Some Private Views | Page 9

to
obtain immortality for the writers in whom there was really something
of genius, but whom they extolled beyond their deserts. Their pet idol,
for example, was Samuel Rogers. And who reads Rogers's poems now?
We remember something about them, and that is all; they are very
literally 'Pleasures of Memory.'
And if these things are true of the past, how much more so are they of
the present! I venture to think, in spite of some voices to the contrary,
that criticism is much more honest than it used to be: certainly less
influenced by political feeling, and by the interests of publishing
houses; more temperate, if not more judicious, and--in the higher
literary organs, at least--unswayed by personal prejudice. But the result
of even the most favourable notices upon a book is now but small. I can
remember when a review in the Times was calculated by the 'Row' to
sell an entire edition. Those halcyon days--if halcyon days they
were--are over. People read books for themselves now; judge for
themselves; and buy only when they are absolutely compelled, and
cannot get them from the libraries. In the case of an author who has
already secured a public, it is indeed extraordinary what little effect

reviews, either good or bad, have upon his circulation. Those who like
his works continue to read them, no matter what evil is written of them;
and those who don't like them are not to be persuaded (alas!) to change
their minds, though his latest effort should be described as though it
had dropped from the heavens. I could give some statistics upon this
point not a little surprising, but statistics involve comparisons--which
are odious. As for fiction, its success depends more upon what Mrs.
Brown says to Mrs. Jones as to the necessity of getting that charming
book from the library while there is yet time, than on all the reviews in
Christendom.
O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of
thy high-sounding phrases Than to see the bright eyes of those dear
ones discover They thought that I was not unworthy--
of a special messenger to Mr. Mudie's.
Heaven bless them! for, when we get old and stupid, they still stick by
one, and are not to be seduced from their allegiance by any blaring of
trumpets, or clashing of cymbals, that heralds a new arrival among the
story-tellers.
On the other hand, as respects his first venture, the author is very
dependent upon what the critics say of him. It is the conductor, you
know (I wouldn't call him a 'cad,' even in fun, for ten thousand pounds),
on whom, to return to our metaphor, the driver is dependent for the
patronage of his vehicle, and even for the announcement of its
existence. A good review is still the very best of advertisements to a
new author; and even a bad one is better than no review at all. Indeed, I
have heard it whispered that a review which speaks unfavourably of a
work of fiction, upon moral grounds, is of very great use to it. This,
however, the same gossips say, is mainly confined to works of fiction
written by female authors for readers of their own sex--'by ladies for
ladies,' as a feminine Pall Mall Gazette might describe itself.
Nor would I be understood to say that even a well-established author is
not affected by what the critics may say of him; I only state that his
circulation is not--albeit they may make his very blood curdle. I have a
popular writer in my mind, who never looks at a newspaper unless it
comes to him by a hand he can trust, for fear his eyes should light upon
an unpleasant review. His argument is this: 'I have been at this work for
the last twelve months, thinking of little else and putting my best

intelligence (which is considerable) at its service. Is it humanly
probable that a reviewer who has given his mind to it for a less number
of hours, can suggest anything in the way of improvement worthy of
my consideration? I am supposing him to be endowed with ability and
actuated by good faith; that he has not failed in my own profession and
is not jealous of my popularity; yet even thus, how is it possible that his
opinion can be of material advantage to me? If favourable, it gives me
pleasure, because it flatters my _amour propre_, and I am even not
quite sure that it does not afford a stimulating encouragement; but if
unfavourable, I own it gives me considerable annoyance. [This is his
euphemistic phrase to express the feeling of being in a hornets' nest
without his clothes on.] On the other hand, if