NEW BOOKS.

Press, Volume LVI, Issue 16985, 6 November 1920, Page 9

NEW BOOKS.

A STUDY IX DISILLFSIOX. Mr Middleton Murry, tho Editor of th<» "Athenanim," is one of our best uritei.--and tho most- penetrating of melon-, critics. Throughout tho witr ho w:i> writing in "The Times Literary Supplement*'' tho "Xution," and tho ' Ath< - nnnun," -articles which, though . .t-he\ were unsigned, those who admired then' came to recognise ensilv enough has collected them —or most of them into a handsome volume worthily produced by Colnlen Sanderson, under - - 1 ' non-committal title "The Evolution o! an Intellectual.'' If lie hail to particularise, Mr Murry would choose a title indicating that, his essays were a study of disillusion. Like nil of us, lie hoped for much from the circumstance* in which Britain engaged in tho Into war, and, like most of us, the war was for him a revolution of the extent to which noble ideas can melt away, and bo replaced by policies miserably ignoble. In essay after essay, lie thuls himself returning to tho i'rijihtinl truth, expressed by Duhemel in his ,- \ ie d>.> Martyrs," *'A human l>oing suffers always in his flesh alone, and that i< why the war is possible.' - The dreadtul implication of this truth, as applied ti> » consideration of the late war, are acutely felt by Mr Murry, and although in his misery he may overstate tlni i. yet wo forget the overstatement in the presence of his honesty and courage. The war waa for him a defeat o! imagination, and ho finds alter ii- nothing good, or little that is good- excepting a stoical conviction that, men are imperfect, and "that tho illusions are finally gone:—

"Tho gain is at best precarious: more probable, it is imaginary. "What wo .have lost stands lirm nnd unalterable. Wo will not reckon lives. Let us iako tho Stoic part and declare that death cometh soon or late, oven though wo know that the part, ill becomes lis who find no loss iascination in a life in which the gold has dimmed fo grey; let us hold fast to tho one unsTiakeable fact that nevei before in tho history of the world lias so great a. mass of p v d lnvn nakedly manifest. For pain is 1 lie ono indubitable evil that wo all know. Nothing can obliternto the mountain of suffering which has been endured. Tho millennium itself could not compensate for it; not oven if t-ho pain had* been voluntarily sought nnd, so fnr as deliberate will could secure it, gladly endured. Even with these few tliero was tho moment when the fiercest will failed before tho bodily agony. And of the whole how* many were there who suffered willingly? No glorious future, no splondid purposo achieved can ever justify tlieso hecatombs of pain. They are adamant and elemental- they cannot- bo resolved into anything other than themselves, naked, unforgettable evil. Therefore, when resignation has slowly scattered its balm upon wounded memory, when determination has steeled itself to shape tho world anew, wo should still make heard our unavailing cry that the years and the pain 'of tho years should bo blotted out."

He ia a eeoker after truth, clearheaded, passionate, disillusioned, and undaunted —truth in politics, in lifo, or in letters. While his book will haye a wider fertilising effect upon It." students of politics than those in other classes, yet all thoso who aro seriously concerned with the present And futuio of literature will find help, light, and cmidance in these essays. The present day novel he thinks is poor, unreal, and shallow, and ho doubts whether th<> novel will bo the form in which the liannony of ii wiser future will bo expressed. Ho deals witih t»ho lvussicin<s and that he is in tho right in his preference for them, and that men aio coming to drift along tho diroction in which Mr Murry knows lio is going, is made evident by tine hunger and thirst of English peoplo for the great novel* of the Continent. Discerning mjoplo have long come to look to Mr_ ivlurry for his poetical j udgmente. It is hardly an exaggeration, as most peoplo "Will admit who study his penetrating essay in this volume on Siegfried Sassoon s verses, to say that as n critic of poetry Mr Murry is the most profound we (have had for generations. This essay is a remarkable explanation and clarification of tho old defanition of poetry as emotion recollected in tranquility. The range of essays in this volume aro wide, but they are bound by a unity in aim and outlook. A sterling book —ono of tls,o few that will survive into a generation untouched by this war, into tlhat generation to tome in which men will remember as tho most important thing during tlio five years following 1914, not the break-up of Germany or the reconstitution of Europe, but tho magnificent and heroic sacrifice of splendid and wonderful lives east away tho folly and wickedness'of mankind. (London: Cobden Sander- •» son. Christcihurch: "Whitcombc and Tombs, Ltd.) A racing" NOVEL. The present is a very appropriate time to recommend a novel copies of which have just readied this country. This is another venture by Mr GrantRichards in tho art of story-telling, and he as produced a very interesting but slightly irritating book. "Double Lite" is a study of a fairly ordinary woman's temperament under the stress of a sudden passion for betting. Olivia, is the pleasing and colourless young wife of Geoffrey Pemberton, an author and a very decent fellow, but a little preciso and something of a prig- For the purpose of getting local colour, lie visits Newmarket ono morning accompanied by his wife, and she tliero makes the acquaintance wii'Ji the world of the Turf. iSJie begins betting in a very j mild way, on some of tho horses whom I Hho had specially admired at Newmarket, although she knows as little of : horses as most of tihe ladies who will be I admiring each other's frocks at Ricenrton during the coming week. At first, she has the luck of the ■novice, and her operations, which rihe keeps secret from, her husband, very speedily becomes a matter of considerable magnitude. -Slid does not bet with the least judgment, and has her ups and downs. Contrary to what it would be normal to expect j in a novel with su6h a theme, Olivia j winds up in a sensationally triumphant, way. Anyone who reads tho book during tho current week will recognise a i good deal of themselves in tho emotions iof Olivia —her hopes, her fantastic superstitions, her heart-sinkings, and her capricious meddling with the machine of chance. Peoplo like jolly books nowadays, but thero is very Little of jollity or humour in "Doublo LiTe." But it is far from dull. Olivia's mental experiences are simply fascinating, and tho book has tho great advantago over most racing stories in this, that most of tho horses concerned are real horses engaged in actual races in England during tho past eighteen montiis. (London: Grant Richards. Christchurch: j Whitcombo and Tombs.)