John Galsworthy

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A Motley

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SOURCE: A review of A Motley, in The New York Times Saturday Review, Vol. XV, No. 88, September 17, 1910, pp. 505-06.

[In the following review, the critic offers a favorable assessment of A Motley.]

John Galsworthy is one of the few really significant figures in the literary world to-day. It is difficult to understand the attitude of those who dismiss him with the slightly condescending dictum, "Oh, yes—Galsworthy. He's the Socialist and propagandist, isn't he?"

Socialist he may be, but he is too much the artist to be a mere propagandist. As a man of thought and imagination he reflects the ultra-modern temper—the new humanitarianism, which is concerned less with theories and formulae than with the actualities of life. The volume [A Motley] of short stories, studies, and impressions just published is doubly interesting, for, apart from its intrinsic value, it is a striking revelation of the personality of the writer. As in the plays Strike and The Silver Box and the novel Fraternity, one finds here the presentation of life, and modern problems concretely treated. If Mr. Galsworthy cherishes any solution of these problems he does not give utterance to it. Seemingly, he is content to write of what he sees and feels, not despairing of Utopia, yet not overconfident of its coming.

The book opens with "A Portrait"—a study, slightly in the eighteenth century manner, of a man of no particular importance in this hurrying world. It is detailed, leisurely and suavely written. One notes in it what may be quoted as an expression of the author's own views.

It is a kindly study, on the whole, and in contrast to the second, "A Fisher of Men." In this is a certain irony, a reflected bitterness, which still, in its own way, does not lack an emotional appeal. "The Prisoner" is a short sketch, impressionistic, plainly mirroring a protest against the penal system (which is undergoing reform in England to-day as a direct result of the author's play, entitled Justice), though no direct word of protest appears. "Courage," again, is impressionistic—a poverty-stricken little barber does his duty, as he sees it. He assumes the burden of a woman and her seven children, saying: "Life is hard! What would you have? I knew her husband. Could I leave her to the streets?"

"The Meeting" and "A Parting" are a little depressing. There is always sorrow, even to the mere looker-on, in the parting of those who love; and, after all, there may be sadness to the looker-on in the first meeting—but is it always wise to ignore the brightness of to-day for the grayness of to-morrow? "The Pack" is a study of the psychology of the crowd.

It's only when men run in packs that they lose their sense of decency. * * * Individual man—I'm not speaking of savages—is more given to generosity than meanness, rarely brutal, inclines in fact to be a gentleman. It's when you add three or four more to him that his sense of decency, his sense of personal responsibility, his private standards, go by the board. I am not at all sure that he does not become the victim of a certain infectious fever. Something physical takes place, I am sure. * * * Single man is not an angel; collective man is a bit of a brute.

"Joy of Life," "Bel Colore" and "A Pilgrimage' are brief impressions, notable chiefly for their vivid but fleeting glimpses of children. There is grimness in the stories "A Miller of Dee" and "The Neighbors"—sordid tragedy, if tragedy may ever be sordid. "The Japanese Quince" is a curious little sketch. Two respectable, stolid business men are lured into a square by the subtle odor of an exotic tree. There is no denouement, but the impression is as clear as a cameo. There is humor in "The Cadjer." But what one receives is, in the main, a conviction of the writer's art and of his intense desire to set forth plainly and effectively the case of those who cannot speak for themselves; the sense of an imagination readily touched, and a mentality essentially masculine. Some of the stories are commonplace as to theme, but each is vivified by a passionate sympathy with life in its every manifestation.

Peculiarly enough, here is a writer of whom one cannot say that he is the disciple of this master or that. Doubtless Mr. Galsworthy has absorbed much from the French writers of short stories, yet his method, no less than his matter, is strongly individual. A Motley is stimulating both to imagination and to thought; and it touches very close to the heart of to-day.

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