LITERARY.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 268, 12 November 1927, Page 24

LITERARY.

Well-conceived, if a little overdrawn, is the comparison between the widow range boss" of sixty-live years, and her eighteen-year grand-daughter, modern, well-educated, city-bred, and daring, in "The Fighting Wades," by John H. Hamlin (Hodder and Stougliton). jOf the thousand Western cattle-ranch stories there is now and again one that is original and of exceptional merit, and this is that one. Even blase readers will here find something refreshingly unconventional, unstrained, and not unexciting. When an Englishman eats canned beef he will perhaps remember the arduous labours and the daily dangers of those who follow the wild range cattle away back in the rolling expanses of the Western American prairies, but, of course, he should be eating an Empire variety.

"Two hundred yards down the hillside a large French window was thrown open in a house that had been bulging with festal light. Through the luminous gap thus opened there spurted a little jet of confused pleasant sound, the low jolly din of a successful party at its climax. Then the audible gaiety sank, and, in the stillness that followed, a good tenor voice began to shed into the listening night the evocative epell of its passionate virility. The song was martial, of an immemorial kind— God with ns, away with counsels of meekness and weakness, be the men your fathers were, and smite the dastards low. But the charm of the round ringing notes seemed to make the whole visible world abet the use that they were put to. The dark dome, with its pulse of thrilled stars, the mild outspread plain of calm shimmering sea, and the regal spires of more distant snow—all became ministers to one emotion, and helped to feed the same flame."—"Bight Off the Map," by C. E. Montague,

A STORY OF NEW ZEALAND ADVENTURE. That the history of New Zealand provides amplo material for stories of adventure for young readers is obvious to anybody who knows anything about it. Partly because the population is small, and partly because we are so fully supplied with adventure stories from English publishers, not much has been done in this direction. "Rifle and Tomahawk," by Mona Tracy (Whitcombe and Tombs) is welcome, not only for its merits, but for its connection with the story of our own country. All such employment of our native material is important. The tale relates the adventures of a Scottish family of settlers during the raids of Te Kooti and his followers after his escape from the Chatham Islands and return to New Zealand. So rapidly has this country been brought under cultivation and so quickly have the natives become absorbed into a peaceful population, that it may be difficult to realise that within the memory of many men alive to-day there were settlers in danger of losing their lives at the hands of marauding savages. The Maori War—which were less wars than a series of skirmishes between English troops and the original inhabitants of the country—provided numerous tragic and pathetic incidents, and not a few heroic actioas, on both the English and Maori sides. To put some of these, in the form of an adventure story for boys has been the task of the authoress and one which she has successfully accomplished. The more ghastly features of the fighting have been omitted. If the authoress knows anything of boys she must have left out the greater horrors to satisfy her own feelings, for boys are naturally bloodthirsty, as those who wrote for an earlier generation well knew. However, young readers will discover thrilling episodes and incentive to heroism and much entertainment. The publishers, as well as the writer, are to be congratulated. Mr. G. H. Evison's illustrations help the story, but they would be more effective if they depicted more of what is characteristic in New Zealand scenery.

JJT MEMORIAM. DICK HARRIS. Hie name, if not the work, of Dick Harris, i 3 known to most of those who take an interest in New Zealand verse, but his poems are difficult to come by. He is not even represented in "The New Zealand Treasury of' Verse," our standard anthology, which is strange. As a tribute to his memory—Harris died in Wellington a year ago—his friend Mr. Pat Lawlor has collected his poems into a volume that has been issued by the New Century Press, and may be obtained from Box 965, Wellington. This act of friendship is well justified. Harris was a sweet singer, with a genuine gift for verse. He was neither original nor deep, but he had feeling and an unusual sense of beauty. In certain respects he was perhaps more accomplished than any New Zealand writer of his time; as, for example, in the old French forms. His life was tragic, and melancholy marked him for her own. Much of his work is steeped in melancholy, in which some of it reminds one of Adam Lindsay Gordon. There is the same atmosphere of autumn, the same rather ineffectual regret. His affiliations appear to be rather with Dowson and other poets of that school in the 'nineties than with any movement of to-day, and 6ome contemporary poets could learn something from Ijis devotion to form. "It is not long, the weeping and the laughter . . that haunting little poem of Dowson's is recalled by the fragile beauty, the twilight loneliness, the lingering sweetness of many of Harris' lines. Most of the work in this little volume (the price of which is four shillings) has no identifiable connection with New Zealand, but that he could write well about our characteristics is proved by "The Cry of Pan" (his best known poem) and "In the Bush." TUe bush grows sombre anil still, and (he brooding trees ■Stand heavy with sleep, dreaming of solitudes Of olden years. -The close damp soil exudes A savour of powerful decay from dead centuries. The ragged and rough-hewn mountains that stretch aback Bereft of their trappings of purple, are hiding their scars In a garment o-f black. And sullenly lie like a rampart affronting the stars. Yet perhaps this is not £o typical of Harris as his fine translation of Henri de Reguier's sonnet "Twilight in Autumn," and his poignant story of the aged Pierrot. He had more old-world wistfulness than most other New Zealand writers; about his verse hangs the scent of withered roses and violets. In her sympathetic introduction, Mrs. Mona Tracy describes him as a poet's poet, and "if not a. great .poet, at least a writer of sensitive and distinguished lyrics." Mr. J^awlor. writes a tribute, and another friend, Mr. Ken Alexander, has drawn a striking design for the rover.

"Quo Vadis," one of the most successful novels of its day, honoured by translation into several languages, introduced the Polish novelist Henry Sienkiewicz to England and America. Two of his other translated books have been popular in England. "In Monte Carte," by this author (Stanley Paul), is an almost plotless story in stilted inelastic English, showing something of French influence and uninspired translation. The name of the author only can carry this pallid social history into popularity. It may be interesting as an example of Polish literature and a manifestation of the author's mentality, but judged by modern standards of English taste in romantic love it is uninteresting and strangely flat and lacking in vitality. J

Mr. J. Ellis Barker, who takes upon himself the task (no light one surely) of educating the medical profession, has issued yet another book for general reading, "Chronic Constipation" (John Murray) which, like his former works, is about fifty per cent quotations from the members of the profession he proposes to educate. Ten pages, or ; less, would be sufficient to demonstrate clearly and fully all his thesis, but Mr. Barker understands that most readers, like many stomachs, are all the better satisfied with bulky fare roughagiL

AN IRONIST ON WAB. MK. MONTAGUE'S LATEST NOVEL. Among the many Englishmen of sensibility and power of expression into who6e souls the iron of the war entered, is Mr. C. E. Montague. That he was master of a flashing, though somewhat tiresome, style, and wedded to irony as a mode of attack, was apparent long before the war in that strange novel of journalism, "A Hind Let Loose." The war deepened his powers, and he is now acclaimed as one of the foremost stylists of the day. In "Eight Off the Map" (Chatto and Windus), Mr. Montague has written a fantasy shot through and through with irony. He seems to have said to himself: "I'll show them. I'll show them what war is like. I'll take the easy war-monger-ing, the facile appeals to patriotism, the lies about atrocities, the backing by the churches, the rascality of contractors, the stupidity of officers, the horrors of the battlefield, the selfishness of civilians—l'll take all these and dress them up in an ironical romance, and then see how you liko them!" So he takes two States—Ria and Porto— right off the map, and makes Kia go to war light-heartedly on account of a gold-bearing area on the ill-defined frontier. (Of course the reason is dressed up differently.) We have a scoundrelly millionaire, a newspaper editor who is under the thumb of a beautiful and worthless wife, a bishop who booms out unctuous Imperialism, an officer in command who thinks war is cricket, and a British professional soldier of fortune who is competent, courageous and modest, but so 6imple that lie is taken in by the journalist. Ria, by the way, is a British State; Porto is mixed European. The Rians are full of the" "to Berlin" spirit. The Portans cannot possibly stand against them; they are incompetent; they are no gentlemen; in fact they are savages.

The awakening is swift and terrible. The Portans are quite ready for war, but the Rians are not; for one thing their boots quickly go to pieces. The Rians attack and crumple up. Mr. Montague's detailed account of the outflanking | column's encounter with the Portans is masterly; one may question whether a description of modern warfare has ever been written with greater insight, penetration and vividness. "In the next halfhour some Rian officers who escaped the fate of the rest, learned how to be soldiers. Hitherto they had only been heroes, which" is different and may be less useful. They had begun by treating their own lives and their men's as a lawful stake wherewith to gamble for' certain very dismal distinctions. They had now begun to see that these lives were humble tools belonging to their country, to be used for its ends alone and made the most of, and not played the fool with." And take the last sentences of the description of the rout. "The last shell of all pitched right in the thick of the rabble as tliey plunged and fought to get through the fourmile valley's back gate. Twilight had come by that time. In the failing light the dregs of the rout could just be seen by the friends whom they had deserted. It looked like the last swirl of soiled water you let out of a basin when you •have finished washing your hands and have pulled out the plug."

The Kians are completely defeated and their country annexed, which is more probable than the fate of the gallant and lovable Willan, the afore-mentioned soldier. If there were no satire at all the tale would grip you, so vigorous is its action, so original some of the incidents. And when you read sparkling, crackling, and sometimes biting sentences on every page you must agree that this is a very remarkable book. Mr. Montague's prose is scintillating sword play. The book has, however, two weaknesses. Scnne of the happenings are incredible and are acceptable only in a fantasy. Tlie attack by the forlorn hope achieves, considering the strength of the army investingihe capital, an impossible measure of success. The journalist's treatment of Willan at the end cannot be swallowed. And the - Bishop—could there be in our times such a bisli9p on land or sea? Mr. Montague is not quite fair. He over-states liis case. He piles on the agony too thickly. It is not so much that he has mastered the case against war as that it has mastered him. i ears ago he fell in love with that bright but hard goddess Irony—she has made him her slave. This book will search many hearts, but its effect might be even more penetrating if the author's zeal in the pursuit of evil were less patent.

BOOKS RECEIVED. . . (From Allen and Unwin.) Rebel Saints," by M. A. Best; "Music and ™Th'°n M * k £ rß '# by Co "stance Morse"The Breath of the Desert," by Ossendowski; "Viscount Leverhulme," by tif- s 2 n; ' N apo,oon and His Women Friends,' by Aretz; "The Rights of Mallaroche," by Nina Boyle- "Oueer Beasts of the Zoo" (2 vols*) 'by Gladys Davidson; "Weather Observations," bv Donald \V. Horner. (From Putnam's.) "T!£- T - r * asupy '" b y Sir Thomas L. Heath • Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries " «L y & .! r J hranc ' s Flood; "The Blesaing of Pan, fry Lord Dunsany. (From John Murray.) "Character and the Conduct of Life," bv \V. McDougrall; "Percival and |•» bv Anthony Armstrong; "Chronic Conitipation, by fcllis Barker; "Sulla the For- ' tunate," by G. P. Baker. ' Fol^ (From Whitcombe and Tombs.) "Rifle and Tomahawk" (a tale or the Te Kooti Rebellion!, by Mona Tracv illiic trated by G. 11. Evison.) f us (From Oxford University Press.) "Handbook to the Church Hymnarv" (edited by Professor James Moffatt.)

(From Hutchinson's.) "Young Orland,"' by the Hon. Horbe-t Asquith (throug-U Champtaloup - and Edmiston.)