Mrs. Harrison’s books are so well known that it is unnecessary to dwell on their acknowledged merit, vividness, and truthfulness to life. To the general public, there is something fascinating about a New York social story, dealing with the millionaire’s club life, woman’s teas, and love’s broken lances. Besides the general desire for a good social novel, there is a morbid, unsatiated desire to pry into the doings, customs and manners of the rich. It is with agreeable expectations that one picks up one of Mrs. Harrison’s books; it is almost with the knowledge that you will be entertained.
HER CHARACTERS ARE FROM LIFE.
On a former call, she told me that her New York stories are built on her observations, and that the characters are so changed as not to antagonize her friends, for she enters the best society through her family ties and her well-earned prestige.
“It is very peculiar,” she continued, “how, in writing a story, the characters govern me, not I the characters. I may have the outline and ending of a book in my mind, but the characters take everything into their hands, and walk independently through the pages. I have always found it best to obey. The ending of ‘Anglomaniacs,’ which caused so much adverse criticism, was not as I had planned. I was helpless under the caprices of the characters. At first, I was displeased at the ending; but now, looking back upon it, I am well satisfied.”
“Then the characters to you become real, and you are entirely under their spell, merely chronicling what to you appears real?”
IN LOVE WITH HER WORK.
“Yes, if I did not believe in them, I would be unable to write; for the time being, I am living and observing a dozen lives. There is much satisfaction in doing so correctly. I am in love with my work, and am a hard worker.”
For the past few months, Mrs. Harrison has been idle, by the advice of her physicians, and has spent the season abroad, traveling over the continent.
“But all the time, I am turning little romances over in my mind, and when I can no longer keep my pen from paper, I suppose I shall sit down and write,” she said. “Last winter, I was under a pretty heavy strain, and my overworked condition compelled me to rest for a while.”
Many amusing little instances touching upon her work have come to her attention.