Literary Views And Reviews SOME OF THE NEW NOVELS

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31221, 19 November 1966, Page 4

Literary Views And Reviews SOME OF THE NEW NOVELS

Brows Sugar. By J. B. Enitage. Collins. 128 pp. This brief, irreverent and) very funny novel tilts an accurate lance at the political “liberalism” responsible for what it believes to be a warm understanding of the emer-! gent races. The setting is a| West Indies island in part of which a new Paradise, com-; plete with deity (a former i butcher), archangels, and the! rest of the Heavenly Host i have set up a guarded strong-' hold called the Summit. Here' they brew Ganja (a kind of I hashish) and quote Holy Writj to suit their own purposes.' In the rather safer atmos-! phere of the British element! on the island a precocious j half-caste child, Martina,' argues philosophy with her elders (often confounding them with superior logic) while making her preparations to become a “femme fatale” and live in Paris when she grows up. This Lolita’s pre-' mature nubility embarrasses; the kind-hearted Dillon! Pearce, who declines to initi-j ate her in sexual experience, but loves her in a protective way. The arrival of Mr Pooley, an obscure Labour; M.P., whose object is to intensify the winds of change and encourage the natives to demand self-rule, is unfortunately misunderstood by the celestial host on the Summit They think he is a spy, out for a reward by uncovering the Ganja racket, and, quoting some well-chosen verses from the Old Testament, prepare to torture him to death. This purpose is frustrated by Martina, who plants a well-aimed home-made bomb in their midst, which unfortunately also causes grievous bodily harm to herself. On her deathbed, consistent to the last, she utters her version of some famous last words bv saving to Dillon; “Kiss me —Hardy,” and adding, “Thank God I have done my homework.” Broken-heartedly he replies in kind “Do you think vou could eat one of Bellamy’s pies?” This is a brilliantly witty book, but not for those with Evangelical principles.

You Can’t Come Back. By Bruce Beaver. Rigby. 166 pp. Bruce Beaver has published two books of poetry, and though his first novel is written in a salted, functional type of prose which recalls BarryCrump, there is a vein of poetic introspection running through the book. The story concerns a gang of railway workers, stationed temporarily in a New South Wales town where some of them have friends and romantic entanglements. Bernie, the narrator, while following the customary programme of getting blind drunk every night, is not so much attracted by amorous harpies as are his mates, and has a wistful desire for an existence that does not begin with the daily hangover, and have pay day as its onlyhighlight. His meeting with Jean, an Indo-Australian girl, seems likely to bring something worthwhile into his life, but this hope turns to dust and ashes when he finds out by chance that she is the

vehicle for paying her father’s gambling debts to a hulking bully. Jean, herself, however, has come to understand the meaning of love, and the story ends on a cautious note of optimism about the future. This not just a story of primitive people pursuing primitive desires. The author uses harsh colours for his picture of a certain kind of Australian scene, but they blend into an effectively comprehensive whole. If Bernie is a little too prone in his more sober moments to self-pity, he emerges as an idealist, and a man capable of delicate feeling. The laconic style of writing is wholly suited to the subject

The Train Ride. By Peter Loughran. Seeker and Warburg. 199 pp. To describe this first novel as a “tour de force” is to use that ambiguous phrase in its most flattering sense. From the light-hearted beginning to ;the grim end the progress of thought in a twisted mind is ' illogically logical, and it is a measure of the author’s gift for character-drawing that a pitiable, loathsome specimen of humanity evokes in the reader occasional flashes of sympathy, as well as contempt and revulsion. The story reveals the thoughts of a sailor, travelling to rejoin his ship in London, after a very thick night in a northern seaport during which all his undisciplined savagery has (been unleashed by a misunderstanding between himself and a prostitute. As a result of the melee which followed, his lust for revenge I had made him miss the ship’s sailing at 2 a.m. Now, the following morning, he has (taken a corner seat in a smoking compartment on the King’s Cross train, and is utterly disgusted to find two nuns sitting on the other side of the carriage when he returns from buying what he hopefully calls “dirty books.” When a small girl is added to his travelling companions, and is committed to the charge of the nuns, he nearly goes off down the corridor of the train to find another compartment, but unluckily decides to stay. Thereafter his thoughts wander over the past, in which, once in a while, beauty and tenderness, have briefly touched his sensibilities in the midst of the violence, filth and lust which have dominated his life. Murder has been too often in his thoughts, and as the journey continues tension mounts as his dark imaginings begin to take tangible form. The end inevitably brings horror—but jit is horror tinged with reluctant compassion.

The Minutes of the Night. By Mary Carter. Heinemann. 304 pp. The little town of Sequoia was thought to be the safest place in America if an atomic attack should be made. Such an attack sud-

denly becomes dreadfully imminent and the people’s first private and public reactions have a certain restraint and dignity in the face of fear. But people from other parts of California race to the area as danger mounts, and accommodation problems and food shortages add to the lowering terror until the whole situation boils over horribly. John Lucas, his wife, Sally, their eldest son, Chris, and the younger children (Mark, who has nightmares about an attack by a Yeti, and Cis, a small girl with the sang-froid of her kind) are the central characters. John is a level-headed and decent type, anxious to help but can do so only in small ways in a situation where nothing much can be done. Possibly this apparent helplessness is one of the most disturbingly terrifying aspects of the book. Sally, burdened with caring for the family’s immediate need for food, and with coping with refugees thrust upon her, apparently loses grip in some ways but retains an elemental courage. She and her husband are fine people whose ordeal is splendidly told. The situation becomes desperate and armed gangs of boys—hooligans mostly—are sworn in as militia. Chris joins them and his problems are brought out against that background. All the many other characters in the book are drawn with fine insight as fear brings its varying disintegrations. The poverty of a diluted liberalism in matters of faith runs like a howl through the book. Mary Carter has written a gripping story without any trace of exaggeration 'and has done it well.

Belle Catherine. By Juliette Benzoni. Heinemann. 320 PPHow pleasant, one might imagine, to read an historical romance: an innocuous form ■ of escapism posing as the second cousin of serious literature. Presumably. a few dozen of these works are produced every year of about the same standard as this book, apart from the handful which are patently superior. “Belle Catherine" will find its way to the shelves of local lending libraries throughout the country and will have many admirers. But to this reviewer. it was disturbing to discover that such a book is crammed with sex and sadism of a far more insidious type than James Bond’s, who by comparison with virtuous Catherine has a mind of driven snow. Catherine views every man she meets as a potential rapist, and there are many narrow escapes for her. She usually is hypocritically glad to be rescued, but salaciously dwells on her missed opportunities. In brief, the book tells of the fifteenth century heroine seeking her lover through France after he has been captured by enemies for his part in a plot to rescue Joan of Arc. They survive many dangers, and at last find temporary happiness together before he contracts leprosy, thus leaving Catherine free to pursue further adventures in future volumes. Details of the historical background are presumably authentic, including plenty of quite revolting atrocities, since the author, a Frenchwoman, has a B.A. in Philosophy, a Licentiate in law and a Licentate in letters.