An Exclusive Interview with Dr. Phyllis Bentley

An interview exclusive to The Woman's Voice

Women's literary activity in England is no less prominent than the activity of men. In poetry, for example, the name of Edith Sitwell shines, fearing no eclipse, on the summits scaled by Yeats and Eliot. And so it is with Virginia Woolf, Elizabeth Bowen, and Phyllis Bentley in the world of the novel: their works are read, criticized, translated, and made into films in as great a measure as befalls the works of the great writers.

And it pleased me that the women readers of "The Woman's Voice," and its men readers, should have the good fortune of an acquaintance with one of the pioneers of modern literature in England — I mean Phyllis Bentley — through the information that reached me about her, or from her directly.

Our novelist is an author as well known in the world of the story as she is in the world of criticism, or in the domain of sociology. She has more than one book of critical study, such as "Some Observations on the Art of the Novel." She holds a doctorate in sociology. In the novel she has ranged widely and fruitfully; among her works in this field, the film companies have produced "Inheritance," "West of Yorkshire," and "Noble in Mind." And beyond her written output, she shows a notable social effort, and overflows with an astonishing vitality despite having passed her fifth decade.

I asked Dr. Bentley about the particular aspects that interest her in the field of the novel, and she answered:

— I am from the industrial region of Yorkshire, and I am a specialist in sociology, so it was natural that I should concern myself with this region in particular, and treat its problems on a psychological, analytical, social plane.

— And what is your method?

— Realistic on the whole. I aim above all to show the effect of inner emotion in the human self upon its conduct in life.

— And do you work by the inspiration of a particular political doctrine?

— No. My doctrine is social justice, and my guide is devotion to art and the service of man.

— Is it true that the number of women novelists in England exceeds the number of men?

— That was so during the last war. Now I do not believe it. Perhaps it holds true in the United States.

— And what is the influence of the American novel on English literature?

— Slight. Ernest Hemingway, for example, influenced no one but Virginia Woolf.

— And you — by whom were you influenced?

— I was influenced above all by Thomas Hardy.

— By what writer of the world has the modern English novel been influenced?

— It has been influenced by Marcel Proust as a novelist, and by Freud and his psychological school.

— What do you say to Somerset Maugham's opinion that the artist does not trouble himself with artistic technique unless the subject he is treating is of small consequence?

— That is an extreme opinion — quite as extreme as the opposite opinion of Arnold Bennett, who says: the artist must attend first to the manner of presenting the subject, more than to the subject itself; he must be in love with artistic technique and literary form.

— And what is your own view?

— I hold that form and meaning complete one another, and the artist practiced in writing is the one who expresses himself artistically in a spontaneous way. When did the skillful football player, for instance, ever calculate how to move his feet to strike the ball? His long practice has taught him to play spontaneously. So it is with the writer: thanks to training, he cuts the form to the measure of the meaning quite naturally.

— And what is your view of the novelist's task?

— I will give you a simple comparison. A thick wall screens the reader from the world of the novelist's imagining, and on this wall stands the novelist, who sees, and shows in his turn. This does not mean that he gives a photographic picture of what he beholds; rather it is his duty to add and to take away in just the measure that the requirements of art demand.

— And do words help the writer to express all that he wishes, as much as pigments help the painter, or melodies the musician?

— Words have their limits, yes. In the field of description, for example, the writer cannot attain the reach of the painter or the sculptor. And in the field of inward suggestion he falls short of the musician. But words have their effectiveness over a wide range, since they gather their means from the most varied fields. In a single novel, for instance, you may find painting, and music, and sculpture, and dance, and imagination, and analysis, and guidance, and philosophy. If words fall short of the other means in this field or that, they are unrivaled in comprehensiveness. And that is a precious weapon in the novelist's hands.

The world-famous woman of letters was on the point of traveling from London to her own region, Yorkshire; she charged me with a sincere greeting to the women writers of the Arabs (and her portrait by way of remembrance), while I carried to her a brief notion of woman's literary output among us; and she longed to know the East and to draw inspiration from its air.