Two recent books that deal with a theme familiar enough to novel readers, but always stimulating. “The Garden of Allah,” by Robert Hichens, and “The Apple of Eden,” by E. Temple Thurston. Charles Carey’s “The Van Suyden Sapphires” a good detective story. Other books.
Two recent books are worthy of something more than casual notice for reasons entirely unconnected with the question of their literary merits, for they afford some material for reflection upon the curiosity of coincidences and for speculation as to the value of the priest in love as a character in fiction.
It is not to be supposed that undue significance is given to these aspects of the appearance of the books in question, for no important deductions are to be drawn from their nearly simultaneous publication; it is not especially remarkable as a coincidence. It is, however, an interesting fact that two novelists as gifted as the authors of these two books have shown themselves to be should have been working out the same theme in very much the same manner, and presumably at approximately the same time.
The opportunity of the cynical critic is, of course, obvious, and he will, if he thinks of it, lose no time in exclaiming that the most remarkable thing about it is that the books should have found publishers at all, and add, sourly, that if all similar coincidences were brought to light by publication, the condition of English fiction would be more hopeless than it is.
But the cynic would be wrong, as usual. If it is admitted that the new books of Mr. Hichens and Mr. Thurston are not “epoch-making,” it still remains a fact that they are as nearly so as any of the books of the year; they narrowly miss the standard which entitles them to be genuine and permanent representatives of English literature.
No one needs to be reminded that love stories, in which the lovers are required to surmount all sorts of obstacles, are common enough; one of the chief difficulties in supplying the demand is to create obstacles of the sort that will stand the test of plausibility and yet add a reasonable means by which the hero and heroine may overcome them, for the distracted couple must live up to what is expected of them, and their romance must be molded by the practical maxim that nothing succeeds like success—success meaning that their final happiness must be in conformity with the necessities of conventional morality; their union either blessed by the church of their faith or confirmed by law. And it might be added that the reader, in the majority of cases, will be conscious of a sense of uneasiness unless the happy outcome is effected not only with his own approbation, but with that of the conscience of each of the lovers. If any question of right and wrong is left unsettled for them, the reader remains dissatisfied, no matter what consideration of principle he may himself feel justified in disregarding.
A man devoted to celibacy, by vows voluntarily made to the church which he looks upon as his spiritual director, who finds himself in love with a woman, in the nature of things presents an attractive problem to a novelist—probably because the solution is so difficult; to be sure, the theme is not altogether new, but it possesses an interest that is never wholly satisfied; it suggests all sorts of dramatic possibilities; it supplies material for an intense climax, and it provokes discussion.
People will differ about what a man’s duty is under such circumstances, and the question will be asked whether his allegiance is due to the church or to the woman who returns his love, overlooking what may perhaps be the fact that it is not so much a question of loyalty to the church as of loyalty to conscience; a foolish consistency, possibly “a hobgoblin to little minds,” but, nevertheless, one to be weighed in the consideration of the story’s artistic merits.
Whatever the outcome of the conflict between conscience and inclination, whether the old conception of duty is confirmed or is abandoned for a new one, there remains the same difference of opinion. Is the man weak or strong? Is his decision in conformity with the familiar facts of human nature? Is it natural that his love for his church should outweigh his passion for the woman? And is the woman likely to acquiesce in the destruction of her hopes?