Fortescue, the eminent novelist
, reached the middle of a very long sentence.
We must now return, as novelists
say, and as we all wish they wouldn't, to the man from Somewhere.
One incomparable novelist
we have now in England, Mr George Meredith.
Certainly I could, if I held it the highest vocation of the novelist
to represent things as they never have been and never will be.
And while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens -- there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist
, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them.
And then no one takes a novelist
seriously, thank heavens.
The Realists, who were undoubtedly the masters of fiction in their passing generation, and who prevailed not only in France, but in Russia, in Scandinavia, in Spain, in Portugal, were overborne in all Anglo-Saxon countries by the innumerable hosts of Romanticism, who to this day possess the land; though still, whenever a young novelist
does work instantly recognizable for its truth and beauty among us, he is seen and felt to have wrought in the spirit of Realism.
121] A FRENCH novelist
who, with much of Zola's undoubted power, writes always in the interest of that high type of Catholicism which still prevails in the remote provinces of France, of that high type of morality of which the French clergy have nobly maintained the ideal, is worth recommending to the more serious class of English readers.
We had read somewhere that a novelist
is better equipped than most of his trade if he knows himself and one woman, and my mother said, 'You know yourself, for everybody must know himself' (there never was a woman who knew less about herself than she), and she would add dolefully, 'But I doubt I'm the only woman you know well.
Then began between the master and the pupil one of those charming scenes which are the delight of the novelist
who has to describe them.
And that house was always thronged with visitors, invited and uninvited, with friends who came out of love of the genial host, with strangers who came out of curiosity to see the great novelist
how some poor unfortunate got up on to a steeple, who had better never have gone up as far as the belfry; and then, having needlessly got him up there, the happy novelist
rings the bell for all the world to come together and hear, O dear