In real life a thousand currents cross each other, and counter cross,
and cross again. Life is a maze of endless continuity, to which,
nevertheless, we desire to find some key. Literature offers us a
picture of life to which there is a key, and by some analogy it suggests
explanations of real life. It is of far more value to be true to the
principles of life than to the outer facts. The outer facts are
fragmentary and uncertain, mere passing suggestions, signs in the
darkness. The principles of life are a clew of thread which may guide
the human judgment through many dark and difficult places.
It is to these that the artistic writer must be true.
In the real incident the writer sees an idea which he thinks may
illustrate a principle he knows of. The observed fact must illustrate
the principle, but he must shape it to that end. A carver takes a block
of wood and sets out to make a vase. First he cuts away all the useless
parts: The writer should reject all the useless facts connected with his
story and reserve only what illustrates his idea. Often, however, the
carver finds his block of wood too small, or imperfect.
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