Talking books

Saturday, October 29th., Eltham, Torquay.

Staying with the Phillpotts' at present. Every night we have had long literary talks, in which I did rather more than half the talking, while Mrs. P. sat between us, quiet but apparently interested. Phillpotts often speaks of these 'shoppy' talks with the greatest pleasure. He says they are a sharp stimulant - a stimulant he rarely gets. One of the things he admires in writing is stateliness, the stately management of a long sentence. He remarked how few writers cared to attempt a long and elaborate sentence.

He admitted as a defect in himself that he could not tolerate the romantic convention - it was so false. He went on to contrast the heroine of the usual historical novel (even Scott) with the actual coarse, ignorant, crude-thinking, rough-mouthed maiden of past times. Fair comment, but if we, as authors, actually reproduced in our works the speech of 'ordinary' men and women who would want to buy them. Surely it is romance, in its broadest sense, that the reading public wants? And I can't say that Pillpotts' characters are so 'real' as all that. Still, I didn't say anything about it. He has been kind to me, and I like them both. He said he had been influenced by Hardy ("Talking about your god are you?" said his wife coming in at that moment). And distantly by Fielding, for whom he has an intense admiration.

"The hero of my next book", he said ("The Pagan"), "has better ideas about Dartmoor than any person I ever met. He seems to have proper ideas, the only right attitude. He knows much more of Dartmoor than I do, and has taught me a lot." This, almost seriously, of a creature of his own brain. I know what he means because a character, if truly imagined, does acquire a sort of life of his own. I have found myself engaging in mental conversations with my characters, particularly in a relaxed state, say waking from a nap.

Looking through Mrs. Phillpotts' collection of autographs I was a little surprised at the warmth and spontaneity of the tributes sent by well-known men. This must be very rewarding. There was a letter from James Payn about "Lying Prophets", and another from R.D. Blackmore about "Children in the Mist" pleased me particularly, so natural and large-hearted and fine. I had no idea that well-known men put themselves out to do these things.