NEW BOOKS

Evening Star, Issue 17838, 8 December 1921, Page 3

NEW BOOKS

AUSTRALIA AT WAR. COMMONWEALTH OFFICIAL HISTORY. THE “ AUSSIE ” AS A FIGHTER. 0. E. W. BEAN'S STORY OF GALLIPOLI. In over 600 pages Mr 0. E. W. Bean, ■who acted as Australian official correspondent with tho forces during the whole of the war, has set down in the first volume of the ‘ Commonwealth Official History of Australia in tho War ’ tho story of the first phase of the Gallipoli campaign, from the landing at Gallipoli _ till nine days after. This will give some idea of the monumental scale upon which the Australian Government is recording tho efforts of its forces—naval, military, and air—in the Great War. Altogether the history will consist of twelve substantial, well-illustrated volumes, nine dealing with military matters, one with tho navy, one with affairs in Australia diming tho war, and one containing reproductions of photographs taken by official photographers in various theatres of the war. If the succeeding volumes reach the standard of Mr Bean’s first volume tho history should he one of tho most comprehensive yet written. Its value may be measured by tho fact that it is tho desire of tho Government that tho Australian people shall bo told the whole truth. Except in the case of the volume on the navy, the Government has left tho writer unhampered by any form of censorship. As regards important event®, of which the names of officers and men concerned, exact dates, and many incidents of which the public could not bo told at the time, these are given with an abundance of detail. Mr Bean will write the first six volumes, which will cover the military history of the Australians on Gallipoli and in France, two being devoted to tho former and four to the latter.

Mr Bean proved himself a splendid correspondent, keen, plucky, and industrious, and his despatches were read by thousands throughout Australia and by thousands of Australian and New Zealand soldiers abroad. His story of Gallipoli further justifies the confidence that was placed in him by his appointment, which was the result of a conference between the Federal Government and tho Australian Journalists’ Association. His book contains rn immense amount of matter which has not before been published concerning the Australian soldier. In any account of Gallipoli tho Now Zealander is bound inseparably with the Australian, and consequently the books dealing with the fighting on the peninsula axe of as much interest to ns as to the people on the other side of the Tasman Sea. In one portion-of his narrative Mr Bean states: “ Day and night Australians and New Zealanders had fought together on tho hill-top. In this fierce test each saw in tho other a brother’s qualities. As brothers they had died; their bodies lay mingled in the same narrow trenches; as brothers they were buried. It was noticeable that suoh small jealousies as had existed between Australians and New Zealanders in Cairo completely vanished from that hour. Three days of genuine trial had established a friendship which centuries will not destroy.”

The book is profusely illustrated with maps and photographs, tho latter, most of which were taken after the armistice, giving a better idea of tho nature of tho country of Gallipoli than in any other history. Mr Bean has carefully avoided the technical phraseology so frequently used in naval and military books, and his story, which is told in simple language for general readers, may be understood by any intelligent child. For tho purpose, too, of his narrative, Mr Bean waa allowed to question the Turkish staff in Constantinople very fully after tho war; and the Turkish War Office sent a senior officer with him to Anzao, whore for a week thev went very carefully over the whole position, discussing tho firimr at each point and comparing notes. The result is a complete account, from the Turkish, as well as from the British side, of. all tho important engagements. This is a new feature of a war history, and one that adds immensely to the value of the work.

Of the landing itself, a. feat unparalleled in the history of arms, Mr Bean gives a graphic account, obtained from official records, his private diary, and narratives from hundreds of officers and men who were in the thick of the fighting. The wonderful dash of the Australians, in the face of heavy machine-gun fire and with practically no artillery support, provides a story of absorbing and poignant interest. Mr Bean is glowing in his description of the Australian as a fighter. It has been said elsewhere that Mr Bean has pitched too high a key in this respect, but tbe majority of New Zealanders who actually fought with the “Aussies” will heartily agree with. Mr Bean. Although the .author is himself an Australian, his key is not at all out of place when one considers the magnitude of the task (of which generals were not sanguine) that the Australians actually accomplished. The severe fighting following the landing, the heavy Turkish counter-attacks, arid the tenacious holding of seemingly untenable ridges are dealt with in detail. The New Zealand soldier also gets a very fair mead of praise from the writer, who must have taken very considerable trouble to get so much detail of all the important events. The personal touch which is added, in the way of anecdotes of officer's and men, throws a new light on the whole campaign. The book has 660 pages, with 111 maps, and fifty-six illustrations of important landmarks and of officers, and a very complete Index and a glossary. Australia’s share at Gallipoli is worthily recorded in this first volume, and the complete work, when it is published, should find a place in every library which it is intended should contain as complete a record as possible of tbe late war.

WODEHOTJSE, HUMOEIST. Almost everybody knows Herbert Jenkins. He is the humorist who wrote * Bindle,’ and a goodly proportion of the English-speaking world has laughed at Bindle. Herbert Jenkins is now a publisher, and. is quickly demonstrating the fact that not only is ho a humorous writer himself, but that ho is an excellent judge of the writings of other humorists. As witness the works of P. G. Wodehouso, just published by tho said firm of Jenkins, Ltd., in a colonial edition the price of which is 3s 6d per volume. P. G. Wodehouso is a writer of breezy, good-humored fun—the sort that neither dazzles with epigrammatic brilliance nor bores with American obviousness. It is the happy medium, with “ happy ” in capital letters. Take, for instance, ‘A Damsel in Distress.’ The story really starts in Piccadilly, when a charming girl jumps into a taxi which is already occupied by George Bevan, a composer of musical comedy songs, and gasps “Would you mind hiding me, please?” The young man with theatrical instincts naturally accedes to her request, and, moreover, knocks the hat from the head of her male pursuer, who turns out to be her brother and a peer. Tho rest of this capital comedy is taken up with wittily-written descriptions of the mistakes, misunderstandings. ludicrous situations, and general ups-and-downs of the love affairs of George, tho party of tho first part; of the girl and “the other man," being parties of the second part | and finally of George and the girl. And there are other equally amusing “ affairs ” in which peers and aristocrats generally are proved to be, in the presence of Cupid, quite human. Other books in this edition by the same author are ‘ The Indiscretions of Archie,’ 1 A Gentleman of Leisure,’ and ‘Love Among the Chickens.’ ‘The Indiscretions’ tells of a London “chappie” who is sent to America to " do something for a living,” and who accomplishes the feat by foiling in love and marrying the daughter of a millionaire hotel manager, in spite of the bitter opposition of the latter. There is a lot to tali in between, of course, and it 5* told in the same racy yein, that spells

laughter. ‘A Gentleman of Leisure’ fa Jimmy Pitt, and he becomes, as the outcome of a bet. an amateur burglar. He is assisted by Spike Mullins, a professional and a highly diverting character There are dukes and other things in this story, too. also an engaging young lady named Molly, who is a daughter of a police captain whoso house was injudiciously selected by Jimmy as one to be burgled. Unadulterated fun here, and plenty of it. Finally, ‘Love Among tho Chickens.! Mr Wodehouse is rather partial to authors and suchlike, and his hero in this case is Jeremy Garnet, who writes books. Jeremy has a friend or acquaintance in the overwhelming person of Stanley Featherstonehaugli Ukridge, an impecunious but energetic chap who Hood-tides Jeremy into managing his (S.F.U.’s) recently-acquired chicken farm ns a restful holiday recreation. The fun on the farm flutters and screeches even more than the chickens do, and tho mind of the reader who can be content to put the book down without being compelled so to do by circumstances over which, etc., must be dull Indeed. 'Those renders who are about to take a course of Wodehouse should weigh themselves before and after, and report the Increase to Herbert Jenkins, Ltd. It’s only a fair thing. Our copies are from Whitcombo and Tombs, Ltd.

‘Breaking Point,’ By Jeffery E. Jeffery. London: Leonard Parsons. Dunedin: Whitcombe and Tombs. Mr Jeffery has been looking out on civilisation with an anxious eye, and has given us tho result of his reflections. He begins with a rather dismal outline of the state of society, and to this ho adds a little psychology, a little philosophy, and a little idealism, winding up witli a few thoughts on revolution. We cannot discover anything particularly stimulating about the book, and wo tmnk Mr Jeffery doea less than justice to tho men who, in tho political sphere, are bearing the heat and burden of tlio day. Mr G. D, H. Cole contributes a foreword, and we think ho orrs in tho same way when ho writes thus: “Mr Jeffery concentrates on tho simple truth that, wherever we look, wc find statesmen making the world safe, not for democracy, or for any form of civilisation, but for general bankruptcy and starvation.” Of course, it is quite possible that some of the clever young critics could do better than the sorely-tried and overburdened men who bear the responsibilities of State; but we feel that just a little gratitude should be exhibited, instead of the cheap-and-nasty criticism so often indulged in. “The storm is approaching,” says Mr Jeffery. “ Its advent is hastened by the strong wind of almost inconceivable folly, from the reactionary point of view, which blows from the governing quarter. . . . Promises are broken; pledges are not redeemed. The word of a, government becomes the synonym for a lie. Justice is a mockery, and tho exploitation of the weak, whether whole nations or individual men, has passed from an occasional brutally accomplished fact to an established rule.” There is more than a smack of the demagogue about that. Mr Jeffery believes that “ Capitalism not only cannot put tho world right, but that it is not even trying to do so.” He thinks, therefore, that “in order to continue living, to continue progressing, humanity will revolt.” We wish it would ; but we fear it is too supine. Wo< greatly desire that humanity would revolt in the direction indicated by Mr Jeffery: “ The idea that the interests of humanity can be seirved by tho organisation of society for service to the community instead of for personal and material profit to the individual is, it is held, a true idea.. It has been born, and in spite of a tortured youth it is growing to maturity. Its practical application, in some form or another, to Unman affairs may well) constitute the next great step forward in the history of the race.” That would be a revolt indeed—nothing less than the moral and spiritual regeneration of the race! Mr Jeffery’s climax is a worthy one; but we feel that heffias not plumbed the deeps of the problem.

THE BOOKS OF TO-DAY. [By Ono Who Beads Them.] There is a subtle charm in the romance of the collection of hooks which to everyone. If you have a good collection of literature on your shelves it is curious to note how friends are attracted by them when left to amuse themselves for a few minutes—down comes a book. Of course, I don’t mean to suggest that the average man would be enthralled with a story by Tolstoi, or by Ainsworth's ‘ Tower of London,’ which are rather high "fnlutin” for the genera! public, and inclined to l>e dull. One does not expect the impossible. It would be fairly safe to say that a book of up-to-date light fiction would be sufficient to amuse any guest for an hour or so when retiring for the night before switching off the light and settling down in bed to sleep. It would certainly he appreciated. When a child of tender years the bedtime story-telling was a- pleasure eagerly anticipated. And at Christmas time I remember with what joy'a new supply of bedtime stories were received for the K r ew Year. The pictures were a feast of not too wholesome color, but they appeared joyously beautiful to our youthful eyes. Nowadays there are beautiful examples of the pictorial art in children’s books found on the shelves of the book shops. Wishing to make a purchase for a small nephew the other day, I was astonished at the great care and enterprise revealed in the production of illustrated books for children—books considerably more beautiful than anything that has been produced for my inspection in previous years in tho book shops I havo visited. There were illustrations by Louis Wain, Heath Bobinson, Cowan, and Edith Beckham, besides a host of others. It seemed to me that many of the stories for children were modern ifairy stories which made me think of the old-fashioned traditional yarns, such ns ‘ Bobinson Crusoe’ * Jack and the Beanstalk,’ which used to make me give howls of delight and help the sand-man to get me to sleep quickly. Those wore happy days indeed. By the time I was old enough to go to school fairy tales became far too tamo. In fact, memory recalls my disgust at being presented at tho age'of ten by 4 dear old aunt with a copy of Fans Anderson’s Talcs. At this lime my curiosity was whetted, and I used to dip vigorously into books on bow to make model yachts. And in quiet places I would feast on “ penny blood curdlers,” -which were strictly forbidden in the civilised parts of tho house frequented by my parents. Tho reminiscences of my taste in literature at various ages has proved quite useful in selecting presentation books for the children. My object in talcing such care is that tho atmosphere of thought surrounding the youngsters shall be one of restful, beautiful, rehashing ideas, which are so necessary in these modern days of crass materialism and the sordid surroundings of an artificial existence. Do« it never occur to you that man was rover intended to bo caged up in office or factory; to sit with chin on chest over a desk? Nor were his thoughts meant to bo centred on concrete propositions, as they are from day to day, dealing with the price of stocks and shares or with figures and data, such as are daily passing through the mind of the average business man.

Fancy ideas in the abstract rarely cross our minds. _ It would do many of us good to read light literature—even a child’s fairy tale —yet this is not often done. By the time the evening paper is read it is almost time for bed, and on comes another day, with the relaxation that the brain needs as far off as ever. Tiro possibilities of a good book of clever nonsense to a brain that is tired of routine work can be as joyouly refreshing as a cold shower on a hot day. .