The author
had nothing to say, and he has said it." That was all, three
malignant lines in a paper of no commercial importance, the sort of
thing that was passed round the publisher's office with an
appreciative chuckle. In the face of the general amiability of the
Press, such a notice in an obscure journal could do the book no
harm.
Only the author sat hour after hour in his study with that diminutive
scrap of paper before him on the table, and wondered if it was
true.
IV. Fame
It was some little time before the public, the mysterious section of
the public that reads works of fiction, discovered that the
publisher, aided by the normal good-humour of the critics, had
persuaded them to sacrifice some of their scant hours of intellectual
recreation on a work of portentous dullness. Therefor the literary
audience has its sense of humour--they amused themselves for a while
by recommending the book to their friends, and the sales crept
steadily up to four thousand, and there stayed with an unmistakable
air of finality. If the book had had any real literary merit its life
would have started at that point, for the weary comments of reviewers
and the strident outcries of publishers tend to obscure rather than
reveal the permanent value of a book. But six months after
publication "The Improbable Marquis" was completely forgotten, save
by the second-hand booksellers, who found themselves embarrassed with
a number of books for which no one seemed anxious to pay six-pence,
in spite of the striking heliotrope binding.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113