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Samuel Johnson said of certain poets, ' they only wrote verses, and very often such verses as stood the trial of the finger than of the ear .' His complaint dealt with those diligent versifiers who sacrificed meaning and language to the tapping out of strict rhythms. His poet of the 'ear' was the true poet, the one who drew together those elements—subject, thoughts on the subject, felicity of expression, and poetic purpose—and enhanced them with the techniques of rhyme and rhythm. Applying Johnson's verdict to prose, and particularly to what is called historical fiction, one substitutes time, place, personages, and events for rhyme and rhythm. The writer who merely taps out his version of historical fiction in cadences of researched fact and resounding historical names stands only the trial of the finger. One learns a little, is bemused by an incident here or there, and has passed a pleasant hour or two. But that writer who catches your 'ear' is the one who rings all the changes of atmosphere, character, emotion, and brings alive a moment in time—as did Marguerite Yourcenar in Memoirs of Hadrian, Robert Graves in I, Claudius, and Pär Lagerkvist in The Dwarf.
Review, 1934 words
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