I
In beginning this chapter upon that section of Stevenson’s work which, whatever may be one’s impression of its intrinsic merit, has at least the importance of being the section most considerable in bulk, I should like, as a matter of convenience, to define several terms in the sense in which they will be used in the course of the chapter. It should be clearly understood at the outset that the proposed definitions are to be given, not with any claim for their ultimate value, but as a mere precaution against misunderstanding. In each case the term is one which often is very loosely used; and it seems the most honest thing, as well perhaps as the most wary, to say very simply what one understands by such and such words. Many writers who do not define terms have the irritation of finding those terms counter-glossed by other critics acting in all good faith, and the consequence is that they seem to be made responsible for meanings divergent from those which they hold.
By the word “imagination,” then, I mean that power of sympathy which enables a man to understand (i.e. to put himself in the place of) the invented figure or scene which he is describing either in words or in thought. I do not mean by the exercise of will, but by the spontaneous outflowing of full or partial perception. By “imagination” I mean nothing galvanic or actively creative; but an emotional translation, as it were, of the creator’s spirit into the object created. Creation, the act of bodying forth the imaginations in form either symbolic or conventional, requires “invention.” “Invention,” whether of incident or of character, is what is generally meant by writers who use the word “imagination.” Writers often say that work is “imaginative” because it has a sort of hectic improbability; but they mean that it exhibits a riotous or even a logical inventiveness, not that it shows any genuine power of imaginative sympathy. Invention, one may say, is essential to a work of imagination: it is the fault of much modern novel-writing that it is poor in invention, a fact which stultifies the writer’s imagination and gives an unfortunate air of mediocrity to work which is essentially imaginative. The creation of an atmosphere is founded upon imagination; but in the absence of invention the modern imaginative writer too frequently bathes in atmosphere to a point of tedium, and then attempts to give vitality to his work by mere violence of incident or of language. The word “imaginative” (defined by all persons so as to include their own pet limitations) is often used by unimaginative writers in descriptions of lonely children, a fact which has led those who have been lonely in childhood to ascribe to themselves an attribute so much admired; but Stevenson, I think, has a rather good comment upon this sort of broody dullness when he describes “one October day when the rusty leaves were falling and scuttling on the boulevard, and the minds of impressionable men inclined in about an equal degree towards sadness and conviviality.” That lowness of spirits which makes a man respond to external influences is well known; but to describe susceptibility or impressionability as imagination is misleading. A cat is very impressionable; but a cat’s apparent intuitions in the matter of food or even of goodwill are not understanding as the term has been defined. Imagination, therefore, may be said to be over-claimed, for the word is loosely used in most cases, even by practised writers, where “invention” or “fancy” would more properly fit. In particular it is the habit of all minor critics whatsoever to use the word “imagination” when they ought rather to use the term “poetic invention.” It is that confusion which renders valueless so much criticism of modern fiction, in which the authors, being by tradition under no compulsion to be poetical, are frequently condemned as unimaginative because they follow the tradition of their craft.
A second distinction which it is desirable to make in view of what follows is the one between Romance and Realism. The word “romance” is used in a sort of ecstasy by too many conventional people; the word “realism” is by such critics applied to one particular technical method. It has seemed better for the immediate purpose to restrict the word “romance” to a purely technical meaning, since Romance, to have any value whatever, must form a part of our conception of reality. It is the divorce of Romance from Reality which has led to its decay; it is not that Romance has been cruelly done to death by Realism. Romance since Stevenson has become sentimental and unbelievable. That is why Romance has no friends, but only advocates. The word “romance,” then, is in this chapter used to describe a fiction the chief interest in which is supported by varied incidents of an uncommon or obsolete nature. The word “novel” is applied to a fiction in which the chief interest is less that of incident and more the interest awakened by character and by a gradual relation of happenings probable in themselves and growing naturally out of the interplay of character. The word “realism” is used in relation to the critical interpretation of actual things. It must not be regarded as describing here an accumulation of detail or a preference for unpleasant subjects. For that use of the word one may refer to our leading critical journals passim. The accumulation of detail belongs to a technical method, and should be treated on its merits as part of a technical method. Realism, as the word is here used, is applied only to work in which the author’s invention and imagination have been strictly disciplined by experience and judgment, and in which his direct aim has been precision rather than the attainment of broad effects. It is used consciously as a word of neither praise nor blame; though it is possible that I may exaggerate the merits of clear perception above some other qualities which I appreciate less.