The Splendid Spur | Page 2

work is stronger than his first,
while the other writer's growth is the most remarkable thing about him.
It is precisely the same Mr. Kipling who is now in the magazines that
was writing some years ago in India (and a rare good Mr. Kipling too),
but the Mr. Quiller-Couch of to-day is the Quiller-Couch of "Dead
Man's Rock" grown out of recognition. To compare their styles is really
to compare the men. Mr. Kipling's is the more startling, the stronger (as
yet), and the more mannered. Mark Twain, it appears, said he reads Mr.
Kipling for his style, which is really the same thing as saying you read
him for his books, though the American seems only to have meant that
he eats the beef because he likes the salt. It is a journalistic style,
aiming too constantly at sharp effects, always succeeding in getting
them. Sometimes this is contrived at the expense of grammar, as when
(a common trick with the author) he ends a story with such a paragraph
as "Which is manifestly unfair." Mr. Quiller-Couch has never sinned in
this way, but his first style was somewhat turgid, even melodramatic,
and, compared with Mr. Kipling's, lacked distinction. From the
beginning Mr. Kipling had the genius for using the right word twice in
three times (Mr. Stevenson only misses it about once in twelve), while
Mr. Quiller-Couch not only used the wrong word, but weighted it with
adjectives. The charge, however, cannot be brought against him to-day,
for having begun by writing like a Mr. Haggard not quite sure of
himself (if one can imagine such a Mr. Haggard), and changing to an
obvious imitation of Mr. Stevenson, he seems now to have made a style

for himself. It is clear and careful, but not as yet strong winged. Its
distinctive feature is that it is curiously musical.
"Dead Man's Rock" is a capital sensational story to be read and at once
forgotten. It was followed by "The Astonishing History of Troy Town,"
which was humorous, and proved that the author owed a debt to
Dickens. But it was not sufficiently humorous to be remarkable for its
humor, and it will go hand in hand with "Dead Man's Rock" to oblivion.
Until "The Splendid Spur" appeared Mr. Quiller-Couch had done little
to suggest that an artist had joined the ranks of the story-tellers. It is not
in anyway a great work, but it was among the best dozen novels of its
year, and as the production of a new writer it was one of the most
notable. About the same time was published another historical romance
of the second class (for to nothing short of Sir Walter shall we give a
first-class in this department), "Micah Clarke," by Mr. Conan Doyle. It
was as inevitable that the two books should be compared as that he who
enjoyed the one should enjoy the other. In one respect "Micah Clarke"
is the better story. It contains one character, a soldier of fortune, who is
more memorable than any single figure in "The Splendid Spur." This,
however, is effected at a cost, for this man is the book. It contains,
indeed, two young fellows, one of them a John Ridd, but no Diana
Vernon would blow a kiss to either. Both stories are weak in pathos,
despite Joan, but there are a score of humorous situations in "The
Splendid Spur" that one could not forget if he would--which he would
not--as, for instance, where hero and heroine are hidden in barrels in a
ship, and hero cries through his bunghole, "Wilt marry me,
sweetheart?" to which heroine replies, "Must get out of this cask first."
Better still is the scene in which Captain Billy expatiates, with a mop
and a bucket, on the merits of his crew. But the passages are for reading,
not for hearing about. Of the characters, this same Captain Billy is not
the worst, but perhaps the best is Joan, Mr. Quiller-Couch's first
successful picture of a girl. A capital eccentric figure is killed (some
good things are squandered in this book) just when we are beginning to
find him a genuine novelty. Anything that is ready to leap into danger
seems to be thought good enough for the hero of a fighting romance, so
that Jack Marvel will pass (though Delia, as is right and proper, is
worth two of him, despite her coming-on disposition). The villain is a

failure, and the plot poor. Nevertheless there are some ingenious
complications in it. Jack's escape by means of the hangman's rope,
which was to send him out of the world in a few hours, is a fine
rollicking bit of sensation. Where Mr. Quiller-Couch and Mr. Conan
Doyle both fail as compared with the great master of romance