William Eastlake about Melville and Faulkner

Submitted by martinfrank on Fri, 08/30/2024 - 11:36

Chop explaining what he wrote

We must keep in mind that those books which are popular today will be forgotten tomorrow. We must remember that when Melville died there were no obituaries. We must remember that “Moby-Dick” was not re­viewed by a paper in New York. We must remember that he was the only writer of merit that New York City ever produced; he was born there. I was reading a recent article in “Time” in which they said that Melville quit and it pointed out other writers who had quit. It was a mystery to them and they blamed these people for quitting. What they forget is that these critics today, if there were a Melville around, would treat him the same way. If they want to know why a writer quits, why do they castigate some writers, as they did Faulkner, and then praise their friends’ books? Melville too had a normal ego; Melville too thought that what he wrote had merit.

Typically a magazine like “Saturday Review” or “Time” would pub­lish a criticism of Faulkner’s work by some failed second-rate writer who was envious of Faulkner, and he would justifiably point out Faulkner’s weak­nesses and even take things out of context to make Faulkner look ridicu­lous. What the critics said was generally true. But next to the Faulkner review you would read another review of a novel by a woman with three names and it would be the “finest crafted book with heart-felt insights into life situations.” You would gather from reading these criticisms that Faulk­ner was the worst writer in the world and that this woman was the best. All that the critics had to say, if they wanted to point out the weaknesses that were there, is that this man is a genius but that these are the mis­takes that he made. It’s very important to say that this woman is a third-rate writer who crafts well. What they said about her was true. What they said about Faulkner was true. But they didn’t say that she’s third-rate and that he’s a genius. That made Faulkner very bitter.

William Eastlake