NEW FICTION

Press, Volume CXI, Issue 32637, 19 June 1971, Page 10

NEW FICTION

The Syndicate. By Anthony Masters. Michael Joseph. 256 pp. The theme of this novel is the eternal strain and social pressure which inevitably beset the path of the homosexual. The story revolves round five people, one of them a woman, and opens with two senior schoolboys deliberately debauching a junior. Later both the older boys follow prosperous careers—Alan South as a doctor, and Graham Poynter in the world of business. While at Cambridge the two form their own homosexual relationship which is only broken up when Graham marries Lydia, the girl they both love. Unluckily the childless Lydia becomes devoted to the rehabilitation of “lame ducks,” and takes into her home a delinquent youth who has been shamefully misused by sundry “patrons” —and the stage is set for trouble. Lydia is certain that her experiment with the boy Gary will succeed, and that she and Graham will come to accept him as a son. Against all his own instincts Alan, who still loves her ignores the warnings of a psychiatric colleague and supports her. The book, it need hardly be said ends in stark tragedy, softened a little by Alan finding his heterosexual love, and with it a normal relationship. The author manoeuvres both characters and situations with considerable expertise. He keeps- the reader on his toes by constantly interpolating earlier scenes into the middle of current events which could be an irritating trick if the writing (despite some astonishingly elementary grammatical errors) were less compelling. As it is his literary skill invites a certain sympathy with his sadly disorientated puppets. Man Alone. By John Gilders. The Australian Book Society. 195 pp. There is an air of depressing authenticity in this story of a professional man who, after a breakdown necessitating treatment in a mental hospital for three years finds it almost impossible to rehabilitate himself in an uncomprehending world. Paul Stamford, once a prosperous accountant has in a way “asked for” his three years of tribulation because, when in a state of paranoia, he claimed to have succeeded to an English peerage bringing with it a vast fortune. The behaviour resulting from this mental aberration was such that it had ruined his business and alienated his wife, and he had disappeared into temporary oblivion unloved by anyone. Now, fully cured, he seeks re-employment in his own profession, but fear of the truth being known makes him cover up his past to prospective employers. And so he drifts down hill mto the slums of Sydney, living with a good hearted nymphomaniac on whose earnings he shamefacedly has to subsist for a time. When his luck at last turns he comes perilously close to having another breakdown owing to the hostility of other professional workers. The story is sympathetically told, and the author has obviously delved deep into the tragedy implicit in mental disturbance, and the desperate lack of self confidence it engenders, but he omits to give any clue to the cause of Stamford’s original collapse, or to any trait in the character of a decent and apparently well-balanced individual which could have led up to it. This is the only defect in an otherwise absorbing book. Man Ot Straw. By Joy Cowley. Seeker and Warburg. 227 pp. Joy Cowley is a New Zealand writer who can bring to life for readers, other than New Zealanders, the authentic atmosphere of life in a small New Zealand town. She does not make the mistake of dramatising her characters but quietly proceeds to tell the story of an unsuccessful family living in Morris Bay, and their ultimate fate. The Jonssons, father, mother and two daughters have lived nomadic lives, because Paul Jonsson could never stay long anywhere or hold down a steady job, but now he has decided to settle for good and to grow strawberries for the commercial market. Miranda, the elder daughter is a teacher in the adjacent big city and is engaged to be married. Rosalind, at thirteen, with her friend Julie-Ann Howes—the rather spoilt daughter of a rich couple—and her dear fat old mongrel Caliban is as

happy as any other normal adolescent. In effect this is Ros's story because, when tragedy strikes it is she who is the chief victim. Vague rumours arise concerning Jonsson’s amatory weaknesses, largely activated by Julie-Ann’s sense of the dramatic. Some stupid young vandals take advantage of the unhealthy excitement to kill poor harmless Caliban. Miranda breaks off her engagement and Ros’s small world becomes suddenly sinister, and she has a violent row with her parents before an instinctive flight from home. The characters are all accurately observedneighbours who suddenly stop being friendly; the decency shown by the man Howes in an emergency; Miranda’s fury with her silently-enduring mother. Perhaps the book’s only weakness is the ambiguous understatement implicit in the imprecision of Paul Jonsson’s behaviour which is never brought fully into the open, but is implied by events. Notwithstanding, this is a very good novel.

The Rain Maker. By Jack Cope. Heinemann. 246 pp. The primitive daily life with its fears and superstitions in an African tribal settlement is the theme of this sympathetically written novel. The world of the new Africa is embodied by Saul, crippled son of the great Daba—-the Rain-Maker of the Umsuzuli Valley who, after years in the civilised world of hospitals (seeking vainly to cure his crippled legs), and learning, has come back in obedience to instinct to see his parents. The girl Priscilla, training as a nurse, and Kaleb, the unknown man who has become almost a son to Daba, also represent a world in which did superstition has given place to a respect for modem invention and ingenuity, so that when a drought comes upon the land, and Daba is invoked to exercise his magic gifts these three alone are unmoved to awe. In fact Kaleb has his own ideas of irrigation, and with the secret aid of two disreputable miners arranges to blast an area which will let water into the valley for which he means to erect a dam. Daba’s pride and belief in himself, his determination to take Priscilla as his third wife, and her revival of an old love affair with Kaleb all build up to a climax which the gentle Saul witnesses and tries to divert from developing tragedy when Daba’s rain-making efforts look like failing. AH these characters are drawn with an authenticity which makes the reader feel involved with them. Perhaps the best portrait in this notable book is that of the girl Claudia—the adolescent child of a despised poltroon, who comes to love Saul, who loves her in return—but only as a sister. Her nobility of soul combined with her ignorance, and often giggling stupidity is compelHngly convincing.

Noah’s Ark. By Susan Barrett. Michael Joseph. 222 pp. The Ark is the Grove, a group of small modem town-houses in London. In one house live Tina and Tim Blunden, with their small child. Tina is bored, and Tim spends most of his office hours in his travel-agency enjoying fantasies about the beautiful woman in the neighbouring antique-shop. They are ideal material, perhaps, for membership of the Grove “association,” a group of slightly older, rather more bohemian and cosmopolitan husbands and wives seeking to enliven their marriages by some frivolous, yet dangerous, partnerswapping. The novel is a comedy of manners, and a comedy of situation. The self-assured members of the “association” are quietly mocked both by their own actions and by Tina’s ingenuous reactions to them. Leading members of the “association,” enjoying a thrill of pleasure at their wickedness, cautiously grade their acquaintance in search of new members, giving marks out of five under mysterious headings, A., C., S. of H. (sense of humour). Tina is given O for S. of H. This sort of activity makes enjoyable reading. The comedy of situation, which had mostly dealt with negotiating scraps of Grove shrubbery, and its rubbish-bins, is quickened when Tina and Tim join members bf the “association” in a holiday on a Greek island. Some consternation is caused when Tina seems to be becoming too “serious” about her temporary partner. Trivial vexations, the heat, romanticism and nostalgia for a positive morality battle in Tina, and despite the wit with which situations are handled, the reader can believe in the reality of her dilemma, panic, and resolution.

The Sound of Sun.~ier Voices. By Helen Tucker. Michael Joseph. 224 pp. In this, her first novel, Helen Tucker tells the story of one summer in the life of an 11-year-old boy, Patrick Quincannon. At the beginning of the summer, Patrick who lives in a small town in North Carolina with his great uncle and his two aunts becomes convinced that he has been consistently lied to about his mother. His efforts to discover the truth lead him to eavesdropping, to blackmail and to an attempt to dig up his mother’s grave. Sensational as this may sound the story is in reality a gently told one, Helen Tucker draws a sympathetic picture of a boy just beginning to grow up and to realise the strangeness of his family life. The adults in the story are seen through Patrick's eyes and in general this is accomplished successfully with most of them appearing as real people with troubled divided loyalties. The notable exceptions are his elder aunt, Athena, who never becomes more than a stick figure and his great uncle Darius who is a stereotyped Southern American paterfamilias. “Tne Sound of Summer Voices” is not an outstanding novel but it has a certain charm and appeal. Patrick, though at times rather too intelligent and mature for an U-year-old is drawn with a perception and compassion which endear him to the reader and make the outcome of his investigations of great interest.