ADVENTURE
THERE is no story of adventure quite so satisfying to me as
the story of David and Goliath. When I read it I can still hear the tones of the Philistine as he delivers his challenge.
I can still feel the hush that follows. And I can still see the ruddy boy, after the fight, standing over the prostrate body and hacking away the horrid head. ' - Something of the pleasure I experience is, I suppose, per- sonal : I recapture the past. But, also, I am sure, it never fails to grip because it is all that an adventure-yarn ought to be Children demand, for instance, objective detail ; and that is what this story gives. Any subjective detail they are perfectly capable of supplying for themselves. It is an insult to their imagination to offer it. They know quite well how the hero feels when, sword in hand, he strides over the fallen body. They don't need to be told the villain's mood as, all plumes and arrogance, he steps into the fray : • . . . . and the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam ; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron ; and one bearing a shield went before him." That is the kind of detail they want.
Then, besides objective detail, they like character to be sketched in terms of action ; and the types they are willing to recognize are few and must be clearly defined. The third demand they make of their favourite author—and it is the most imperative of them all—is that there shall be no beating about the bush. They have no time for nonsense. Their attitude is : Let us get on with the story, ple.ase. Objective detail ; an evident intention to tell the story and nothing more ; characters well defined and strictly according to type—these three things are the very marrow of such tales as that of David and Goliath.
And if you call to mind those stories of adventure that have gripped you most and pleased you longest I think you will find, upon analysis, that they all satisfy these conditions.
They are certainly the secret, for instance, of Treasure Island. Think of the significance of Stevenson's detail. Leaving
aside that marvellous catalogue of the contents of the dead captain's chest, there is that other list of the things Jim found in his pockets. " A few small coins, a thimble, and some thread and big needles, a pigtail of tobacco bitten away at the end, his gully with the crooked handle, a pocket-compass and a tinder box." Could there be any passport more likely to reveal the author's fitness to be trafficking in Adventure ?
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