Modern Fiction
MODERN FICTION By Charles Dudley Warner One of the worst characteristics of modern fiction is its so-called truth to nature. For fiction is an art, as painting is, as sculpture is, as acting is. A photograph of a natural object is not art; nor is the plaster cast of a man's face, nor is the bare setting on the stage of an actual occurrence. Art requires an idealization of nature. The amateur, though she may be a lady, who attempts to represent upon the stage the lady of the drawing-room, usually fails to convey to the spectators the impression of a lady. She lacks the art by which the trained actress, who may not be a lady, succeeds. The actual transfer to the stage of the drawing-room and its occupants, with the behavior common in well-bred society, would no doubt fail of the intended dramatic effect, and the spectators would declare the representation unnatural. However our jargon of criticism may confound terms, we do not need to be reminded that art and nature are distinct; that art, though dependent on nature, is a separate creation; that art is selection and idealization, with a view to impressing the mind with human, or even higher than human,
spirit pony, galloped off to the happy hunting-ground
beyond.
Happily, with the advancement of Christianity these
superstitions have faded, and the living sacrifices are
partially continued only from a belief that by parting with
their most cherished and valuable goods they propitiate the
Great Spirit for the sins committed during the life of the
deceased. This, though at first revolting, we find was the
practice of our own forefathers, offering up as burnt
offerings the lamb or the ox; hence we cannot censure this
people, but, from a comparison of conditions, credit them
with a more strict observance of our Holy Book than pride
and seductive fashions permit of us.
From a careful review of the whole of their attendant
ceremonies a remarkable similarity can be marked. The
arrangement of the corpse preparatory to interment, the
funeral feast, the local service by the aged fathers, are
all observances that have been noted among whites, extending
into times that are in the memory of those still living.
The Pimas of Arizona, actuated by apparently the same motives that led
the more eastern tribes to endeavor to prevent contact of earth with the
corpse, adopted a plan which has been described by Capt. F.E.
Grossman,[5] and the account is corroborated by M. Alphonse Pinart[6]
MODERN FICTION By Charles Dudley Warner One of the worst characteristics of modern fiction is its so-called truth to nature. For fiction is an art, as painting is, as sculpture is, as acting is. A photograph of a natural object is not art; nor is the plaster cast of a man's face, nor is the bare setting on the stage of an actual occurrence. Art requires an idealization of nature. The amateur, though she may be a lady, who attempts to represent upon the stage the lady of the drawing-room, usually fails to convey to the spectators the impression of a lady. She lacks the art by which the trained actress, who may not be a lady, succeeds. The actual transfer to the stage of the drawing-room and its occupants, with the behavior common in well-bred society, would no doubt fail of the intended dramatic effect, and the spectators would declare the representation unnatural. However our jargon of criticism may confound terms, we do not need to be reminded that art and nature are distinct; that art, though dependent on nature, is a separate creation; that art is selection and idealization, with a view to impressing the mind with human, or even higher than human,