H. G. Wells is the great exemplar, with his
sociological studies wrapped in description and tied with a plot.
In a sense, such stories are certainly to be regarded as a protest
against truth-dodging, against cheap optimism, against "slacking,"
whether in literature or in life. But it would be equally just to
call them another result of suppressed idealism, and to regard
their popularity in America as proof of the argument which I have
advanced in this essay. Excessively didactic literature is often a
little unhealthy. In fresh periods, when life runs strong and both
ideals and passions find ready issue into life, literature has no
burdensome moral to carry. It digests its moral. Homer digested
his morals. They transfuse his epics. So did Shakespeare.
Not so with the writers of the social-conscience school. They are
in a rage over wicked, wasteful man. Their novels are bursted
notebooks--sometimes neat and orderly notebooks, like Mr.
Galsworthy's or our own Ernest Poole's, sometimes haphazard ones,
like those of Mr. Wells, but always explosive with reform. These
gentlemen know very well what they are about, especially Mr.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32