Publisher's Synopsis
Leonard Merrick (1864 - 1939) was an English novelist. Although largely forgotten today, he was widely admired by his peers, J. M. Barrie called Merrick the "novelist's novelist."
* * * * An excerpt from the Introduction by J. M. Barrie.
A Disquieting sentimental journey would be down the obituary column of The Times in search of the novel-readers who have gone and died without ever knowing of the sentimental quest of Conrad. They would be the great majority, it seems, and we may drop a sigh for them or a "Serve you right," according to their opportunities. Incomplete lives.
It is from such reflections by a number of Mr. Merrick's fellow-writers that this edition of his books has sprung, of which "Conrad in Quest of His Youth" is the first volume. Disagreeing among themselves on most matters, probably even on the value of each other to the State, they are agreed on this, that Mr. Merrick is one of the flowers of their calling; and they have, perhaps, an uneasy feeling that if the public will not take his works to their hearts there must be something wrong with the popularity of their own. "Unless you like Merrick also, please not to like me." Or we may put it more benignantly in this way, that as you, the gentle reader, have been good to us, we want to be good to you, and so we present to you, with our compliments, just about the best thing we have got - an edition of Mr. Merrick's novels. There have been many "author's editions," but never, so far as I know, one quite like this, in which the "author" is not the writer himself but his contemporaries, who have entirely "engineered" the edition themselves and have fallen over each other, so to speak, in this desire to join in the honour of writing the prefaces. Such is the unique esteem in which Mr. Merrick is held by his fellow-workers. For long he has been the novelists' novelist, and we give you again the chance to share him with us; you have been slow to take the previous chances, and you may turn away again, but in any case he will still remain our man.
I speak, of course, only for myself, but there is no doubt to my mind that "Conrad in Quest of His Youth" is the best sentimental journey that has been written in this country since the publication of the other one; so gay it is, so sad, of such an alluring spirit, so firm a temper, I know no novel by any living Englishman except a score or so of Mr. Hardy's, that I would rather have written. I am not certain, however, that had the attractive choice been given me I would not first have "knocked off" some of Mr. Merrick's short stories - particularly the Parisian ones of which Mr. Locke will have something to say - to make sure of my fortune in case a street accident, say, should end me abruptly. In some of the other books the women, at least, are more elaborately drawn, and there is a genuine contact with life - Mr. Merrick with his coat off - but if, like the shipwrecked lady in a horrible tale, I were given a moment to decide which of my children I should save, I would on the whole keep grip of Conrad and the short stories and let the other babies go. Several other authors would, I am sure, see to it that while they themselves floated, Cynthia did not sink, and I can picture Mr. Howells diving recklessly after "The Actor-Manager."