When a man says that he never goes to a theatre because real life is full of drama he is talking nonesense. The events of real life may be dramatic, but they lack that sense of form which is necessary for our artistic satisfaction. It is thrilling to see an acrobat walking a tight-rope, a fireman rescuing a child from the top of a burning building, or the Flying Squad chasing the jewel-thieves who have made off in a stolen car. The newspapers supply us with "Dramatic Discoveries" almost daily, and, in war-time especially, the B.B.C gives us vivid eyewitness accounts of deeds of superlative heroism. But none of these sensational real life stories satisfies us in the same way that a good novel or a good play does. They have no unity or continuity; they are unfinished, and have too many loose ends; they have no climax, or if there is a climax there is nothing else. G.K. Chesterton once said that life was like a dozen detective stories mixed up with a spoon.