hide Sorting

You can sort these results in two ways:

By entity
Chronological order for dates, alphabetical order for places and people.
By position (current method)
As the entities appear in the document.

You are currently sorting in ascending order. Sort in descending order.

hide Most Frequent Entities

The entities that appear most frequently in this document are shown below.

Entity Max. Freq Min. Freq
Americans 54 0 Browse Search
France (France) 30 0 Browse Search
Christmas 24 0 Browse Search
United States (United States) 22 0 Browse Search
George Eliot 22 0 Browse Search
William Shakespeare 20 0 Browse Search
Jane Austen 20 0 Browse Search
M. J. Emerson 19 1 Browse Search
English 18 0 Browse Search
Howells 18 4 Browse Search
View all entities in this document...

Browsing named entities in a specific section of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Women and Men. Search the whole document.

Found 31 total hits in 21 results.

1 2 3
Jane Porter (search for this): chapter 31
t of ivory, two inches wide, on which, she said, I work with a brush so fine as to produce little effect after much labor. Yet in the opinion of Sir Walter Scott and all succeeding critics, the result was quite worth the effort, Scott saying that he himself did the big bow-wow style as well as anybody, but that all the minuter excellences were peculiarly her province. As a result, she has far surpassed in fame her immediate contemporaries of her own sex. Madame D'Arblay (Fanny Burney), Miss Porter, Mrs. Opic, and even Miss Edgeworth, are now little read, while Miss Austen's novels seem as if they were written yesterday. But the curious thing is that of the leading novelists in the English tongue to-day it is the men, not the women, who have taken up Miss Austen's work, while the women show more inclination, if not to the big bow-wow style of Scott, at least to the novel of plot and narrative. Anthony Trollope among the lately dead, James and Howells among the living, are the li
Jane Austen (search for this): chapter 31
nd women's novels. It is a curious fact that Paris, to which the works of Jane Austen were lately as unknown as if she were an English painter, has just discovereet there is much truth in the theory. It certainly looked at one tine as if Miss Austen had thoroughly established the claim of her sex to the minute delineation of Miss Porter, Mrs. Opic, and even Miss Edgeworth, are now little read, while Miss Austen's novels seem as if they were written yesterday. But the curious thing isin the English tongue to-day it is the men, not the women, who have taken up Miss Austen's work, while the women show more inclination, if not to the big bow-wow styately dead, James and Howells among the living, are the lineal successors of Miss Austen. Perhaps it is an old-fashioned taste which leads me to think that neither borrowed from her. The minute study of character she left, unattempted, for Jane Austen to take up. It is plain that women novelists, like men, incline sometimes to
it is the men, not the women, who have taken up Miss Austen's work, while the women show more inclination, if not to the big bow-wow style of Scott, at least to the novel of plot and narrative. Anthony Trollope among the lately dead, James and Howells among the living, are the lineal successors of Miss Austen. Perhaps it is an old-fashioned taste which leads me to think that neither of these does his work quite so well as she ; but they all belong to the same photographic school; each sets ut the really great novel includes the creation of character, and does not stop there; for after all one asks, What is the use of the finest delineation of persons if they do nothing worth doing after they are created? The trouble with James and Howells seems to be that they expend all their strength in the masterly construction of marionettes; and after these little personages are so real that they seem as good as alive they are made to do nothing more than throw their arms and legs about a wh
two inches wide, on which, she said, I work with a brush so fine as to produce little effect after much labor. Yet in the opinion of Sir Walter Scott and all succeeding critics, the result was quite worth the effort, Scott saying that he himself did the big bow-wow style as well as anybody, but that all the minuter excellences were peculiarly her province. As a result, she has far surpassed in fame her immediate contemporaries of her own sex. Madame D'Arblay (Fanny Burney), Miss Porter, Mrs. Opic, and even Miss Edgeworth, are now little read, while Miss Austen's novels seem as if they were written yesterday. But the curious thing is that of the leading novelists in the English tongue to-day it is the men, not the women, who have taken up Miss Austen's work, while the women show more inclination, if not to the big bow-wow style of Scott, at least to the novel of plot and narrative. Anthony Trollope among the lately dead, James and Howells among the living, are the lineal success
Ann Radcliffe (search for this): chapter 31
high-sounding moralities! what heroic platitudes! For if the difficulties be great, according to Vincentio's opinion, your courage is yet greater. Let us grant him that the enterprise is dangerous and difficult; in what history, ancient or modern, hath it been found that the way which conducteth to glory is covered wit flowers, and that an illustrious action hath been executed without pain? A hundred years later women touched the novel of plot and adventure with a bolder grasp, and Mrs. Radcliffe's romances seemed the joint offspring of big bow — wow and nightmare parentage. But they too moved with sweep and power; she was strong in description and invention ; she bridged the interval between the medieval and modern novel, and painted landscape so well that even Byron sometimes borrowed from her. The minute study of character she left, unattempted, for Jane Austen to take up. It is plain that women novelists, like men, incline sometimes to one branch of the art, sometimes to ano
Henry Cogan (search for this): chapter 31
ew distribution of parts be permanent Very likely not. It is extremely probable that this, like many other things attributed to sex, is really a matter of individuality alone, or of temporary fashion. What confirms this is the fact that still earlier women novelists wrote the novel of adventure, as their successors are again doing. There lies before me one of the vast folio romances of Mlle. Scuderi, published, like most of hers, under her brother's name, and translated into English by Henry Cogan in 1674. It is in four parts, each divided into five books, and each book as long as half the novels of these degenerate days. The most lonely and athletic student, to adopt Emerson's phrase as to the readers of Swedenborg, could now hardly get through two successive books of it; yet such colossal romances were read with delight by our ancestors and ancestresses, even on this side of the water, though doubtless somewhat surreptitiously in the Puritan households. The plot flows as langu
Fanny Burney (search for this): chapter 31
s her little bit of ivory, two inches wide, on which, she said, I work with a brush so fine as to produce little effect after much labor. Yet in the opinion of Sir Walter Scott and all succeeding critics, the result was quite worth the effort, Scott saying that he himself did the big bow-wow style as well as anybody, but that all the minuter excellences were peculiarly her province. As a result, she has far surpassed in fame her immediate contemporaries of her own sex. Madame D'Arblay (Fanny Burney), Miss Porter, Mrs. Opic, and even Miss Edgeworth, are now little read, while Miss Austen's novels seem as if they were written yesterday. But the curious thing is that of the leading novelists in the English tongue to-day it is the men, not the women, who have taken up Miss Austen's work, while the women show more inclination, if not to the big bow-wow style of Scott, at least to the novel of plot and narrative. Anthony Trollope among the lately dead, James and Howells among the livi
Helen Jackson (search for this): chapter 31
neither of these does his work quite so well as she ; but they all belong to the same photographic school; each sets up his apparatus and takes what my little nephew called a flannelly group of a household, or a few households, leaving the great world of adventure untouched. But what plots and enterprises we obtain in these days, on the other hand, from women novelists-ranging up from the Braddons and Ouidas to the best novel written by a woman since George Eliot died, as it seems to me-Mrs. Jackson's Ramona. What action is there! what motion! how entrainant it is! It carries us along as if mounted on a swift horse's back from beginning to end; and it is only when we return for a second reading that we can appreciate the fine handling of the characters, and especially the Spanish mother, drawn with a stroke as keen and firm as that which portrayed George Eliot's Dorothea. In such a book we see that the really great novel includes the creation of character, and does not stop ther
Walter Scott (search for this): chapter 31
r little bit of ivory, two inches wide, on which, she said, I work with a brush so fine as to produce little effect after much labor. Yet in the opinion of Sir Walter Scott and all succeeding critics, the result was quite worth the effort, Scott saying that he himself did the big bow-wow style as well as anybody, but that all thScott saying that he himself did the big bow-wow style as well as anybody, but that all the minuter excellences were peculiarly her province. As a result, she has far surpassed in fame her immediate contemporaries of her own sex. Madame D'Arblay (Fanny Burney), Miss Porter, Mrs. Opic, and even Miss Edgeworth, are now little read, while Miss Austen's novels seem as if they were written yesterday. But the curious thinEnglish tongue to-day it is the men, not the women, who have taken up Miss Austen's work, while the women show more inclination, if not to the big bow-wow style of Scott, at least to the novel of plot and narrative. Anthony Trollope among the lately dead, James and Howells among the living, are the lineal successors of Miss Austen
a matter of individuality alone, or of temporary fashion. What confirms this is the fact that still earlier women novelists wrote the novel of adventure, as their successors are again doing. There lies before me one of the vast folio romances of Mlle. Scuderi, published, like most of hers, under her brother's name, and translated into English by Henry Cogan in 1674. It is in four parts, each divided into five books, and each book as long as half the novels of these degenerate days. The moster, though doubtless somewhat surreptitiously in the Puritan households. The plot flows as languidly as a Dutch river, and is as much distributed and subdivided by artificial dams and placid inundations; yet it is a woman's book; and the plots of Mlle. Scuderi's stories were sufficiently exciting, at any rate, to cause the arrest and imprisonment of the lady and her brother, after they had discussed too heedlessly at an inn the question whether they should slay the Prince Mazare by poison or
1 2 3