Butler knew, at
least as well as we, that the good things in his book were legion. He
did not wish the world or his own reputation to lose the benefit of
them.
But there are differences between a novel which contains innumerable
good things and a great novel. The most important is that a great novel
does not contain innumerable good things. You may not pick out the
plums, because the pudding falls to pieces if you do. In _The Way of all
Flesh_, however, a _compere_ is always present whose business it is to
say good things. His perpetual flow of asides is pleasant because the
asides are piquant and, in their way, to the point. Butler's mind, being
a good mind, had a predilection for the object, and his detestation of
the rotunder platitudes of a Greek chorus, if nothing else, had taught
him that a corner-man should have something to say on the subject in
hand. His arguments are designed to assist his narrative; moreover, they
are sympathetic to the modern mind. An enlightened hedonism is about all
that is left to us, and Butler's hatred of humbug is, though a little
more placid, like our own.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157