A
volume is not necessarily, as Lamb would have had us think, a book
because it can be read without difficulty. The test is, whether it was
worth reading. Had the author something to set forth? And had he the
specific gift for setting it forth in written words? And did he use
this rather rare gift conscientiously and to the full? And were his
words well and appropriately printed and bound? If you can say Yes to
these questions, then only, I submit, is the title of `book' deserved.
If Lamb were alive now, he certainly would draw the line closer than
he did. Published volumes were few in his day (though not, of course,
few enough). Even he, in all the plenitude of his indulgence, would
now have to demur that at least 90 per cent. of the volumes that the
publishers thrust on us, so hectically, every spring and autumn, are
abiblia [Greek].
What would he have to say of the novels, for example? These
commodities are all very well in their way, no doubt. But let us have
no illusions as to what their way is. The poulterer who sells strings
of sausages does not pretend that every individual sausage is in
itself remarkable. He does not assure us that `this is a sausage that
gives furiously to think,' or `this is a singularly beautiful and
human sausage,' or `this is undoubtedly the sausage of the year.
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