. It would not do to employ either style in the +wrong place. In a rambling discursive essay, for example, a mere +straying after the bird in the branches, or the thorn in the way, he +might not take the safest road who imitated Mr. Pater's style in what +follows: + +"In this way, according to the well-known saying, 'The style is the +man,' complex or simple, in his individuality, his plenary sense of +what he really has to say, his sense of the world: all cautions +regarding style arising out of so many natural scruples as to the +medium through which alone he can expose that inward sense of things, +the purity of this medium, its laws or tricks of refraction: nothing +is to be left there which might give conveyance to any matter save +that." Clearly the author who has to write so that the man may read +who runs will fail if he wrests this manner from its proper place, +and uses it for casual articles: he will fail to hold the vagrom +attention! + +Thus a great deal may be done by studying inappropriateness of style, +by adopting a style alien to our matter and to our audience. If we +"haver" discursively about serious, and difficult, and intricate +topics, we fail; and we fail if we write on happy, pleasant, and +popular topics in an abstruse and intent, and analytic style. We +fail, too, if in style we go outside our natural selves. "The style +is the man," and the man will be nothing, and nobody, if he tries for +an incongruous manner, not naturally his own, for example if Miss +Yonge were suddenly to emulate the manner of Lever, or if Mr. John +Morley were to strive to shine in the fashion of Uncle Remus, or if +Mr. Rider Haggard were to be allured into imitation by the example, +so admirable in itself, of the Master of Balliol. It is ourselves we +must try to improve, our attentiveness, our interest in life, our +seriousness of purpose, and then the style will improve with the +self. Or perhaps, to be perfectly frank, we shall thus convert +ourselves into prigs, throw ourselves out of our stride, lapse into +self- consciousness, lose all that is natural, naif, and instinctive +within us. Verily there are many dangers, and the paths to failure +are infinite. + +So much for style, of which it may generally be said that you cannot +be too obscure, unnatural, involved, vulgar, slipshod, and +metaphorical. See to it that your metaphors are mixed, though, +perhaps, this attention is hardly needed. The free use of +parentheses, in which a reader gets lost, and of unintelligible +allusions, and of references to unread authors--the Kalevala and +Lycophron, and the Scholiast on Apollonius Rhodius, is invaluable to +this end. So much for manner, and now for matter. + +The young author generally writes because he wants to write, either +for money, from vanity, or in mere weariness of empty hours and +anxiety to astonish his relations. This is well, he who would fail +cannot begin better than by having nothing to say. The less you +observe, the less you reflect, the less you put yourself in the paths +of adventure and experience, the less you will have to say, and the +more impossible will it be to read your work. Never notice people's +manner, conduct, nor even dress, in real life. Walk through the +world with your eyes and ears closed, and embody the negative results +in a story or a poem. As to Poetry, with a fine instinct we +generally begin by writing verse, because verse is the last thing +that the public want to read. The young writer has usually read a +great deal of verse, however, and most of it bad. His favourite +authors are the bright lyrists who sing of broken hearts, wasted +lives, early deaths, disappointment, gloom. Without having even had +an unlucky flirtation, or without knowing what it is to lose a +favourite cat, the early author pours forth laments, just like the +laments he has been reading. He has too a favourite manner, the old +consumptive manner, about the hectic flush, the fatal rose on the +pallid cheek, about the ruined roof tree, the empty chair, the rest +in the village churchyard. This is now a little rococo and forlorn, +but failure may be assured by travelling in this direction. If you +are ambitious to disgust an editor at once, begin your poem with +"Only." In fact you may as well head the lyric "Only." {4} + + +ONLY. + +Only a spark of an ember, +Only a leaf on the tree, +Only the days we remember, +Only the days without thee. +Only the flower that thou worest, +Only the book that we read, +Only that night in the forest, +Only a dream of the dead, +Only the troth that was broken, +Only the heart that is lonely, +Only the sigh and the token +That sob in the saying of Only! + + +In literature this is a certain way of failing, but I believe a +person might make a livelihood by writing verses like these--for +music. Another good way is to be very economical in your rhymes, +only two to the four lines, and regretfully vague. Thus: + + +SHADOWS. + +In the slumber of the winter, +In the secret of the snow, +What is the voice that is crying +Out of the long ago? + +When the accents of the children +Are silent on the stairs, +When the poor forgets his troubles, +And the rich forgets his cares. + +What is the silent whisper +That echoes in the room, +When the days are full of darkness, +And the night is hushed in gloom? + +'Tis the voice of the departed, +Who will never come again, +Who has left the weary tumult, +And the struggle and the pain. {5} + +And my heart makes heavy answer, +To the voice that comes no more, +To the whisper that is welling +From the far off happy shore. + +If you are not satisfied with these simple ways of not succeeding, +please try the Grosvenor Gallery style. Here the great point is to +make the rhyme arrive at the end of a very long word, you should also +be free with your alliterations. + + +LULLABY. + +When the sombre night is dumb, +Hushed the loud chrysanthemum, +Sister, sleep! +Sleep, the lissom lily saith, +Sleep, the poplar whispereth, +Soft and deep! + +Filmy floats the wild woodbine, +Jonquil, jacinth, jessamine, +Float and flow. +Sleeps the water wild and wan, +As in far off Toltecan +Mexico. + +See, upon the sun-dial, +Waves the midnight's misty pall, +Waves and wakes. +As, in tropic Timbuctoo, +Water beasts go plashing through +Lilied lakes! + + +Alliteration is a splendid source of failure in this sort of poetry, +and adjectives like lissom, filmy, weary, weird, strange, make, or +ought to make, the rejection of your manuscript a certainty. The +poem should, as a rule, seem to be addressed to an unknown person, +and should express regret and despair for circumstances in the past +with which the reader is totally unacquainted. Thus: + + +GHOSTS. + +We met at length, as Souls that sit +At funeral feast, and taste of it, +And empty were the words we said, +As fits the converse of the dead, +For it is long ago, my dear, +Since we two met in living cheer, +Yea, we have long been ghosts, you know, +And alien ways we twain must go, +Nor shall we meet in Shadow Land, +Till Time's glass, empty of its sand, +Is filled up of Eternity. +Farewell--enough for once to die - +And far too much it is to dream, +And taste not the Lethaean stream, +But bear the pain of loves unwed +Even here, even here, among the dead! + + +That is a cheerful intelligible kind of melody, which is often +practised with satisfactory results. Every form of imitation +(imitating of course only the faults of a favourite writer) is to be +recommended. + +Imitation does a double service, it secures the failure of the +imitator and also aids that of the unlucky author who is imitated. +As soon as a new thing appears in literature, many people hurry off +to attempt something of the same sort. It may be a particular trait +and accent in poetry, and the public, weary of the mimicries, begin +to dislike the original. + + +"Most can grow the flowers now, +For all have got the seed; +And once again the people +Call it but a weed." + + +In fiction, if somebody brings in a curious kind of murder, or a +study of religious problems, or a treasure hunt, or what you will, +others imitate till the world is weary of murders, or theological +flirtations, or the search for buried specie, and the original +authors themselves will fail, unless they fish out something new, to +be vulgarised afresh. Therefore, imitation is distinctly to be urged +on the young author. + +As a rule, his method is this, he reads very little, but all that he +reads is BAD. The feeblest articles in the weakliest magazines, the +very mildest and most conventional novels appear to be the only +studies of the majority. Apparently the would-be contributor says to +himself, or herself, "well, _I_ can do something almost on the level +of this or that maudlin and invertebrate novel." Then he +deliberately sits down to rival the most tame, dull, and illiterate +compositions that get into print. In this way bad authors become the +literary parents of worse authors. Nobody but a reader of MSS. knows +what myriads of fiction are written without one single new situation, +original character, or fresh thought. The most out-worn ideas: +sudden loss of fortune; struggles; faithlessness of First Lover; +noble conduct of Second Lover: frivolity of younger sister; +excellence of mother: naughtiness of one son, virtue of another, +these are habitually served up again and again. On the sprained +ankles, the mad bulls, the fires, and other simple devices for doing +without an introduction between hero and heroine I need not dwell. +The very youngest of us is acquainted with these expedients, which, +by this time of day, will spell failure. + +The common novels of Governess life, the daughters and granddaughters +of Jane Eyre, still run riot among the rejected manuscripts. The +lively large family, all very untidy and humorous, all wearing each +other's boots and gloves, and making their dresses out of bedroom +curtains and marrying rich men, still rushes down the easy descent to +failure. The sceptical curate is at large, and is disbelieving in +everything except the virtues of the young woman who "has a history." +Mr. Swinburne hopes that one day the last unbelieving clergyman will +disappear in the embrace of the last immaculate Magdalen, as the +Princess and the Geni burn each other to nothingness, in the Arabian +Nights. On that happy day there will be one less of the roads +leading to failure. If the pair can carry with them the self- +sacrificing characters who take the blame of all the felonies that +they did not do, and the nice girl who is jilted by the poet, and +finds that the squire was the person whom she REALLY loved, so much +the better. If not only Monte Carlo, but the inevitable scene in the +Rooms there can be abolished; if the Riviera, and Italy can be +removed from the map of Europe as used by novelists, so much the +better. But failure will always be secured, while the huge majority +of authors do not aim high, but aim at being a little lower than the +last domestic drivel which came out in three volumes, or the last +analysis of the inmost self of some introspective young girl which +crossed the water from the States. + +These are general counsels, and apply to the production of books. +But, when you have done your book, you may play a number of silly +tricks with your manuscript. I have already advised you to make only +one copy, a rough one, as that secures negligence in your work, and +also disgusts an editor or reader. It has another advantage, you may +lose your copy altogether, and, as you have not another, no failure +can be more complete. The best way of losing it, I think and the +safest, is to give it to somebody you know who has once met some man +or woman of letters.. This somebody must be instructed to ask that +busy and perhaps casual and untidy person to read your manuscript, +and "place" it, that is, induce some poor publisher or editor to pay +for and publish it. Now the man, or woman of letters, will use +violent language on receiving your clumsy brown paper parcel of +illegible wares, because he or she has no more to do with the matter +than the crossing sweeper. The MS. will either be put away so +carefully that it can never be found again, or will be left lying +about so that the housemaid may use it for her own domestic purposes, +like Betty Barnes, the cook of Mr. Warburton, who seems to have +burned several plays of Shakespeare. + +The MS. in short will go where the old moons go. + + +And all dead days drift thither, +And all disastrous things. + + +Not only can you secure failure thus yourself, but you can so worry +and badger your luckless victim, that he too will be unable to write +well till he has forgotten you and your novel, and all the annoyance +and anxiety you have given him. Much may be done by asking him for +"introductions" to an editor or publisher. These gentry don't want +introductions, they want good books, and very seldom get them. If +you behave thus, the man whom you are boring will write to his +publisher: + + +Dear Brown, + +A wretched creature, who knows my great aunt, asks me to recommend +his rubbish to you. I send it by today's post, and I wish you joy of +it. + + +This kind of introduction will do you excellent service in smoothing +the path to failure. You can arrive at similar results by sending +your MS. NOT to the editor of this or that magazine, but to some one +who, as you have been told by some nincompoop, is the editor, and who +is NOT. He MAY lose your book, or he may let it lie about for +months, or he may send it on at once to the real editor with his +bitter malison. The utmost possible vexation is thus inflicted on +every hand, and a prejudice is established against you which the +nature of your work is very unlikely to overcome. By all means bore +many literary strangers with correspondence, this will give them a +lively recollection of your name, and an intense desire to do you a +bad turn if opportunity arises. {6} + +If your book does, in spite of all, get itself published, send it +with your compliments to critics and ask them for favourable reviews. +It is the publisher's business to send out books to the editors of +critical papers, but never mind THAT. Go on telling critics that you +know praise is only given by favour, that they are all more or less +venal and corrupt and members of the Something Club, add that YOU are +no member of a coterie nor clique, but that you hope an exception +will be made, and that your volume will be applauded on its merits. +You will thus have done what in you lies to secure silence from +reviewers, and to make them request that your story may be sent to +some other critic. This, again, gives trouble, and makes people +detest you and your performance, and contributes to the end which you +have steadily in view. + +I do not think it is necessary to warn young lady novelists, who +possess beauty, wealth, and titles, against asking Reviewers to dine, +and treating them as kindly, almost, as the Fairy Paribanou treated +Prince Ahmed. They only act thus, I fear, in Mr. William Black's +novels. + +Much may be done by re-writing your book on the proof sheets, +correcting everything there which you should have corrected in +manuscript. This is an expensive process, and will greatly diminish +your pecuniary gains, or rather will add to your publisher's bill, +for the odds are that you will have to publish at your own expense. +By the way, an author can make almost a certainty of disastrous +failure, by carrying to some small obscure publisher a work which has +been rejected by the best people in the trade. Their rejections all +but demonstrate that your book is worthless. If you think you are +likely to make a good thing by employing an obscure publisher, with +little or no capital, then, as some one in Thucydides remarks, +congratulating you on your simplicity, I do not envy your want of +common sense. Be very careful to enter into a perfectly preposterous +agreement. For example, accept "half profits," but forget to observe +that before these are reckoned, it is distinctly stated in your +"agreement" that the publisher is to pay HIMSELF some twenty per +cent. on the price of each copy sold before you get your share. + +Here is "another way," as the cookery books have it. In your +gratitude to your first publisher, covenant with him to let him have +all the cheap editions of all your novels for the next five years, at +his own terms. If, in spite of the advice I have given you, you +somehow manage to succeed, to become wildly popular, you will still +have reserved to yourself, by this ingenious clause, a chance of +ineffable pecuniary failure. A plan generally approved of is to sell +your entire copyright in your book for a very small sum. You want +the ready money, and perhaps you are not very hopeful. But, when +your book is in all men's hands, when you are daily reviled by the +small fry of paragraphers, when the publisher is clearing a thousand +a year by it, while you only got a hundred down, then you will thank +me, and will acknowledge that, in spite of apparent success, you are +a failure after all. There are publishers, however, so inconsiderate +that they will not leave you even this consolation. Finding that the +book they bought cheap is really valuable, they will insist on +sharing the profits with the author, or on making him great presents +of money to which he has no legal claim. Some persons, some authors, +cannot fail if they would, so wayward is fortune, and such a Quixotic +idea of honesty have some middlemen of literature. But, of course, +you MAY light on a publisher who will not give you MORE than you +covenanted for, and then you can go about denouncing the whole +profession as a congregation of robbers and clerks of St. Nicholas. + +The ways of failure are infinite, and of course are not nearly +exhausted. One good plan is never to be yourself when you write, to +put in nothing of your own temperament, manner, character--or to have +none, which does as well. Another favourite method is to offer the +wrong kind of article, to send to the Cornhill an essay on the +evolution of the Hittite syllabary, (for only one author could make +THAT popular;) or a sketch of cock fighting among the ancients to the +Monthly Record; or an essay on Ayahs in India to an American +magazine; or a biography of Washington or Lincoln to any English +magazine whatever. We have them every month in some American +periodicals, and our poor insular serials can get on without them: +"have no use for them." + +It is a minor, though valuable scheme, to send poems on Christmas to +magazines about the beginning of December, because, in fact, the +editors have laid in their stock of that kind of thing earlier. +Always insist on SEEING an editor, instead of writing to him. There +is nothing he hates so much, unless you are very young and beautiful +indeed, when, perhaps, if you wish to fail you had better NOT pay him +a visit at the office. Even if you do, even if you were as fair as +the Golden Helen, he is not likely to put in your compositions if, as +is probable, they fall MUCH below the level of his magazine. + +A good way of making yourself a dead failure is to go about accusing +successful people of plagiarising from books or articles of yours +which did not succeed, and, perhaps, were never published at all. By +encouraging this kind of vanity and spite you may entirely destroy +any small powers you once happened to possess, you will, besides, +become a person with a grievance, and, in the long run, will be +shunned even by your fellow failures. Again, you may plagiarise +yourself, if you can, it is not easy, but it is a safe way to fail if +you can manage it. No successful person, perhaps, was ever, in the +strict sense, a plagiarist, though charges of plagiary are always +brought against everybody, from Virgil to Milton, from Scott to +Moliere, who attains success. When you are accused of being a +plagiarist, and shewn up in double columns, you may be pretty sure +that all this counsel has been wasted on you, and that you have +failed to fail, after all. Otherwise nobody would envy and malign +you, and garble your book, and print quotations from it which you did +not write, all in the sacred cause of morality. + +Advice on how to secure the reverse of success should not be given to +young authors alone. Their kinsfolk and friends, also, can do much +for their aid. A lady who feels a taste for writing is very seldom +allowed to have a quiet room, a quiet study. If she retreats to her +chill and fireless bed chamber, even there she may be chevied by her +brothers, sisters, and mother. It is noticed that cousins, and +aunts, especially aunts, are of high service in this regard. They +never give an intelligent woman an hour to herself. + +"Is Miss Mary in?" + +"Yes, ma'am, but she is very busy." + +"Oh, she won't mind me, I don't mean to stay long." + +Then in rushes the aunt. + +"Over your books again: my dear! You really should not overwork +yourself. Writing something"; here the aunt clutches the manuscript, +and looks at it vaguely. + +"Well, I dare say it's very clever, but I don't care for this kind of +thing myself. Where's your mother? Is Jane better? Now, do tell +me, do you get much for writing all that? Do you send it to the +printers, or where? How interesting, and that reminds me, you that +are a novelist, have you heard how shamefully Miss Baxter was treated +by Captain Smith? No, well you might make something out of it." + +Here follows the anecdote, at prodigious length, and perfectly +incoherent. + +"Now, write THAT, and I shall always say I was partly the author. +You really should give me a commission, you know. Well, good bye, +tell your mother I called. Why, there she is, I declare. Oh, Susan, +just come and hear the delightful plot for a novel that I have been +giving Mary." + +And then she begins again, only further back, this time. + +It is thus that the aunts of England may and do assist their nieces +to fail in literature. Many and many a morning do they waste, many a +promising fancy have they blighted, many a temper have they spoiled. + +Sisters are rather more sympathetic: the favourite plan of the +brother is to say, "Now, Mary, read us your new chapter." + +Mary reads it, and the critic exclaims, "Well, of all the awful Rot! +Now, why can't you do something like Bootles's Baby?" + +Fathers never take any interest in the business at all: they do not +count. The sympathy of a mother may be reckoned on, but not her +judgement, for she is either wildly favourable, or, mistrusting her +own tendencies, is more diffident than need be. The most that +relations can do for the end before us is to worry, interrupt, +deride, and tease the literary member of the family. They seldom +fail in these duties, and not even success, as a rule, can persuade +them that there is anything in it but "luck." + +Perhaps reviewing is not exactly a form of literature. But it has +this merit that people who review badly, not only fail themselves, +but help others to fail, by giving a bad idea of their works. You +will, of course, never read the books you review, and you will be +exhaustively ignorant of the subjects which they treat. But you can +always find fault with the TITLE of the story which comes into your +hands, a stupid reviewer never fails to do this. You can also copy +out as much of the preface as will fill your eighth of a column, and +add, that the performance is not equal to the promise. You must +never feel nor shew the faintest interest in the work reviewed, that +would be fatal. Never praise heartily, that is the sign of an +intelligence not mediocre. Be vague, colourless, and languid, this +deters readers from approaching the book. If you have glanced at it, +blame it for not being what it never professed to be; if it is a +treatise on Greek Prosody, censure the lack of humour; if it is a +volume of gay verses, lament the author's indifference to the sorrows +of the poor or the wrongs of the Armenians. If it has humour, +deplore its lack of thoughtfulness; if it is grave, carp at its lack +of gaiety. I have known a reviewer of half a dozen novels denounce +half a dozen KINDS of novels in the course of his two columns; the +romance of adventure, the domestic tale, the psychological analysis, +the theological story, the detective's story, the story of "Society," +he blamed them all in general, and the books before him in +particular, also the historical novel. This can easily be done, by +dint of practice, after dipping into three or four pages of your +author. Many reviewers have special aversions, authors they detest. +Whatever they are criticising, novels, poems, plays, they begin by an +attack on their pet aversion, who has nothing to do with the matter +in hand. They cannot praise A, B, C, and D, without first assailing +E. It will generally be found that E is a popular author. But the +great virtue of a reviewer, who would be unreadable and make others +unread, is a languid ignorant lack of interest in all things, a habit +of regarding his work as a tedious task, to be scamped as rapidly and +stupidly as possible. + +You might think that these qualities would displease the reviewer's +editor. Not at all, look at any column of short notices, and you +will occasionally find that the critic has anticipated my advice. +There is no topic in which the men who write about it are so little +interested as contemporary literature. Perhaps this is no matter to +marvel at. By the way, a capital plan is not to write your review +till the book has been out for two years. This is the favourite +dodge of the -, that distinguished journal. + +If any one has kindly attended to this discourse, without desiring to +be a failure, he has only to turn the advice outside in. He has only +to be studious of the very best literature, observant, careful, +original, he has only to be himself and not an imitator, to aim at +excellence, and not be content with falling a little lower than +mediocrity. He needs but bestow the same attention on this art as +others give to the other arts and other professions. With these +efforts, and with a native and natural gift, which can never be +taught, never communicated, and with his mind set not on his reward, +but on excellence, on style, on matter, and even on the not wholly +unimportant virtue of vivacity, a man will succeed, or will deserve +success. First, of course, he will have to "find" himself, as the +French say, and if he does NOT find an ass, then, like Saul the son +of Kish, he may discover a kingdom. One success he can hardly miss, +the happiness of living, not with trash, but among good books, and +"the mighty minds of old." In an unpublished letter of Mr. +Thackeray's, written before he was famous, and a novelist, he says +how much he likes writing on historical subjects, and how he enjoys +historical research. THE WORK IS SO GENTLEMANLY, he remarks. Often +and often, after the daily dreadful lines, the bread and butter +winning lines on some contemporary folly or frivolity, does a man +take up some piece of work hopelessly unremunerative, foredoomed to +failure as far as money or fame go, some dealing with the classics of +the world, Homer or Aristotle, Lucian or Moliere. It is like a bath +after a day's toil, it is tonic and clean; and such studies, if not +necessary to success, are, at least, conducive to mental health and +self-respect in literature. + +To the enormous majority of persons who risk themselves in +literature, not even the smallest measure of success can fall. They +had better take to some other profession as quickly as may be, they +are only making a sure thing of disappointment, only crowding the +narrow gates of fortune and fame. Yet there are others to whom +success, though easily within their reach, does not seem a thing to +be grasped at. Of two such, the pathetic story may be read, in the +Memoir of A Scotch Probationer, Mr. Thomas Davidson, who died young, +an unplaced Minister of the United Presbyterian Church, in 1869. He +died young, unaccepted by the world, unheard of, uncomplaining, soon +after writing his latest song on the first grey hairs of the lady +whom he loved. And she, Miss Alison Dunlop, died also, a year ago, +leaving a little work newly published, Anent Old Edinburgh, in which +is briefly told the story of her life. There can hardly be a true +tale more brave and honourable, for those two were eminently +qualified to shine, with a clear and modest radiance, in letters. +Both had a touch of poetry, Mr. Davidson left a few genuine poems, +both had humour, knowledge, patience, industry, and literary +conscientiousness. No success came to them, they did not even seek +it, though it was easily within the reach of their powers. Yet none +can call them failures, leaving, as they did, the fragrance of +honourable and uncomplaining lives, and such brief records of these +as to delight, and console and encourage us all. They bequeath to us +the spectacle of a real triumph far beyond the petty gains of money +or of applause, the spectacle of lives made happy by literature, +unvexed by notoriety, unfretted by envy. What we call success could +never have yielded them so much, for the ways of authorship are dusty +and stony, and the stones are only too handy for throwing at the few +that, deservedly or undeservedly, make a name, and therewith about +one-tenth of the wealth which is ungrudged to physicians, or +barristers, or stock-brokers, or dentists, or electricians. If +literature and occupation with letters were not its own reward, truly +they who seem to succeed might envy those who fail. It is not wealth +that they win, as fortunate men in other professions count wealth; it +is not rank nor fashion that come to their call nor come to call on +them. Their success is to be let dwell with their own fancies, or +with the imaginations of others far greater than themselves; their +success is this living in fantasy, a little remote from the hubbub +and the contests of the world. At the best they will be vexed by +curious eyes and idle tongues, at the best they will die not rich in +this world's goods, yet not unconsoled by the friendships which they +win among men and women whose faces they will never see. They may +well be content, and thrice content, with their lot, yet it is not a +lot which should provoke envy, nor be coveted by ambition. + +It is not an easy goal to attain, as the crowd of aspirants dream, +nor is the reward luxurious when it is attained. A garland, usually +fading and not immortal, has to be run for, not without dust and +heat. + + + +Footnotes: + + +{1} As the writer has ceased to sift, editorially, the contributions +of the age, he does hope that authors will not instantly send him +their MSS. But if they do, after this warning, they will take the +most direct and certain road to the waste paper basket. No MSS. will +be returned, even when accompanied by postage stamps. + +{2} I have made a rich selection of examples from the works of +living English and American authors. From the inextensive volumes of +an eminent and fastidious critic I have culled a dear phrase about an +oasis of style in "a desert of literary limpness." But it were +hardly courteous, and might be dangerous, to publish these exotic +blossoms of art. + +{3} Appreciations, p. 18. + +{4} It was the custom of Longinus, of the author of The Bathos, and +other old critics, to take their examples of how NOT to do it from +the works of famous writers, such as Sir Richard Blackmore and +Herodotus. It seems altogether safer and more courteous for an +author to supply his own Awful Examples. The Musical Rights in the +following Poems are reserved. + +{5} Or, if you prefer the other rhyme, read: And the wilderness of +men. + +{6} It is a teachable public: since this lecture was delivered the +author has received many MSS. from people who said they had heard the +discourse, "and enjoyed it so much." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext How to Fail in Literature, by Andrew Lang + diff --git a/old/fllit10.zip b/old/fllit10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..82ec865 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fllit10.zip |