NEW FICTION

Press, Volume XCIX, Issue 29228, 11 June 1960, Page 3

NEW FICTION

The Seventh Saracen. By Ben Morreale. Gollancz. 256 pp.

The publisher’s foreword gives no indication of the stark tragedy contained in this novel, simply recommending it as marvellously evocative of life in a Sicilian village. An American, Guy Licata, k has inherited the property of his Sicilian grandfather provided that he goes to Sicily to claim it, and remains there wed to a Sicilian wife. It is a- poor village, and the Mafia is an active organisation in the neighbourhood. Guy is welcomed by female relatives with touching affection which he reciprocates only by seducing the youngest. He is kidnapped and held to ransom in a dry well by the one-time Chicago gangster Carlu Spinu. A freak flood which destroys life and property in the village holds up the - search for “the American" and Carlu is forced to abandon him to his fate. More dead than alive he is ultimately discovered and rescued, and vents his hatred of the country by completing the ruin of his girl cousin before taking off once more for America. Local characters are skilfully drawn with obvious first-hand knowledge, but they evoke distaste rather than pity. Nevertheless the book has memorable passages of fine writing. God’s Blind Eye. By Douglas Baber. Heinemann. 247 pp.

Neither the dust-jacket nor the title do justice to this sombre tale of a lonely man turned dipsomaniac, and heading in the opening chapter for obvious disaster. David Barnes has just lost his job with a diamond dealer, and is nursing his rancour and his ruined constitution in an expensive hotel at the Hague, knowing full well that he will be unable to meet its mounting account. While squandering his last few guilders on successive bottles of brandy he relives his past in a series of flashbacks. He sees himself as a devoted son of a paralysed mother; as a security officer with a responsible job in postwar Holland; as the husband of a woman he could never love, and as the lover of a Dutch girl he could never marry. In his present desperate situation he is called upon by the seedy emissary of a Dutch diamond firm with the offer of employment, the nature of which the man refuses to disclose. Barnes is so far demoralised by alcohol as to hesitate and ask for time to consider the proposition. Fate, and a gastric ulcer, in the end decide the issue for hftn. The author intends Barnes’s melancholy character and sufferings to provoke sympathy, but the man is shot through with the self-pity of the chronic alcoholic, and it is difficult to perceive how he could be saved from himself by any human agency.

A Time Of Day. By Francis Durbridge. Hodder and Stough-

ton. 190 pp.

This is a thriller of distinction befitting the talents of the creator of “Paul Temple”; few readers will resist the temptation to relieve their suspense by finishing it at one sitting. Clive and Lucy Freeman have reached a crisis in their marriage which they both feel can only be solved by divorce. This strained situation is dismissed from their minds when their 10-year-old daughter disappears, and from sundry mysterious telephone calls the fact emerges that she has been abducted. The price of her ransom is not demanded in terms of money but is to take the form of Clive's co-operation in handing over a secret scientific formula to the kidnappers. Two murders are committed before the tense final act in the drama, and in the 190 pages Mr Durbridge neatly packs with thrills.

The Learning Lark. By Glyn

Jones. Dent. 224 pp. Here is a novel about school teachers in a Welsh valley, in the town of Treniclas. The school in which they are principally employed is in the oldest, roughest part of the town “with hundreds of boys charging about and howling like a slaughter house.” Mr Jones has taken some trouble to make the setting authentic. “Everything smells of stale clothes, chalk, hot water, and the sour-sweet of milk bottles left about during the holidays.” The story is perhaps somewhat slight. The hero, Johnny Thomas, is really shown in his natural environment; he teaches with immense enthusiasm, he turns upon visiting inspectors; he has his troubles imposing discipline on the 4X boys who go down the street to buy fags. He is fond of motor-cars and pretty girls; but that is only incidental to the story. In effect, “The Learning Lark” is so full flavoured a novel that speed and romance will not be greatly missed.

Almez-vous Brahms. By Francoise Sagan. Murray. 128 pp.

The characters in Francoise Sagan’s latest novel are world weary. Nothing very startling can happen to them, for they know all the moves of the game already. When a woman approaching the doldrums of middle age falls in love with a man much younger than herself, everyone realises the limitations of the affair, and of course it does not last. But if the matter is slight, the manner is not. The poise of Miss Sagan’s characters provides material for endless reflection. These people, who at first sight seem so empty, prove on examination to have some charm and considerable reserves of dignity. “Aimez-vous Brahms” is brief, but then how civilised it is!