Common with many influential writers of the day his selective faculty is weak, and the ultimate reality of his stories suffers from his insistent realism. As a consequence, while the foreground is vague and shadowy. The perspective is at fault.
His tenacious memory and his sharp perceptive powers prove a snare as well as a blessing. Consequently, his parts are better than his whole; and the lack of perspective is further embarrassed by his fertility in ideas.
They are interesting enough, but he is too prodigal with them. He inundates us with ideas and details, until we are wearied. For all his originality, his undoubted power both in narrative and in characterization, these grave defects preclude our ranking him with the great masters of fiction.