In Copperfield for once he took another way entirely. It
is the far stretch of the past which makes the shape of that book, not
any of the knots or networks of action which it contains. These,
instead of controlling the novel, sink into the level of retrospect.
Copperfield has not a few lesser dramas to represent; but the affair
of Steerforth, the affair of Uriah Heep, to name a pair of them, which
might have developed and taken command of the scene, fall back into
the general picture, becoming incidents in the long rhythm of
Copperfield's memory. It was a clear case for narration in person, in
character; everything was gained and nothing lost by leaving it to the
man to give his own impression. Nothing was lost, because the sole
need is for the reader to see what David sees; it matters little how
his mind works, or what the effect of it all may be upon himself. It
is the story of what happened around him, not within. David offers a
pair of eyes and a memory, nothing further is demanded of him.
But now let me take the case of another big novel, where again there
is a picture outspread, with episodes of drama that are subordinate to
the sweep of the expanse. It is Meredith's story of Harry Richmond, a
book in which its author evidently found a demand in some way
different from that of the rest of his work; for here again the first
person is used by a man who habitually avoided it.
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