SOME OF THE NEW NOVELS

Press, Volume CIV, Issue 30847, 4 September 1965, Page 4

SOME OF THE NEW NOVELS

The Jilkington Drama. By Edgar Mittelholzer. Abel-ard-Schuman. 191 pp.

The principle dramatis personae of a novel which because of its sharply edged characters and naturalistic dialogue reads more like a play, are Colonel Harry Jilkington, Katherine Freidlander his mistress. Lilli, Katherine’s nubile daughter, and Garvin, Harry's emotionally unbalanced son. They live in a Georgian farmhouse near Winchester, together with Garvin’s young daughter Mary, with Harry’s crippled brother Angus and his wife Connie as their nearest neighbours. For Lilli, a serious and dedicated Catholic (whose father, a German officer, had, until his death, been one of Hitler’s dutiful followers), her mother’s irregular union is a matter of shame, especially as she herself cherishes a hopeless passion for the honest, level-headed Harry. Katherine philosophically accepts the position in view of the immutable decision of Harry's wife, Gloria, not to divorce him. Garvin’s problem is more complex. His wife, Cicely, to whom he was devoted, had been killed in a road accident three years earlier, since when he had dabbled in occult communications, and had evolved a crazy “pattern” of existence which contained undertones of incendiarism. The whole atmosphere is charged with implicit menace, but it requires a chance visit of Katherine, Garvin and Mary to Bournemouth, where Gloria lives, to bring matters to a head. In their absence Lilli, with mixed erotic-religious motives, throws herself desperately at the reluctant Harry, and while this is taking place a telephone call from Garvin acts like a spanner in the already troubled machinery of personal relationships. The resultant tragedy is high-lighted by the author’s spectacular death a short time after the proofreading of the book. Both Garvin and Lilli in their respective ways are exasperating characters—Garvin for his merciless egocentricity, and Lilli for the Teutonic, quasi-religious compulsions which make her persevere in

her shamelessly idiotic pursuit of the man who loves her mother; but the situation makes for an enthralling and deeply perceptive novel.

Axe. By Ed Mcßain. Hamish Hamilton. 192 pp.

Why had the janitor of an apartment building been murdered? He was not, surely, a person of any importance, but someone had attacked him savagely with an axe, and detective Steve Carella, of the 87th Precinct, was called upon to investigate. His inquiries showed that elderly George Lasser had had an odd family, unusual friends, and a suspicious past, all of which provided clues to be followed, but the murderer’s identity was a surprise after all and he was caught almost by accident This is a novel of police work rather than a thriller, quick-paced, credible and well written, as one would expect from the man who wrote “The Blackboard Jungle” under his real name of Evan Hunter.

Boys and Girls Together. By William Goldman. 744 pp. Michael Joseph. William Saroyan’s “Boys and Girls Together” was not a memorable novel, and now another book with the same title, written this time by William Goldman, looks like being even less so. The first “Boys and Girls Together” had only two major characters and was of manageable length—its new namesake has six characters, and they manage to spread over nearly 750 pages. For each of these characters the environment is set with life histories of their parents, brothers, sisters and even grandparents. All six hail from different social classes and begin life widely scattered from each-other across the United States. Between them they break most of the social mores: white sleeps with black; mother tries to seduce son; boy has affair with boy, then girl, then boy; one couple remain together because they cannot taunt anyone else as well as each other—until the most tormented, their son, commits suicide—and that provides each with yet more

ammunition. Another, with a finely developed instinct for sadism, destroys his family. This gives him the material for a shocking play which finally draws the six major characters together at the end of the book, as playwright, sponsor, director and actors. And of course this provokes a final climax, well in harmony with the tone of what has gone before. In fairness, there is a handful of funny and sympathetic chapters, all involving the Jewish family which produces one of the main characters. The dust-jacket describes Mr Goldman’s work as “a blockbuster”—744 pages later it emerges instead as a filibuster.

Outside the House of Baal. By Emyr Humphreys. Eyre and Spottiswoode. 444 pp.

Here is a Welsh story told brilliantly if erratically. It is like a huge patchwork quilt; the different patches seem unrelated until the quilt is finished and then it is seen in its beauty. When the reader finishes the story and looks back he knows he has read a deep and satisfying work, with touches of humour and some outstanding characters that are almost unforgettable. In the Welsh village in the time before the First World War and until the close of the second, villagers in their little cottages and the well-to-do farmers with their homes and acres, form a closeknitted community. Wales was then still in the grip of a rigid Calvinism. The Reverend J. T. Miles, a minister of the Welsh Calvinist Methodist Church, sensitive to the life around him and especially to the restrictive creed of his church eventually became a nonconformist of Nonconformity. He was a pacifist and hated war, yet he finally joined up and served in the Medical Corps at the front. Miles was devoted to his country, was indeed a fervent nationalist and between his pacifism and nationalism he fell foul of his congregation and had to leave. He married and had three children but he was a feckless creature, more concerned with social plans for

the miners than he was for his family. Late in life he was left a widower and lived

with his sister in law, a woman of great understanding. The conflict the minister stirs in the community is that caused by his inflexible viewpoint and his unbalanced feelings. He is a problem to himself and as such reflects the gradual change that finally emerged in Wales and elsewhere, against an outmoded theology. Within the brilliance of the writing there is the deep concern of the tragedy of life and the social changes in society. In some respects this is a profound work. It is one that would be difficult to dismiss as merely a story. The novelist has often been a prophet; Emyr Humphreys is among their number.

Last Seen Near Trafalgar, by Gael Mayo. Barrie and Rockcliff. 192 pp.

Emma Taunton had always been surrounded by people who loved and protected her. There were her parents, and Michael, the older, devoted playmate of her happy childhood days in the remote Exmoor village where she was born. Her parents were killed during the war, and Emma was sent to an uncle who was wasting his life in a Madrid backwater after the dissillusions of the Spanish Civil War. She breaks away from him, but it is to a further retreat from the modem world. She and her lover, Manuel, go back to his tiny Andalusian village near Trafalgar, but Manuel is ambitious, and takes her to Paris where he becomes very successful in the construction business, building impersonal concrete boxes where there were once old and beautiful trees. Emma, unhappy and completely out of sympathy with Manuel, goes back to England and Michael, but England has changed In the years she has been away. Her old home is peopled with ghosts, not living beings, and weeds have taken over the garden, choking and destroying. Emma is forced to realise she is part of the modem world of rush and bother and ugliness, and that she must choose between wildness and security; between Michael and Manuel. This book is excellently written and is a pleasure to read.

The Dark Dancer. By Frederic Prokosch. W. H. Allen, 304 pp.

The Taj Mahal is famous, but comparatively few people know the name of the emperor who ordered it to be built, or in which century he rifled. Mr Prokosch unfolds a story of treachery and bloodshed in seventeenth century India when Khurram succeeded his father the emperor Jahangir in Agra, after the mysterious deaths of his elder brothers, and took the title Shahjahan, Lord of the Universe. European influence was beginning to creep in, and it was an Italian who designed the Taj to be a tomb for Shahjahan’s wife Arjumand, known after she became empress as Mumtaz Mahal, “the Ornament of the Palace.” There was even an English governess, it appears, to teach the emperor’s children Latin and French, history and music. Apart from the setting, however, this is not essentially a historical novel. The people use modern idiom to express modern ideas, as they speculate and meditte on the purpose of life, the meaning of love, the truth of religion and the goals of art, and the incongruity is heightened by the author’s meticulous attention to his background, which proliferates with glittering details rather in the style of Flaubert or a Hollywood spectacular. It is an interesting book, but questionable as a source of historical fact.