"There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond norfree, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in JesusChrist."—Galatians iii. 28.
The chief fault of The Quaint Companions is that it ends. Mr. Merrickis no follower of the "well-made novel" school; he accepts his libertiesas an English novelist, and this book has not only the beginning andmiddle and end of one story, but the beginning and some of the middleof another. The intelligent reader would be the gladder if it wenton to that second end, and even then he might feel there was more tobe said. For this book is about the tragedy of racial miscegenation.It is, perhaps, the most sympathetic and understanding novel, in itsintimate everyday way, about the clash of colour and race-prejudiceand racial quality that has ever been written in English, and its verymerits make its limitation of length and scope the more regrettable. Itis not a book to read alone. One should go from it to Le Chat Maigreof M. Anatole France; and good collaterals to it would be Mr. Archer'sThrough Afro-America and Mr. Hesketh Prichard's Where Black rulesWhite.
On the whole the strength of the book lies rather in the earlier partof it. Elisha Lee is the realest, most touching individuality in thislittle piebald group of second-rate humanity. He has, as the vulgarway of the studio puts it—guts. When he is hurt he swears, and theheart of the reader responds. David Lee is a weakling, diffusing aweakness over all the story of his development. The story loses spiritas he replaces his father. He is sensitive without strength, andexpressive without pride. He writes. He wields what is ultimatelythe most powerful weapon a man can take into his hand, the pen. Hehas, we are told, the moving touch. What more is needed for pride andhappiness? Apparently the normal gratification of a healthy guinea-pig.All Mr. Merrick's skill will not reconcile us to the pathos of David'sdisappointment at the loss of a pretty fool, or make us see in him andBee anything more than two unreasonably despondent beings who havemerely to look up to rejoice in the gifts of understanding they possess.This second story is not a tragedy, but a misunderstanding, and when Mr.Merrick should begin to elucidate that, when, indeed, he has just got tothe gist of his enthralling subject and brought his Quaint Companionstogether, he sounds a short unjustifiable note of sentimentality—andends.
Since 1900 when Mr. Merrick closed this story eighteen years havepassed. It is now possible to tell a little more of the fate of Beeand David. They did come into closer juxtaposition even as Mr. Merrickfore-shadowed. Indeed, availing themselves of the wilder courage ofthese latter days, they married. They had no children. Bee developed apractical side that was extraordinarily sustaining to David. She learntto write and he, adventuring beyond the delicacies of his earlier days,began to produce short fantastic pieces of fiction that had an immensevogue in America....
But why confine ourselves to the limit of 1918? Let us glance on afew years. David's long-deferred success was now at hand. The youngergeneration hailed him with the utmost delight, his name became almosta symbol for the revolt against the lengthy, crowded novels ofBennett, Merrick, Wells, Cannan, Compton Mackenzie and their elderlycontemporaries. David was inordinately praised by the aged but stillactive Yeats, and elected an original member of the New Academy of