BOOKS' and AUTHORS

Dominion, Volume 23, Issue 75, 21 December 1929, Page 32

BOOKS' and AUTHORS

A Weekly Survey

By

“Liber ”

Give a man a pipe he can cmokc, Give a man a book he can read-. And his home is bright with a calm delight Though the room be poor indeed. —James Thomson.

BOOKS OF THE DAY Australian Landscaiie Painters of Today. At this season of the year “Art in Australia” Ltd., the well-known art publishing flrm in Sydney, is generally responsible for the issue of some work of outstanding merit and importance. This year is no exception. “Australian Landscape Painters of To-day” (“Art in Australia,” Sydney) has just been issued and it may be said at once that this is one of the finest collection of Australian pictures, both oil and water-colours, that has yet been available to lovers of art in this part of the world. The illustrations, reproduced in colour, number twenty, and there are no fewer than thirty-two additional full-page plates in black and white. The coloured facsimiles represent the best landscape work of men like George Lambert, Elliott Gruner (an ex-Dannevirke man), Arthur Streeton, Hans Heysen, Sidney Long, Blamire Young, James A. Jackson, Daryll and Percy Lindsay, Sir John Longstaff, Charles Wheeler, B. E. Minns, John D. Moore, and Fred Leist, and I am glad to see that the exceedingly fine and most promising work of Robert Johnson, an ex-Aucklander, is also represented. The work of Harold Herbert; and the two Ashtons, Howard and Will, is also represented. Whilst in two or three cases the landscape work of the artist might be better evidenced, the majority of the artists have been well chosen and their paintings typically representative of their styles. In the black and white section several of the older men, such as Streeton Lambert, McNally, Muir Auld, and others have to run the risk of comparison with other and less known men such as Albert Collins, John B. Eldershaw, George Bell, A. E. Newbury, G. C. Benson, Norman MeGeorge, H. B. Harrison, Roi Le Mestre and others, the result being that the student is afforded a useful view of the several different styles adopted. Personally I do not care for the new colour work of Eliott Gruner, which, since his return from Europe, shows a tendency to a hardness of technique which is leading him far away from nature as it may be studied in Australia. Blamire Young’s “Glen Waverley” does not represent him at his best, and Mr. B. E. Minus’s “Hyde Park, Sydney,” seems to me incohate and decidedly “muddled.” Margaret Preston’s still-life work is deservedly famous in Australia, but in her '“Mosman Houses” decorative pattern is too much sought after. John R. Eldershaw’s “Wayside Stack” and MacNally's “Sydney Harbour” are both very delicate and pleasing drawings, and I envy the possessor of Mr. Gallop’s Balhurst drawing. The literary features are excellent. The introduction, dealing with the history of Australian Landscape Art, by James S. MacDonald, is gracefully written, and with the exception that it places Condor, whose work was so largely decorative, on the same plane at McCabbln and Streeton, is wisely critical. Basil Burdett contributes an article, “Notes on Australian Landscape Painters," which in some respects is much on the same lines as Mr. MacDonald’s article, but it also is readably informative. The volume is a handsome quarto, the typographical execution of which is a credit to Australian printing. Some day these “Art in Australia” extra volumes will be much sought after by discerning collectors. (£2/2/6.) A New Zealander’s Book.

My hearty, though alas, belated congratulations to Miss Elsie K. Morton upon her gracefully-written and very readable book, “The Joy of Life,” a review of which, owing to an oversight, has not appeared previously, although the book was published by the “N.Z. Herald” in September last. Miss Morton’s previous book of collected essays and travel sketches, “Along the Road,” came out last Christmas and was greatly enjoyed. The “Joy of the Road” (“N.Z. Herald”) is another collection of Miss Morton’s clever articles which made their first appearance in the columns of that journal. The travel sketches deal almost solely with New Zealand scenes, Rotorua, the Waitohapu Valley, the Awakino Vallye, Kawhia, the Hermitage, Westland and Dunedin. There is also a brief section dealing with Sydney, the Blue Mountains and Melbourne, and a section consisting of well-written and chatterly readable articles on New Zealand life generally. Miss Morton wields a light and graceful pen and the charm of her book is greatly enhanced by her delightful and often very original' photographs. A New Book by Dr. Rutherford Waddell.

Dr. Rutherford Waddell is such a wholesome writer, such a cheerful, in his own way, and stimulating a writer, that I rejoice to see a new book by him, “Memories and Hopes” (New Zealand Book Depot), is appearing in time for Christmas readers—-and buyers. That Dr. Waddell is a proven favourite with New Zealand readers is shown by the fact that altogether over 30,000 copies of his books have been sold. Of “The Voyage of Life,” his last book, over 2500 copies have been purchased, and of “Fiddles of God,” the book before, 3500. “Memories and Hopes” is a modest little volume, one article in which, “The Christmas Stocking,” originally having seen the light in the columns of the Christchurch “Times,” whilst “Literature and Life” and “Beelzebub, the God of Flies,” are based upon articles contributed to the Dunedin “Star.” Dr. Waddell has also added to the debt of gratitude which so many New Zealand book-lovers owe him by including the memorial sermon “After Fifty Years,”- preached on the occasion of his jubilee in connection with St. Andrew’s Church, Dunedin. As in his previous books, Dr. Waddell proves himself possessed of a light and graceful literary touch. In the two essays “Literature and Life” and “The Possibilities and Prospects of New Zealand Literature” there is an unmistakable suggestion of that prince of essayists, Charles Lamb. In the latter article there is much wise counsel and useful information by which young New Zealand writers should, and I trust will, profit. I like, too, the essay “God as*a Bed Maker”; indeed, of all the various books I have so greatly enjoyed during a period in which most of “Liber’s” reading has been done in bed. Dr. Waddell’s is one of those which has given me, a confirmed bookman, the most pleasure. Folk Tales of Normandy. Of all the French province®, Nor-

and traditional associations with Eng- >’ land, appeals the most to the British tourist. My own knowledge of that province goes back a very long time. My readers will, I am sure, pardon my recalling, with pleasure, a “tiny tour,” as the late Henry James would have said, which I was privileged to take—- ! mainly along the valley of the Seine j as far back as 1879. That pleasant sojourn—Rouen was a central starting point—is recalled when I turn over the pages of Mr. W. Branch Johnston’s "Folk Tales of . Normandy” (Chapman and Hall), in which I have recently been dipping. Mr. Johnston, who has, I see, two similar books, “Folk Tales of Provence” and “Folk Tales of Brittany,” to his credit, has toured the Norman towns and country and collected innumerable folk tales and traditions, many of which are curioulsy akin to the legends and popular folk stories of my native county

of Yorkshire. I am writing this away from my book-room, or I think I could parallel not a few of his yarns in Canon Atkinson’s book on a “A Moorland Parish,” a book which every North Country man should know. Mr. Braneji Johnston is singularly successful in collecting and re-telling in a graceful chatty way the many folk stories which can be gathered in Rouen, Bayeux, Fecamp, Caen, and other centres. His chapters on “Festivals and Fairs” and “The World of the Peasant” I have specially enjoyed, as throwing a quite different light upon the ways of the Norman to that given by Guy de Maupassant, Flaubert, and other French authors, whilst his pen and ink sketches, reproduced in woodcuts, are both artistic and truthful to the scepery. A very enjoyable book. (10/-.) “Contract Bridge.”

Mr. Milton "Work’s “Contract Bridge” (Putnam’s Sons) is a complete and very useful guide to a game which has already established itself on both sides of the Atlantic as a great favourite. Hitherto the laws of “contract” have often bpen held too difficult for many people. But Mr. Work alters all this, for he states the requirements for the most complicated bidding so simply that they can be grasped with no great difficulty. His new and original system is at once concise, practical and not difficult to understand. The laws of the game are given in full, with annotations. There is a valuable glossary, with an index to the laws. (7/6.)

LIBER’S NOTE BOOK

I have long treasured among my Stevenson books Mr. J. A. Hammerton’s most useful biographical study “Stevensoniana.” Now it is to have a companion volume, “Barrie, the Story of a Genius.” Of course, it is largely a compilation and exhibits the astonishing industry of the author in utilising even the scantiest and seemingly unimportant bits of biographical information about its subject. As one who can remember buying Barrie’s Scots studies “Auld Licht Idylls” and “The Window in Thrums,” I am specially interested in what Mr. Hammerton has to say of the grave misgiving which the production of “The Little Minister” created among some of the Kirriemuir old folk—some doubt as to Barrie’s good taste. Mr. Hammerton has rescued from an old newspaper file the opinion of an “Auld Licht” elder. The old man is reported to have said to an interviewer: —

As a work of art it has great defects, but it’s wi’ the releeglous aspecks that I tin’ fault. The elders can dae nae guid. Fowk tell me Mr. Barrie's diu a lot o’ good for Thrums, but in view o’ this thing, mon. A’m dootln 1 it. In ain o’ his books he makes Auld Licht elders sweer. Am tbinkin’ if the real Auld Licht elders cud rls£ frae their graves an’ see ‘The Little Minister’ that wad mak’ them sweer.

In another paragraph there is a certain piquafaey, for it refers to Barrie’s ill-fated marriage to Mary Ansell, the actress, which ended in tragedy when Mrs. Barrie ran away with Gilbert Cannan, once a novelist whose earlier work had some small vogue of its own. Cannan, in time, deserted the lady to whom, to his credit, Barrie, finding her left penniless, is said to have behaved much more generously than her lover, making her, it is said (although Hammerton does not mention this), an allowance of £4OO a year. Barrie, during a serious attack of pleuropneumonia, was nursed back to health by Mary Ansell, a talented actress who made a hit in his play “Walker, London.” Mr. Hammerton says:—

For Mary Ansell, a lady of great personal charm, joined with high qualities of mind, the playwright had conceived the warmest admiration . . . and a romantic attachment between the two culminated soon after his convalescence in their marriage. The ceremony took place privately at Strathview, Kirriemuir . . . and for many a summer thereafter the graceful figure of Mrs. J. M. Barrie was a familiar one about the braes of Kirriemuir. The end came on October 13, TJO9, when Barrie had to sustain the ordeal, terrible to one of his extreme sensitiveness, of bearing witness in a case before the president of the divorce division, which resulted in the dissolution of his marriage.

The story of another author’s unhappy marriage is told by Mr. Sencourt in his recently-published volume (reviewed on this page, a week or two ago by “Liber”), “The Life of George Meredith.” Mr. Gencourt writes:

Meredith in his youth met Mary Nicholls, daughter of Thomas Love Peacock. The ladv was a widow with a child of between three and four years. Mary Nicholls was at once interested by the exuberant young athlete whom her brother introduced, and who gradually took her by storm. “His vitality,” Mr. Seneourt says, “was electrical in every movement, his features were handsome, his expression tense, and his thick red-brown hair gave a bint of the health and strength and youth which were then wedded to the intensity of his nature, lie was already an admirer of her father, and they shared an enthusiasm which for him was the enthusiasm of a lover. His

Inexperience gave him no bint of the disappointments his idealism might find in a temperamental widow of nlne-and-twenty. She herself in spite of keen attraction, hesitated before settling down to marriage with a man with no endowments but his youth and genius. But they swam out upon the flood of rapture; across its warm and sparkling stream and growths of earth swarmed with a new enchantment as wonderful to them as the holiness of heaven. A love which suffused every experience thought of all nature as united with him in joyful expectance, in a longing so delicious that it was more than half fulfilment of what he had already dreamed and written In verse.

After eight years of marriage Meredith and his wife separated. A son had been born, and the wife had fallen in love with Henry Wallis, a painter. She told her husband of her intention to elope with Wallis to Italy. Meredith remonstrated, telling her that he was partly to blame for their lack of unity, and pointing out “the intolerable wrong” she would do herself and the child if she took the course she planned. She did not heed, however, having, says Mr. Sencourt, “persuaded herself to* believe that in leaving him she left him free to unite himself to another he preferred.” Meredith, it appears. had not, in his friendships, taken sufficient account of his wife's sensitiveness. What followed is thus described :—

“The wound Meredith had given was repeated quickly and more fiercely by Wallis, who had taken her to Capri. Abandoned by him, and returning to England with a child not her husband’s, she sought reconciliation with him. He refused it. She sought to see her son. Meredith used to the full his right to separate them. . . Then the unhappy woman grew desperate and her reason gave way. Even when she was dying Meredith did not relent further than in the last days he allowed the little boy to go to see his mother.” In her book “Isadora Duncan’s End,” Miss Mary Desti tells a remarkable story of a curse. The famous dancer, it seems, rescued a male relative from the clutches of a famous cinema vamp in Paris in 1913. When Isadora broke the news that she had packed off her relative, the “vamp,” writes Miss Desti, "arose, and in a voice trembling with hate, said, ‘I curse you. The gods of my fathers curse you and your children for ever.’ And at that very Instant we were on the spot where years afterwards the motor-car with Isadora’s children entered the Seine.” Miss Desti goes on to say that the night before the dreadful tragedy in which Isadora’s two children were trapped and drowned in a motor-car which overturned Into the Seine, someone had sent to her behind the scenes of the theatre in which she was performing a book which made her very melancholy. “It was,” writes Miss Desti, “ ‘Nlobe Lamenting Her Children,’ and she could not imagine why anyone had sent her this book.”

Miss Desti,’ in the course of her story of Isi flora Duncan’s strange experiences in Russia, tells of a curious interviewer the famous dancer had with the parents of Trotsky, the Bolshevik Communist

On a little trip to the country, Isadora stopped at a peasant’s cottage to have tea. To her great surprise, she found that the peasants were Trotsky’s father and mother, living on black bread and tea, in the poorest conditions. Amazed, she said, “I can’t believe your great son would allow you to live and suffer like this.” “Our son Is the cause of it,” they replied. “Before the Revolution we were prosperous, happy people—in fact, well-to-do. We had a business that we had given our lives to build, and we were reaping the reward.” “But your son could give you decent surroundings and everything you need.” “No, he believes in this Communism with his whole heart and soul, and his parents are no more to him than any other comrades. It is all for the good of the whole. There must be plenty for all or suf fering for all—the common lot.”

The Nobel Prize for Literature has gone for 1929 to the German novelist, Thomas Mannin, whose novel, “The Magic Mountain,” was reviewed in “The Dominion” earlier in the year. It struck me as a morbid picture of a young German writer whose life in a health resort was described at great, and, to me, wearisome length. Amongst others whom the Swedish Committee awarding the Pri‘ze, omitted to take note of were John Galsworthy, whose “Forsyte Saga” is, to my mind, superior to anything any modern, especially any German novelist, has written; Sinclair Lewis, the author of “Main Street,” and “ Babbitt,” G. K. Chesterton, and Remarque, author of “All’s Quiet on the Western Front.” The Swedish Committee for the allocation of the Nobel Literary Prize, seem to be curiously favourable to German writers, but Mannin is assuredly not among the best of them.

SOME RECENT FICTION

The Perfect Friend. “The Perfect Friend,” by Collinson Owen (Cassell), deals in a vein of comedy, with a matrimonial problem which, twenty years ago, would have been deemed impossible of fictional treatment A middle-aged man, Hugh Quayne, a highly successful novelist, and to all appearances happily married to a very charming woman, is suddenly stricken with what we might call calf love for a much younger woman. He confides in a friend, who is himself enamoured of the novelist’s secretary. About the same time the novelist s wife, who is old enough to know better, falls in love with a successful barrister who has political aspirations. The “perfect friend” is appealed to by both husband and wife to assist his or her cause. He Imagines the best way to do this is by helping the husband, but the problem is solved by the younger woman herself, with whom the barrister, hitherto supposed to be attached _ to the novelist’s wife, falls in love himself. She accepts him, and there is an awful row all round, the novelists wife boxing the lawyer’s ears, and her husband, disgusted with the failure of his attachment to the young lady, making the best - of a bad job, and, assuring his wife of his renewed love for her, taking her away on a world tour, his pretty private secretary making the “perfect friend,” perfectly happy. Although the matrimonial tangle might be expected to be productive of scandalous restrictions, the story is, as is claimed on the title pages, one long comedy, the ironical humour of which is well sustained.

The Lively Peggy. Often styled “the English Dumas” Mrs. Stanley Weyman’s last fulllength romance of the West Country, “The Lively Peggy,” has now been issued by Mr. John Murray in a finely printed literary edition at the much reduced price of 4/6. This is a very good romance, which shows that the whilom author of “A Gentleman of France” has lost none of his cunning as a story-teller. At its reduced price “The Lively Peggy” should win a new host of readers and admirers.