Books: Literary Whale

THE JOURNAL OF ARNOLD BENNETT (Vol. I)—Viking ($4).

As a sideline to writing some 80 books Author Bennett from 1896 to shortly before his death in 1931 kept a personal journal aggregating over a million words. The present volume—first of three— covers the years 1896-1910, covers its author’s maturing observations on life, literature and Arnold Bennett. Carefully, yet candidly set down, these variegated soliloquies of a man trying, with unheardof application, to satisfy himself, are rarities of the first water in English literature.

Author Bennett’s life was a literal translation of his literary creed: “An artist works only to satisfy himself, and for the applause and appreciation neither of his fellows alive nor his fellows yet unborn. I would not care a bilberry for posterity. I should be my own justest judge, from whom there was no appeal; and having satisfied him … I should be content—as an artist. As a man, I should be disgusted if I could not earn plenty of money and the praise of the discriminating.” To earn a Man’s share of cash, Author Bennett took up book reviewing, became editor of a magazine for women. With such intensity did he work that on one occasion when a man fell to his death outside his office window, he did not bother to open his window and look out. But Artist Bennett finally revolted, finding that “to edit a lady’s paper, even a relatively advanced one, is to foster conventionality and hinder progress regularly once a week.” As a lesser evil he chose to earn money by writing sensational fiction, with serious work on the side. In 1899 he was able to chalk up, as he did at the end of every year, his grand total of words written—335,340 for that year (raised to 423,500 in 1908).

Outside the cloister of his fanaticism for words and work Author Bennett pursued the society of literati, filled his journal with notes on the contemporary scene. He was not choosey. He confesses in one of his few poems: For me a rural pond is not more pure Nor more spontaneous titan my city sewer. In the Parisian restaurant Duval, where for years he regularly sat at a certain table, a revolting old woman once took a seat opposite him. Said Man Bennett: “With that thing opposite to me my dinner will be spoilt!” But Artist Bennett got the idea for The Old Wives’ Tale from that old woman. Reward for all his labors he sought and found in cash returns (reckoned up each year); reviews of his books (measured by inches); and the society of interesting people. After a party in London he writes: “This sort of thing is the real reward for having written a few decent books.” But there were other, less pleasant rewards—headaches, insomnia, liver trouble, nervous exhaustion. At some times it “occurs” to him that he is “almost happy.” At other times he writes: “Habit of work is growing on me. I could get into the way of going to my desk as a man goes to whiskey, or rather to chloral.” The struggle within the man-artist was in full swing. Some 600,000 more words of journal remain to be published to show the world how that struggle went.