He indignantly repudiates any bias against the gentry in history—which social class I ask him to revere.
Lastly, he accuses me of using such terms about many passages in the History as “ignorant,” “childish,” “confused.”
I am afraid it is necessary before touching on these grievances to explain to Mr. Wells what criticism is, for it is clear that he has never considered the nature of that literary function.
When you criticise the writing of a man who deals with definite facts and the conclusions to be drawn from them, it is your business to praise what is praiseworthy in his effort, and to condemn what is insufficient, false or bad.
You do not praise (if you are a serious critic) simply as a sort of sop or counterbalance to blame; you praise because you find things worthy of praise—and you blame where you find things worthy of blame.
There was nothing oily or patronising, nor even adventitious and artificial in the praise which I saw fit to offer. It was not vague, it was very definite, and, I think, just. Moreover, it was very strong praise, of which any writer might be proud at the hands of a colleague. I praised Mr. Wells’s lucidity and economy of manner, his sense of proportion, and, above all, his most remarkable talent for presenting a vivid picture to the reader. In this my words were, “None of our contemporaries possesses it” (the gift of lucid and vivid description) “in anything like the same degree.” In other words, I said that he possessed a talent of the most important literary kind, which any writer would envy, and that he possessed it in a degree which made him superior to any contemporary.
I also said that he was conspicuously sincere, that he wrote very clearly, with an “excellent economy in the use of words,” and was unreserved in my hearty appreciation of his accuracy in details of reference, such as dates, spelling of names, etc.
I went on to say how strongly he felt the importance of history to mankind, though it is true that I qualified this by saying that by mankind he meant the only sort of mankind he knew. I said of his honesty of purpose, “that it was a quality apparent in every line of the work.”
Really, if that sort of thing is “oiliness,” Mr. Wells must be very difficult to please! It may be “slow”; it is not a torrent of undiscriminating adulation; it is mixed with justified blame. But it is such a catalogue of remarkable literary powers as I would not make for another writer.
I did much more than this. I specifically praised whole portions of the book as being quite excellent, notably his handling of the story of language, and the précis on many sections of history. I have no space here to give a list of the passages in which I compliment him; but they are numerous, as any one of my readers will see when my book (A Companion to Mr. Wells’s “Outline”) shall appear.