Possibly it falls to all publishers
in this medium to encounter 'style'
finally in the perspective of their
own interests. Mine are in the chan-
neling functions of style, and only
moderately in the others; it is in-
teresting to me as a boulevard of a
personality, albeit laced with some
intersections.
I have lately introduced one
of the most notably problem-
atical personalities ever to
be heard from, in selections
chosen for a humaneness that
I find uncanny and inspiring.
These discoveries stir genu-
ine surprise in me, although
this has been suggested only
once. But he was a figure of
renown for rhetoric of other
qualities, that drove one of
his early editors to wonder:
I find it difficult to decide
whether he is a fundamentally
nice person in the grip of a
prose style in which it is im-
possible to be polite, or a
fundamentally unpleasant per-
son using rudeness as a dis-
guise for nastiness.
The question could not conceivably
have been framed in these terms if
the stylist were any less exorbit-
antly attractive than he was, when
at his best. Such persons are ava-
tars of hope to anyone who senses
the power of rhetoric, not merely
to lead but to illuminate. Custom-
arily, we discard them, throw them
away; but truly, I think, this is
a surrendering of them which is a
great mistake. In the case of this
personality, entire cadres in the
ostensibly learned world stood by
in prayer that he would hurl him-
self upon a great mistake. Yet it
was his nature to hurl himself; he
rode with the hunt, religiously.
I am tending to entertain the proposition,
that if there are tragic figures, the pre-
sumptive 'failure of their light' is one
in which the bystander participates. If I
am correct to be pursuing this line of
thought, what can it mean that such a fig-
ure is the one who opened that boulevard?
If I confer prestige of tragedy upon an-
other person, have I struggled sincerely
enough to preserve its dignity as rare?
No comments:
Post a Comment