He was an artist of undoubted gifts, but he was an artist in small literary forms. His longest good novels are after all little books. When he attempted a large canvas he seemed not perfectly in command of his materials, though he could use those materials as they could have been used by no other artist. There is nothing in his books akin to that broad and massive treatment which may be felt in a novel like Rhoda Fleming or in a tragedy like Tess of the D’Urbervilles.
Andrew Lang was right when he said of Stevenson: He is a ‘Little Master,’ but of the Little Masters the most perfect and delightful.
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