RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CXIII, Issue 33191, 3 April 1973, Page 20

RANDOM REMINDER

NOVEL NOVEL

Certain French intellectuals have been saying for some time that the novel is dead; and although the opinions of certain French intellectuals are best left to French intellectuals the fact does remain that the good old bedside reading industry does seem to be in a rather unhealthy way —as indeed do some of its characters. We believe, however, that we have unearthed one reason for this malaise. You see, most novels are by other people who live in other places. There’s precious little local colour for the average Christchurch reader in the average novel set in the average American or European city. What we need is a local novel; and it could be done by authors leaving blanks for certain descriptive bits which could be filled in bv local representatives, although how we would overcome the difficulty if the original desscription was left blank eludes us for the moment. Never mind. Did sneers deter Henry’ Ford or the Wright brothers? Did

someone say they wished they had? Shame. Just imagine a novel in which all the allusions and references were drawn from your very own city. “He looked around the room, which reflected her personality—as neat as a Memorial Avenue flowerbed and as colourful as the Botanic Gardens in spring. Suddenly she came in and he could contain himself no longer. ‘Oh Daphne,’ he said. ‘You are as select and desirable as a Fendalton address. Be mine or like a bike tyre I shall perish.’ ‘Oh Latham,’ she said stifling a yawn, ‘you drive me up the Waltham. You are as welcome here as the midges in Aranui.’ He leaped to his feet. ‘Henry’s behind this, isn’t he? The rat. His heart is as black as the city smog. His odious meddlings stink like the Estuary at low tide.’

‘Stop’, she said. ‘Henry and I . . . Henry is only trying to help. It’s a difficult situation and he’s trying as hard as the Transport Board to find the right answer?

Latham waved an indignant finger. ‘Henry has as much chance of seeing bis evil scheme succeed as the Hagley Park motorway.’

T wouldn’t be so sure about that either,’ said Daphne. ‘You are oldfashioned Latham. You belong at Ferrymead.’ ‘Abuse me as you will,’ Latham replied angrily. I can hold my head as high as the new Police Station for no shame taints my name—and yours. Your past is as murky as the Heathcote and as confused as Victoria Street at 5 p.m.’ ‘Stop this stupid quarrelling.’ demanded Daphne. Anyone would think we were a City Council meeting. Anyway I’m leaving you, just as the students are leaving the old University. This is goodbye.’ The tears pOured down Latham's face fike the Stewart Fountain, and he left, his heart as empty as Lancaster Park at midnight.”

Yes, it's our kind of novel.