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Chapter 9

           Butafterallthisisacommonfailingofmodernliterature;fewauthorsfeelsufficientlythemselvestomakeothersfeel."

           Imadenoreplyforamoment.IwasthinkingofLucio’sremarksonthisverysamesubject.

           "Well!"Isaidatlast—"IfIhadnofeelingwhenIwrotethebook,Icertainlyhavenonenow.Whyman,Ifelteverylineofit!—painfullyandintensely!"

           "Ay,ayindeed!"saidMorgesonsoothingly—"Orperhapsyouthoughtyoufelt,whichisanotherverycuriousphaseoftheliterarytemperament.Yousee,toconvincepeopleatall,youmustfirstyourselfbeconvinced.Theresultofthisisgenerallyasingularmagneticattractionbetweenauthorandpublic.HoweverIamabadhandatargument—anditispossiblethatinhastyreadingImayhavegatheredawrongimpressionofyourintentions.Anyhowthebookshallbeasuccessifwecanmakeitso.AllIventuretoaskofyouisthatyoushouldpersonallyendeavourtomanageMcWhing!"

           Ipromisedtodomybest,andonthisunderstandingweparted.IrealisedthatMorgesonwascapableofgreaterdiscernmentthanIhadimagined,andhisobservationshadgivenmematerialforthoughtwhichwasnotaltogetheragreeable.Forifmybook,ashesaid,lackedtenacity,whythenitwouldnottakerootinthepublicmind—itwouldbemerelytheephemeralsuccessofaseason—oneofthosebrief‘booms’inliterarywaresforwhichIhadsuchunmitigatedcontempt—andFamewouldbeasfaroffasever,exceptthatspuriousimitationofitwhichthefactofmymillionshadsecured.

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