by J.B.
Originally published in Hood's Magazine (Henry Hurst) vol.6 #6 (Dec 1846).
One of the greatest changes, perhaps, that literature is destined to undergo, relates to the size of books. The authors of a century or two hence may possibly be occupied on nearly the same materials as now; may use, for example, substantially the same imagery and poetry, and reason after much the same forms, but it will be more briefly. Books have long been approaching nearer and nearer to the tone and standard of society, and the assimilation will probably one day be complete. Prolixity in print will become as unpardonable as in conversation. Men, as Johnson observes, will demand a shorter road to knowledge, and "will grow weary of preparation, and connection, and illustration, and all those arts by which a big book is made." Sorely as conciseness goes against the natural grain of authorship, it will be the only condition, presently, on which the ear of the public will be won.
Without some check, indeed, there are no assignable limits within which some writers would confine themselves. A well-known book, which at this moment happens to be in sight, furnishes an illustration: Godwin's Life of Chaucer. All that is certainly known of Chaucer's life may be told in a few pages; Mr. Godwin's work extends to two thick quarto volumes. It is very curious to watch the process by which such a work is compounded. To take, for example, the commencement:—We have two heavy chapters of preamble, after which we might expect to arrive at the direct subject of the work.—But listen: "He who loves" (says the author at the beginning of the third chapter) "to follow the poet through the various scenes from which his mind receives its first impressions, will be eager in this place to recollect what sort of place London was at the beginning of the fourteenth century." Accordingly, at the end of the third quarto page from this announcement, we are apprised that "London was founded by the Romans, and enclosed by a wall nearly equal in extent to its present boundaries." Upon this we are presented with dissertations, each of one or two quarto pages, of "London under the Saxons"—"London under the Romans"—"The population of London under Stephen;" and, at last, "the state of London under Edward the Third." The reader, however, is told, that the author "can pretend only to have written a very superficial work;" that "he acknowledges its slightness in comparison with the magnitude of the subject; and regrets that he has been obliged to huddle up the last part (the most interesting one) of Chaucer's life; for his bookseller assured him, that two volumes quarto were-as much as the public would allow the title of his book to authorise." Yet, Mr. Godwin certainly cannot be considered as the greatest of all offenders in the age which witnessed the publication of Pennington's Life of Carter, and Haley's Memoirs.
These prolix propensities are really as injurious to the interests of the author as of the reader. As a proof of it, a writer's shortest works are generally his best. Take, for example, Southey, whose genius was perhaps better suited to support the interest of a long work than that of any writer of the age. The merit of his writings is almost invariably in the inverse ratio of their bulk. There is, his History of the Peninsular War—decidedly bad; his History of the Brazils—likewise bad; both insufferable things to nine readers out of ten. His Book of the Church, and his Life of Wesley, are improvements, though the latter has partly the same sin of prolixity. His Life of Nelson, in two little pigmy volumes, is not only his best work, but is the one in which his fame will probably live, long after it has sunk with Madoc, and, perhaps, Roderick, into the tomb of all the Capulets.
These may be trite facts, but authors have them yet, practically, to learn. We look back with astonishment on the patience of our forefathers, who could tolerate such enormities as the twelve-volume romances of Caprenede and Scudery; and we shall probably ourselves be looked back upon by posterity with equal wonder. For instance: look at the voyages and travels which have been added to our literature within the last fifteen years. Many of them relate to remote and unfrequented parts of the earth, yet they would form an occupation of three or four years to a hard reader, and of half, or perhaps the whole of a lifetime, to persons of only occasional leisure.
It may be said, perhaps, that authors are generally less in fault for their prolixity than their booksellers; and their booksellers less in fault perhaps than the established machinery of publication. It is well known, for instance, that the expenses which it is necessary to incur in order to introduce a work to the notice of the public, are nearly the same, whatever may be its size. With most publishers it is accordingly a maxim, that a book of less than a certain price, has not a probable chance of defraying the expense of its publication. Hence it is by no means uncommon for the author of a clever manuscript (especially if his name be unknown to the public) to receive it back for the sole purpose of adding—no matter how violent the process--in some way to its length. The thin volume must be somehow expanded into a thick one, or the single volume into two; before the new work can be admitted to pass muster.
In other cases, the needless size of books arises more directly from the cupidity of the publisher and the author. It is well known, with regard to some kinds of works, (travels, in particular) that a certain number of copies will be disposed of to opulent families and large reading clubs, be their price what it may. A calculation is therefore made how this may be turned to the best account; and it is needless to say, that it is generally found in favour of extreme prolixity and expensive embellishment. Fewer persons, indeed, will purchase the work; but still, such is its enormous price, that it raises a larger profit to the parties concerned, than they could expect to receive from its greater sale, if published in a more popular form. The operation of both these causes is equally mischievous. From the latter, a book often becomes like a miscellaneous lot at an auction,, containing an article or two that you want, together with a heap of useless lumber. In the former, it resembles a coach parcel, which you receive from some wary friend, inclosing a solitary letter, accompanied by a heavy brick, or some such article, to prevent its being overlooked. Bayle, it is well known, would have comprised his celebrated Dictionary in one folio volume; but his publisher, finding his materials so curious, insisted on his dilating them into five; an interference which every reader of that admirable work has reason to deplore.
It may be thought hard, that booksellers should not be allowed, like others, to make the highest profits by their merchandise. But, in the first place, no man should be permitted to enrich himself by a common nuisance; for such, in plain terms, the prolixity of works, especially of real information, undoubtedly is; and it is, further, wholly unnecessary. There is no reason why books should not be charged according to the supposed value of their materials, (which, indeed, is already done to a considerable extent,) and be produced invariably in the most concise and popular form. Our complaint is, not that authors are overpaid; or that the average profits of publishing are disproportionably large; but that publishers and authors should obtain their profits in a manner that creates a needless inconvenience to the thousands whom they supply. If an idea exists that the price of books should be an ad valorem of their mere paper and print, it is certainly not the public, but the caterers for it, who are to blame; and if the prejudice must be complied with, let their invaluable works be produced on vellum and in gold letters, if necessary; so that only the pockets, and not the time of the reader, be taxed for their advantage. The double tax is obviously unnecessary.
Our literature, in short—but it might be said all literature—is so overlaid with prolixity, that some antidote must be applied, sooner or later, of the most effectual kind. The present age has produced several partial attempts, which show its sense of the want. The Retrospective Review was perhaps one of the best of them; but a work on a more extended plan may possibly be set afoot before long;—there are an abundance of good models for such undertakings; and among these, perhaps, the very best, so far as it is applicable, is that delightful abridgement, the Histoire des Oracles of Fontenelle.