' 'A
pretentious book of the genre ennuyant,' was the brief comment of
a Society journal. A weekly of high standing began its short
notice in a rage: 'Here is another of those intolerable
productions for which we are indebted to the spirit of grovelling
realism. This author, let it be said, is never offensive, but
then one must go on to describe his work by a succession of
negatives; it is never interesting, never profitable, never--'
and the rest. The eulogy in The West End had a few timid echoes.
That in The Current would have secured more imitators, but
unfortunately it appeared when most of the reviewing had already
been done. And, as Jasper truly said, only a concurrence of
powerful testimonials could have compelled any number of people
to affect an interest in this book. 'The first duty of a novelist
is to tell a story:' the perpetual repetition of this phrase is a
warning to all men who propose drawing from the life. Biffen only
offered a slice of biography, and it was found to lack flavour.
He wrote to Mrs Reardon: 'I cannot thank you enough for this very
kind letter about my book; I value it more than I should the
praises of all the reviewers in existence.
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