NEW NOVELS

Press, Volume LXXXII, Issue 24980, 14 September 1946, Page 5

NEW NOVELS

PAST AND PRESENT Bright Day. By j. B. Priestley. Heinemann. 368 pp. Every admirer of Mr Priestley’s has known, ever since “The Good Companions’’ at least, that his novels ought to be filmed. Characters just subtle enough to please readers and filmfans who would disdain the obvious and not too subtle to deter those who are uneasy out of sight and hearing of »it. Realism without bitterness or ruthlessness; sentiment ’ without a hiccup. An extraordinarily acute and happy eye for lively detail. A firstclass talent in the kind of plot that leaves no question unanswered, no development in the air . . And a good deal more, including great facility in the use of devices that the screen can take over and exploit perfectly. “Bright Day’’ exemplifies this specially well, in Gregory Dawson’s retrospect. His youth is well behind him, his career as a film script writer has drawn him far* from Yorkshire and the wool trade when a chance encounter in a hotel awakens memories of the small, serene world in which he had lived, loved, dreamed, before the first world war. In evoking again the warmth and colour and sheen qf those days, and the shadow and the chill that fell across them, Mr Priestley’s art reaches an almost perfect finish.' But he has his problem yet before him: to link the “bright day” gone with that in which Dawson is working on the new film for Elizabeth Earl . . . He solves it with adroit consistency and, indeed, a flourish; but there will be readers who care less for the solution than for its promises. NICK OR HUMPHREY ? Nothing But Propaganda. By Iris Morley. Peter Davies Ltd. 237 PPDivorced from her American husband, Catherine would have married Nick Rainborough, if the war had not taken him off as a special correspondent to Moscow. Hence her question. Nick, and the stresses of life with an uncompromising . political rebel, or Humphrey, tjie safe, cool, satisfied Humphrey, to whom "Communist was a sort Of blanket word that covered all fanatics, crazy folk—not the sort of people one met on holidays!” Possibly Catherine’s answer, as Miss Morley-presents her, will seem inevitable; but her progress to it is interesting all the way, as Miss Morley actualises her discovery that one and the same supreme battle is being fought in London and in Stalingrad. RETURN FROM THE WAR Sons of the Morning. By Otto Schrag. Gellancz. 294 pp. This is the story of the return from the latest war of two American soldiers and their reassimilation into a narrow village community. The author makes much—probably a great deal too much—of the emotional and psychological changes .which are sup-posed-to be brought about by the soldier’s exposure to danger and hardship; but it is of a piece the American tendency to self-dramatisa-tion. .If Mr Schrag’s picture of an American small community is a true one, it is to be hoped that it is not typical; for it is a picture of ugly, narrow, and violent prejudices; and the soldiers are depicted as a pair of semi-neurotics who constantly fly to alcohol for escape from shattered nerves. FIVE-STOREY BLOCK Huddleston House. By Denja Mackall. Hutchinson. 755 pp. Through Whitcombe and Tombs Ltd. “For four or five months, in the infernal, detested, and long-drawn-out course of the second world-war, we have done our best to recount what befell in a five-storey block of flats” in London. Mr Mackail’s summary can’t be bettered. His method, one of leisurely, minute, shrewd, whimsical, tolerant, tantalising, tellyou - a - secret, keep-you-guessing-a-bit confidences about his vast family of characters (O what a one you are, uncle!), is a little apt to hold up the story, or the score of but it is the kind of book to drowse over pleasantly. SECRET AGENT

The Lifeline. By Phyllis Bettome. Faber and Faber Ltd. 309 pp. Mark Chalmers, the self-sufficient product of an English public school, at first feels little concern in the struggle of the Austrian resistance movement, with which chance connects him. He is won to it. heart and soul, as he sees the nature of the Nazi tyranny exposed: and, influenced finally by a remarkable woman, whose work • as superintendent of a mental hospital covers her work as a leader of resistance, under the Germans’ very noses, he agrees to serve in the dangerous post of a spy. Mark’s evolution is so well traced that the praise of a good novel is added to that of a good thriller. LOUISIANA Victoria Grandolet By Henry • Bellamann. Cassell. 240 pp. Between the Grandolets of Louisiana, French in origin, ’patrician in outlook, and Victoria, obscurely bom, a stranger bride from the North, there is little in common; she has no love for her husband, but the resolve to justify, in her conduct, the ambition that drew her to him. Mr Bellamann’s novel traces the tragic outcome, as Victoria finds herself falling under the enchantment of the ancient and lovelv Grandolet houses. White Cloud and Far Felice—and Mr Bellamann succeeds in making it, as the story requires, an enchantment that works, strangely on sense and spirit—but coldly divided from the family. FENIAN REBELLION Land. By Liam O’Flaherty. Gollancz. 234 pp. Mr O’Flaherty’s latest tale of the distressful country is centred upon the Fenian rebellion. It is written, naturally enough, with a sympathetic eye for the Irish peasantry in the days of the evictions and revolt against the harsh measures of the landlords, supported by English arms. Mr O’Flaherty’s genius for story-telling and his gift for characterisation have full scope in this dramatic tale. SECOND SIGHT Fantastic Summer? By Dorothy Macardle. Peter Davies. 278 pp. Miss Macardle’s taste for psychic phenomena is again exploited here, the theme being second sight. She develops with an equal skill the psychological and episodic consequences that follow, when s normal, sensitive woman discovers that she has this gift. First, she fears for her mental stability; then, coming to believe in her power, she strives to avert from those she loves the dangers she sees impending over them.

MINUTE AMENDS TO CARLYLE One used to be told orally (I forget whether it ever appeared in any of the abundant “literature” of the subject) by persons who wished to be “down” on Carlyle for his supposed ill-treatment of his wife, that once, when she was ill and could not keep her mouth shut, he made brutal suggestions, in variously reported Carlylese, on the subject. Between 40 and 50 years after his death cumes Mrs Carlyle’s own account of the matter, independently related at flrst hand by Lady Rose Weigall: She talked much of his attention to her in an illness she had had, and said: “He was quite distressed because at one time I had a nervous affection, and could not close my mouth owing to neuralgia in my jaw, and he used to say, ‘Ay, my dear, it’s terrible to see you. Ye’d be so much better and more compact and precise if ye could shut your mouth.’ ” I think, my brethren (the more recent cliche is “dear people,” isn't it?).

that those of us who accepted the illnatured version may be a little ashamed of themselves. —GEORGE SAINTSBURY: “A Second Scrap Book.”