Writers

Tuesday, December 6th., Cadogan Square, London.

I attended the dinner of the P.E.N. Club to Lion Feuchtwanger, and sat next to him, and was pleased with his personality. He is evidently well-used to publicity. He said that his Berlin secretary said that he spent one hour in writing and the rest of the day in business, making contracts and seeing people. Rebecca West was in the chair and she didn't say enough. Feuchtwanger spoke very satisfactorily in very bad English. I went over and talked to May Sinclair, whom I hadn't seen for sixteen or seventeen years. I also went over to Mrs. Aria. She said: "You haven't kissed me." So I kissed her, for the first time. 

The P.E.N. Club started in London in 1921, but now there are apparently twenty five centres throughout Europe. It is on the way to becoming the first world-wide association of writers, and has aspirations to promote literature and freedom of thought everywhere, especially when they are under threat. Presently grappling with a Charter. Inevitably an organisation made up of writers is going to have some difficulty formulating a written manifesto! P.E.N. is an acronym - Poets, Essayists, Novelists. Galsworthy is the President. It was originally the idea of an English poet, Catharine Amy Dawson-Scott. Dinners are totally apolitical.

Dismal day. Not cold, but a constant threat of rain. I walked out to get ideas, but didn't get any. Back is still sore and I think the walking has made it worse, though my expectation was the reverse. One would have thought that when 'God' was designing human backs he could have made a better job of them.

Visiting friends

Saturday, November 6th., Easton Glebe, near Dunmow.

C.R.W. Nevinson

We caught the 2.34 from Liverpool Street to Bishop's Stortford where we were met by Jane Wells and Frank, and driven to Easton Glebe, where H.G.Wells received us. Thank goodness it wasn't H.G. driving - he lacks even basic road sense! Mr. and Mrs. C.R.W.Nevinson had already arrived. He is an artist, much talked about.

This is the first time I have taken Dorothy to visit the Wells', though she has met them socially. I am reminded of advice given me by Rebecca West some time ago: "Don't leave your wife alone with H.G." I shall take care not to do so. It seems that H.G., in spite of his many qualities, simply lacks self-control in his relationship with women. According to R.W., who was rather indiscreet, he has a remarkable sex drive. He is evidently very attractive to women, which R.W. was at a loss to explain except to say that "there is something about him; he looks at you in a way which makes it clear that he is ready and willing to have sex with you, and we respond." I must ask Dorothy what she thinks, but not until we get home - I don't want to put any ideas into her head. Perhaps I should warn Nevinson, but I expect he is as aware of H.G's reputation as I am.

On seeing

Monday, January 13th., Cadogan Square, London.

I have been reading two essays on literary criticism: 'Tradition' in criticism is handled by Rebecca West; and 'Experiment' by T. S. Eliot. They are a formidable pair! West skates brilliantly over literary criticism from Aristotle to the present day, and I agree in the main with her views. But I have discovered little that is new to me in her witty remarks. As for Eliot, he gives in my opinion too much attention to the past and too little to present and future criticism. His chief point seems to me to be that criticism is and will be influenced by the master-idea of evolution. Well, of course! On the whole, taking everything into account, these two essays have a more striking resemblance to stone than to bread. Of constructive criticism they contain very little.

I was led to think about a remark of Roger Fry's, one of the greatest critical minds of the age. He said: "We learn to see only so much as is needful for our purposes: but this is in fact very little, just enough to recognise and identify each object or person; that done they go into an entry in our mental catalogue and are no more really seen. In actual life the normal person really only reads the labels as it were on the objects around him, and troubles no further ... we were given our eyes to see things, not to look at them." I feel this as a profound insight, though obvious enough once pointed out. The difficulty is maintaining that state of heightened awareness that permits seeing as a matter of course. 

Also see 'Interesting artistic experiences', November 24th., -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/interesting-artistic-experiences.html

The core of the business of all imaginative literature is here. And the duty of the literary critic is to insist all the time that that imaginative literature is negligible which does nothing to make the reader see people, places and phenomena as freshly as though he had never set eyes on them before. But a first-class book must have something more even than this quality. It must give an effect of beauty. It must cause the reader to see beauty where he could not have seen it before. A work of art, whether poem, novel, play or picture, ought to make you think that you are seeing the thing portrayed for the first time in your life, and also seeing beauty, or new beauty, in it for the first time.

Additionally for January 13th., see 'Scrupulously clean' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/scrupulously-clean.html

I outlined in the bath this morning an idea of a play about a man being offered a title and his wife insisting on his accepting it against his will. Spender told me that such a man had once asked him for advice in just such a problem, and he had advised the man to suppress his scruples and accept the title. Ross said that this would be a good idea for a play, and it is.

Tyranny of thrift

Thursday, December 7th., Royal Thames Yacht Club, Piccadilly.

In the afternoon read through what I have written of my new novel. Not so bad. Undoubtedly I have been refreshed and invigorated by reading Dreiser's "The Financier", which absolutely held me. "The Titan", which I am now reading, is not so good.

Rebecca West and H. G. Wells

I came to London yesterday with Marguerite. Rebecca west, Gladys Wheeler, and H. G. Wells lunched with me at Romano's. Wells called my fob "gastric jewellery"! He offered to bet 2 to 1 that the war would be over by August next.
http://therumpus.net/2012/08/saturday-history-lesson-rebecca-west-h-g-wells-and-anthony-panther-west/


The other day I was out making some small purchases and became uncomfortably aware of a feature of my character - subservience to the tyranny of thrift. I am on the way to being a miser, though I have bouts of resistance. Perhaps this is why I have written so successfully about misers such as Ephraim Tellwright, James Ollerenshaw and Mrs. Garlick. I find myself incapable of making a purchase, even a small one, if I believe I can get better value (which generally means cheaper) elsewhere. It is almost physically impossible for me to pay more than I must, even though the amount saved is trivial, and I am far from being short of a few coppers. Have I learned this behaviour, or is it in some way an inherited predisposition?

Additionally for December 7th., see -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/french-and-english-girls.html

I went to have tea with Mrs. Spear and found all her three daughters there. The two eldest, aged about 18 or 19, are charming. There are, I suppose, no such French girls. The French girl is sacrificed to the French woman - and no doubt the French woman is worth the price. I had an extraordinarily rich tea of home-made jams and cakes. I was very facetious, I don't know why, and I made them laugh continually. It is very satisfying and contenting to make young girls laugh by simple means. I stayed two hours.