A giant

Monday, December 2nd., Chiltern Court, London.

Browsing in my library last evening I took up Hardy's "The Woodlanders" and began to read. Two hours later I came to my senses and went off to bed. To my mind it is the most successful of Hardy's novels; successful in the sense of style, construction, characterisation, 'pattern'. "Far From the Madding Crowd" is a close second and, for dialogue alone, is the superior. Of course Hardy had his faults, as have we all, but what interests us with Hardy, as with Shakespeare, is not his defects, but his positive qualities. There are times when he shows a sustained power of writing which has not, in my opinion, been surpassed by anybody anywhere.

His observation of the natural world is remarkable to my mind. Perhaps those persons brought up in a rural world are naturally more aware of the vegetable and animal life which surrounds them, but I cannot think there have been many, if any, observers more subtle than Hardy. When his characters go off into the woods, which would merely be a setting for plot development for most authors, they enter a new world, a sort of magic kingdom for those with eyes to see. And Hardy had the eyes, and used them. And what is more he had the language to communicate what he saw to we lesser mortals. I like to think that I am observant, but to read a passage of Hardy is rather dispiriting.

When I last saw him, in London, Hardy was nearly eighty, a spare man, very young and active indeed for his age, who chatted and chattered away quite cheerfully and - thank heaven - quite ordinarily. He talked about anything, and nothing long. He had authority, but did not show it, perhaps hardly felt it. No nonsense about him. No pose. No secret but apparent preoccupation with the fact that he was the biggest living thing in English literature. It was a large gathering, no chance of a tete-a-tete. He knew who I was but never said if he had read any of my books. I desperately wanted to ask him, but had no opportunity and, in any case, would I have wanted to risk having him cast about for something politely vague to say? Best to remain in ignorance.