novel, and that are yet typical short stories and not mere stunted nov-
els, will occur to everyone. General rules in art are useful chiefly as a
lamp in a mine, or a handrail down a black stairway; they are neces-
sary for the sake of the guidance they give, but it is a mistake, once
they are formulated, to be too much in awe of them.
There are at least two reasons why a subject should find expression
in novel-form rather than as a tale; but neither is based on the num-
ber of what may be conveniently called incidents, or external hap-
penings, which the narrative contains. There are novels of action
which might be condensed into short stories without the loss of their
distinguishing qualities. The marks of the subject requiring a longer
development are, first, the gradual unfolding of the inner life of its
characters, and secondly the need of producing in the reader’s mind the
sense of the lapse of time. Outward events of the most varied and excit-
ing nature may without loss of probability be crowded into a few hours,
but moral dramas usually have their roots deep in the soul, their rise far
back in time; and the suddenest-seeming clash in which they culminate
should be led up to step by step if it is to explain and justify itself.
There are cases, indeed, when the short story may make use of the
moral drama at its culmination. If the incident dealt with be one which
a single retrospective flash sufficiently lights up, it is qualified for use
as a short story; but if the subject be so complex, and its successive
phases so interesting, as to justify elaboration, the lapse of time must
necessarily be suggested, and the novel-form becomes appropriate.
The effect of compactness and instantaneity sought in the short
story is attained mainly by the observance of two “unities”—the old
traditional one of time, and that other, more modern and complex,
which requires that any rapidly enacted episode shall be seen through
only one pair of eyes....
One thing more is needful for the ultimate effect of probability; and
that is, never let the character who serves as reflector record anything
not naturally within his register. It should be the storyteller’s first care
to choose this reflecting mind deliberately, as one would choose a
building-site, or decide upon the orientation of one’s house, and when
this is done, to live inside the mind chosen, trying to feel, see and react
exactly as the latter would, no more, no less, and, above all, no other-
wise. Only thus can the writer avoid attributing incongruities of
thought and metaphor to his chosen interpreter.(15)
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