The
struggle for existence among books is nowadays as severe as among
men. If a writer has friends connected with the press,. it is the
plain duty of those friends to do their utmost to help him. What
matter if they exaggerate, or even lie? The simple, sober truth
has no chance whatever of being listened to, and it's only by
volume of shouting that the ear of the public is held. What use
is it to Biffen if his work struggles to slow recognition ten
years hence? Besides, as I say, the growing flood of literature
swamps everything but works of primary genius. If a clever and
conscientious book does not spring to success at once, there's
precious small chance that it will survive. Suppose it were
possible for me to write a round dozen reviews of this book, in
as many different papers, I would do it with satisfaction. Depend
upon it, this kind of thing will be done on that scale before
long. And it's quite natural. A man's friends must be helped, by
whatever means, quocunque modo, as Biffen himself would say.'
'I dare say he doesn't even think of you as a friend now.
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