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The Cliff End, almost unanimously laudatory, show in a bright light our national indifference to composition in art. Some reviewers, while stating that the story itself was a poor one, insisted that Mr. Booth is a born and accomplished story-teller. Story-tellers born and accomplished do not tell poor stories. A poor story is the work of a poor story-teller. And the story of
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The Cliff End is merely absurd. It is worse, if possible, than the story of Mr. Maxwell's
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Vivien, which reviewers accepted. It would appear that with certain novels the story doesn't matter! I really believe that composition, the foundation of all arts, including the art of fiction, is utterly unconsidered in England. Or if it is considered, it is painfully misunderstood. I remember how the panjandrums condescendingly pointed out the bad construction of Mr. Joseph Conrad's
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Lord Jim, one of the most noble examples of fine composition in modern literature, and but slightly disfigured by a detail of clumsy machinery. In
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The Cliff End