Let me now to prose. Like my baronial Chief,
I say, "Bring me my boots!" and let them be thick, so that I may
trudge safely through Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING's latest, "_The Light that
Failed" (Lippincott's Monthly Magazine_, January). This is described
as Mr. KIPLING's first long story. His publishers, moreover, are good
enough to take all the trouble of criticism upon their own shoulders.
They declare that "there is more stern strength in this novel than
in anything which Mr. KIPLING has written;" but that is, after all,
only a comparative statement, which profits me little, as I never yet
estimated the amount of "stern strength" in Mr. KIPLING's previous
writings. I am, however, told, in addition, that the tale "is as
intensely moving as it is intensely masculine" (there's lovely
language!) "and it will not be surprising if it should prove to be
the literary sensation of the year." To such an expression of opinion
by competent judges it would be futile to attempt to add very much.
I will only say, therefore, that the "sensation" produced in me by
this novel is one of the most disagreeable I ever experienced. The
characters are, for the most part, inordinately dull, preposterously
conceited, and insufferably brutal. As for _Dick Heldar_, the hero, no
more disagreeable and hateful bully-puppy ever thought and talked in
disconnected gasps through ninety-seven pages. The catastrophe moves
no pity. Mr. KIPLING seems to despise the public, "who think with
their boots, and read with their elbows;" but so clever a man might
surely show his contempt less crudely.
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