BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 19724, 26 November 1927, Page 14

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

VERSES A VISIT TO THOMAS HARDY. The Roman road runs by tho wall, And Roman shards and remnants lie Under the turf where dry leaves fall On leaves long dry. Bracelet and bowl, and naked bones, In Resurrection's sad amaze, Staring a raid long-buried stones, Take the sun’s gaze. And here, with talk of times forgot, The times forgot conic back renewed ; Rise Roman shapes above the plot Their bones endued. I shut rny lids and straightway hear A Roman voice—it is my host’s; 1 look, and from his eyes there peer A Roman ghost’s; In his hand clasp a Roman hand, In his verse hear tho ancient tone Hoard once in accents harsh or bland By cars now stone. Time spins back, and a wave of tho past Streams through each idle sense’s portal; And while long little minutes last I touch the immortal. —John Freeman, in tho ‘Observer.’ SCANDAL AND GOSSIP. Scandal is a stately lady. Whispers when she talks; , Waves of innuendo Ripple where she walks. Speaking with a lifted shoulder, Flicker of a lash, Scorning words as dangerous, She is never rash. Gossip is a giddy girl Running hero and there, Showing all the neighborhood What she has to wear. Gossip babbles like a brook, Rages like a flood, Chews hear placid hearsays As a cow her cud. Scandal hobnobs with the rich Over purple wine; Gossip has the vagabonds Jn to chat and dine. Scandal never visits ns; Wo are far 100 ppor; Gossip never missed a day Knocking at our door. —Con nice Cullen. THE “ DULLNESS ” OF H. G. WELLS John Keats’s first efforts in poetry aroused a storm of disapproval that resulted in the legend that his early doatli was caused by the attacks of unsympathetic critics. No one believes that now, but Gifford and Lockhart, who wrote in ‘ Blackwood’s ’ and ‘ The Quarterly,’ still bear the stigma of their ruffianism. The days of literary freebooting might almost seem to bo revived in England; only the victim, instead of being a young poet like John Keats, happens to be tho seasoned novelist, H. G. Wells. The writer remains concealed under a pseudonym (“Scrutator”), and the organ is the 1 Empire Review ’ 1 Mr Wells is rebuked for clinging to this life, and so forfeiting a glowing obituary. “ If Mr H. G. Wells had died before the war, we should have mourned the loss of one imaginative novelist of unusual merit and of a contemporary figure not wholly inferior in interest to his own ‘ Kipps.’ But Mr Wells, rather thoughtlessly for an egotist so inflated, failed to seize tho right moment for his demise. He has emphasised the outstaying of his welcome on this planet by the output of many new works of an cver-inoroasing and now, indeed, of a chloroforming dullness” If this is nob the spirit of 1820-25 when Keats was supposed—though erroneously—to have been “snuffed nut by an article,” what is it? Mr Wells's shortcomings or oversteppiugs are further elaborated;—

“Every year there is launched upon the bookstalls some new publication, vulgarly heralded by his publishers, and not less obtrusively 'recommended by on© of those press controversies by which Mr Wells, with a shrewd commercial instinct, advertises his prolific quality. Ho once, incredibly, thought (.that tho world was ready to accept him as a political and social critic, pure and very simple, and ho wrote the most unsuccessful and almost the most foolish of all ids books upon the 'Washington Conference. Warned by a public failure, lie has since returned to tho form, if not to the substance, of the novel. His latcseb volumes—the ‘ Clissold ’ triology and ‘Meanwhile,’ just published—are a disingenuous attempt to palm off' turgid political essays as fiction. Fragments of incident are inserted to give substance to tho publishers’ claims that these works aro novels. No experienced reader will bo deceived, and few, _wo imagine, will invest in his next imposture.

i “‘Meanwhile.’ wo were told by his communicative publishers, was to be based on tho general strike of last year; the criticism of Mr Baldwin and Mr Churchill was to bo ‘ruthless.’ What do wc find? The general strike enters tho book only, first, as a distant rum bio in the background, and, later, as tho text for a few tiresome letters written by one of tho characters _to his wife. The ‘ story ’ is sot in a villa near Ventimiglia, just over tho Italian border. The house party consists of Refer Rylands, a young English coal owner; his wife, who is enceinte; Mr Rlautagcnet-Buchan, a Europeanised American; Lady Catherine, an aristocrat of easy virtue; Air Bempack, an author-philosopher; and a few nondescripts or supers. Mr Sompaek is another Mr Clissold, which is bad; that is, another Mr Wells, which is worse. It is, perhaps, open to Mr Wells to say that Mr Sempack does not represent him; but tho defence, if attempted, is absurd. One cloccs not centre a novel round a man’s conversation without taking responsibility for it, unless criticism is implied in the text. But tho point need not he argued, for Mr Sempack only repeats in so_ many words—so many!—what Air Wells has incessantly offered ns over Ids own signature during tho last few years. Air Sempack, therefore, joins Air Clissold in that group of drivelling bores who lond-spead Air Wells’s ideas.” “Scrutator” proceeds to uncover Mr Sempack in several pages of citation—first, as to the effect on his hearers of Mr Sempack’s Great Talk.’ Hero is the reaction of one hearer:— “Everyone seems to look up to him and respect him. > Everyone, that is, who’s heard of him. Why? He’s tremendously big, and I suppose there's something big about the wav ho looks at the world and talks about progress and treats all we are doing as something that will bo all over in no time and that cannot matter in tho least.” “Scrutator” is not one who “looks up to him.” “In correction of this nauseating drived,” ho says. “ it may bo well to give specimens of Air Bompack's ‘groat talk.’ Hero is one typical of tho rest ” “‘Lots of ns arc bored almost to violence by things as they arc. More will be. Progress lias always been 11 battle of the bored against the contented and the hopeless,. If you like this

A LITERARY CORNER

world with its diseases and frustrations, its toil and blind cravings and unsatisfied wants, its endless ipiarreliiigs and its pointless tyrannies and cruelties, the pettiness of its present occupations in such grotesque contrast with the hard and frightful violence to which it is so plainly heading, _if you like this world, I say,’ defend it. But I want to push it into tho past cs completely as I can and as fast as I can before it turns to horror. Bo I shall bo against you. I am for progress. I believe in progress. Work for progress is tho roalest thing in life to me. If some messenger came to me and said with absolute conviction to me; “This is all. It can never bo any better,” I would not go on living in it for another four and twenty hours.’ “ One can only comment that one longs for tho messenger. And here is a more practical contribution to our social problems;—■ “ People have to realise that winning coal is a public need and service like the high road and tho post office. A service that has to be paid for and taken care of. Everybody profits by cheap accessible coal. A coal owner’s royalties are as antiquated as a toll gate. Some day it will bo clear to everyone, as it is clear to any properlyinformed person now, that if the State paid all the costs of exploiting coal in the country and handed the stuff out at prices like, say, 10s a ton, the stimulation of every sort of production would bo so great as to yield a profit, a quite big profit, to tho whole community. “Tho miners would become a public force like the coastguards or tho firemen.* “ ‘ You think that is possible?’ asked Philip. “‘1 know. It’s plain. But it’s not plain to everyone. _ Pacts and possibilibava to be realised. Imaginations have to bo iit and kept lit. Certain obstructive wickedness in all of ns“Air Sempack stopped. Ho never finished a sentence needlessly. “ ‘But coal winning isn’t confined to its country of origin,’ said Philip. ‘There is the export trade.' “‘Which twists tho'question round completely,’ said Lord Tamar. “‘When you subsidise coal getting ill England you subsidise industrial competition abroad,’ said Philip “ 1 Exactly. _ While we still carry on the economic life of the world in these compartments and pigeon holes wo call sovereign States,’ said Air Bompack, ‘ wo cannot handle any of these other issues. Nothing lor it but makeshift and piecemeal.’ “ ‘Till the Millennium,’ said Philip. “ ‘Till tho light grows brighter,’ said Sempack, and added meditatively; ‘lt docs grow brighter. Perhaps not from day to day, but from year to year.’ r ‘A doubt seems to have insinuated itself into Air AVells’s mind that these drear maunderings may not, in cold print, seem altogether worthy of the generous compliments which they elicit from tho supers; so he provides Air Sempack with a fantastic foil, Colonel Bullaco. “The latter had pricked up his cars at the word Utopia, and coughed and turned a rather deeper pink; and, after the third repetition and apropos of nothing in particular, ho had addressed Mr Sempack in an abrupt, caustic, and aggressive manner. Ho cut across an unfinished sentence to do so. “‘I suppose, sir,’ ho had said, ‘you find your Utopia in Aloscow?’ “Air Sempack had regarded him as ft landscape might regard a puppy; ‘What makes you suppose that?’ he asked. “‘Well, isn’t it so, sir? Isn’t it so?’ Mr Sempack had turned away Iris face again. ’ No,’ ho said over his shoulder, and resumed his interrupted sentence. “This shows you what a great man Mr Sempack is. How brilliant; how decisive tho repartee! Who says that Air Sompack-Clissold-WelJs is a bore?” Mr Sempack went to England, and was run over by a motor bus, but another character takes up the delivery of Air Wells’s opinions on public characters like Winston Churchill, Prime Minister Baldwin, Air Thomas, and Air Herbert Samuel; “After a criticism of'Air Churchill, illustrated with a childish-—perhaps second-childish—pen-and-ink drawing of ’Winston doing everything’ (in Air Wells’s handwriting), we come to the pompous disparagement of Air Baldwin. This, 100, is adorned by a drawing depicting ‘Trusty old Baldwin keeps, ondoing imffin’,’ a flight of wit which an Eton boy would disclaim It seems that Air Baldwin is ‘ a- hit of a coal owner himself,’ and Air Wells insinuates' that this has a connection with the granting of the coal subsidy. As, however, Air Wells has not the courage to make a direct accusation against Air Baldwin, there is no need to pursue a dirty and untruthful insinuation farther.” The habit is growing of bringing living people into contemporary fiction and naming them outright. “ Scrutator ” finally ends:— “ This summary of Air Wells’s latest book cannot fully make plain its devastating weariness. His bitterest critic could wish nothing better than that it might bo widely distributed. It must be read if it is to be adequately condemned. The whole incredible conceit of the man; his fceblc-forciblo attacks on public men who acce.pt responsibility in times of crisis, while he dithers and blathers about a bettor world; tho stupidity and falseness of Ids picture of tho general strike in which ho achieved no more than Mr Sompaek, without the excuse of a. motor bus; those can hardly bo appreciated without a perusal of ‘ Alcanwhilo.’ Ho has ceased to be a novelist. He has ceased to have imaginative powers, except lor the distortion of known facts. He has even ceased to bo readable. All that remains is malice, conceit, and ignorance.” YOUNGER WRITERS SIR E. GOSSE’S VIEWS Sir Edmund Gossc, tho great literary critic, in the Liverpool ‘ Post,’ gives his judgment on younger writers:— “ At 7S I find life much the same as at 28. Temperament doesn’t change, neither docs one’s outlook very much. I have been a writer for 00 years, and am the author of a terribly long shell of books. Aly life has been entirely devoted to literature, and I suppose very few people have been completely men ot letters all their lives as I have. People talk about the consolations of literature. No one could be more thankful for them than I. Aly life has been spent between my book’s and my friends, and hooks have been the companions of my life. “Do I notice many changes in literature to-day? That is a very interesting'question. 1 see changes, some favorable and some unfavorable. I think the general level of writing is very much higher than it was in my youth. Such a very large number of people write in a really distinguished way. On the other hand, I don’t think there is tho same creative vitality there was.

“ I am struck by the • fact that people write very carefully and pleasantly over and over the same theme. I have the fooling that the subjects aro getting rather dangerously worn

out, but ;i change will come in that respect. The Great War, I think, produced a certain intellectual fatigue that is now displaying itself. “A very striking thing, to my mind, is tho advance of women in literary work. It was very unusual for a woman to writ© well 50 or 60 years ago, but now, not merely in novel writing, but in many branches of study and science and scholarship, women are doing admirable work. “ I think the general level of critical opinion to-day is very much higher. There never will bo a uniformity of taste, but, on the whole, I am very much struck with tho merits of quite young critics.” Sir Edmund had a word of criticism for tho universities of to-day. “I have a feeling that the centre of intellectual interest has passed away from tho universities,” lie said. “ T think there is. a very great decline in pure literary interest at the universities. and that is very sad. It seems to have passed to the lower middle classes and to tho upper working classes. I go to tho universities now and again, and I am astonished to find how little the undergraduate seems to know or care about standard books. There is an excessive interest, almost a marked interest, in the pure oddities of literature.” mi BOOKS STOSSES BY ELINOR GLYH To her already Jong list of books Elinor Glyn, the popular novelist, has added a volume of stories in which she gives of_ her best. The chief story is ' It,’ which is notable for its well-drawn characters and its human interest. John Gaunt, tho central figure, had risen from the lowest of tho people, his earliest recollection being of squalor in the Bowery. Force of character and tenacity of purpose had led to his being a wealthy man at 40 and a person of groat cultivation Ho possessed, in the words of the author, that nameless charm, with a strong magnetism, that can only be called “It.” Females of all types and classes had manifested .an ardent passion for him, but he had scorned all their advances. A strong man in business and apparently indifferent to anything savoring of .sentiment, he yet had another side to his nature lie loved to give money to institutions for the betterment of children, At last, however, Jove and romance camo to him, and it is his efforts to win tho regard of a young woman who, in temperament and conduct. is very like himself, that make tho story, lb is absorbing from beginning to end. The book also contains excellent short stories entitled ‘Why 1/ ■Consolation,’ ‘Both Ways,’ and ‘ Ritzy.’ Tho publishers are Messrs Duckworth, London. ADVICE TO THE CORPULENT From Angus and Robertson, of Sydney, comes a copy of ‘Surplus Fat and How to Reduce It,’ written by Hr W. F. Christie and published by the Cornstalk Publishing Company. Much illadvice’ has been written on this subject, engendering needless anxiety in men and women who are made plump and remain plump naturally, enjoying thus the best of health, in some cases tempting persons to adopt fining-down processes that weaken the body. In a matter of this kind, where efficiency is at stake, nobody should rashly tamper with his body. To do so is to outrage Nature and provoke a penalty'. These considerations do not imply a warning in respect to Dr Christie’s book. Tie is noticeably careful in Ids advice. Ho is not preaching against fat, but against surplus fat. Put into other words, his book does not frighten tho reader who may be growing heavier. Its purpose is rather to give him counsel as to what to do if the increasing weight is found annoying or a hindrance and is likely to become perilous. Many valuable hints arc given on diet and physical culture, and the explanations as to how surplus fab occurs and as to tho best methods for its reduction embody scientific facts and practical information right up to date. There is also some mention by Hr Christie of fat freaks and curiosities. Daniel Lambert holds Iho British record, established in 1809, of 52st 111 b; hut it is said (though not proved) that the doubtful privilege of being the fattest woman in the world was claimed for a negress of 60st 101 b who died at Baltimore in 188 S: whilst Miles Durden, of North Carolina, is said to have weighed 71st, but ho was a giant, 7ft Sin high. BOOKS FOR CHILDREN Books for children are being made more and more attractive, and, as Christmas presents for tho young folk could not bo bettered. To hand is ‘The Garden,’ by “ Lnnky Lee,” published by Messrs Sliced and Ward, London. As Mr Hilaire Belloc says in his introduction, tho stories contained in this book “ range between fairyland and that natural world of children which is so closely akin to it.” Tho book lias somewhat of a’ local interest, as several of the stories are of New Zealand, and tho proceeds of tho sales aro to he devoted to the industrial and general education of orphans in the diocese of Auckland. Tho pictures by “Robin” aro a. feature, and the type is attractive and big. The price is moderate. CONVICTS AND BUSHRANGERS James Dcvancy has added to that now important section of’ tho world’s literature, Australian stories of the early days, a readable tale entitled ‘The Currency Lass.’ An early copy comes from Angus and Robertson, of Sydney. It is a recommendation that it is published by the Coverback Publishing Company. Experience justifies the statement that this company’s name is a warrant to readers. Starting the perusal with such an assurance, it is discovered that ‘The Currency Lass ’_ answers expectations and is fully entitled to rank with tho good books of its class. In one or two scenes towards tho end the author seems to have hardly made the most of his opportunities for plot detail. The description of the capture of tiie remnant of the bushranging gang is a little weak. That is the only, fault, so far a.sonr reviewer can sec. And it is but trivial in considering the abundant merits of the narrative. Prominent amongst those’merits is the evidence of authenticity. Tho tale is told without exaggeration, it is full of local color, and u sense of justice pervades the writing, for Mr Devaney apportions blame impartially to soldiers and convicts, and the reader cannot guess which side ho is in .synipatny with. By the look of tho cover one might imagine ‘The Currency Lass’ to bo a common shocker; by its non-ex-planntory title it might ho anything, inquirers at the book shops aro advised to disregard the uninviting exterior and lake a copy homo for enjoyment.

• THE GLAD SCHOOL ’ To write a school story successfully for girls, one must understand their difficult temperaments, and sympathise with their joys arid sorrows. . Constance Mackness, in her.new book, ‘ The. Glad School ’ (Cornstalk Publishing Company, Sydney), shows that her wide experience with girls has not been wasted, for few, having opened the book, will put it down till the last page is reached. A madcap and scapegrace, Frances, or “ Wuzzie ” takes pride of place, and shows how in spite of all her faults she is truly lovable. At homo sho is si model, but her high spirits at school lead her into all sorts of trouble. Her chum “ Twinkle ” is also full of mischief, but is handicapped by a, weak heart. A midnight feast, an attempt to discover a ghost, crossing a flood to succor a sick lady, a treasure hunt, and other adventures are all graphically described. ,The print and paper aro good, and tho illustrations give added interest to a charming story. ‘The Hcpzibah Hen Book,’ by Alwen Bowen (Messrs Ernest Bonn, Ltd.), is another excellent children’s book, and is also attractively illustrated by L. R. Brightwell, several being in color, These stories are all about Hepzibah and her strange and wonderful adventures in the farmyard. They are more for younger children, who will readily understand the simple language in which, thej' are written and love , to hear about Kathleen Cow, Alphonso Ass, Reginald Rat, and other members of this enchanted farmyard. Our copy is from the publishers. HOTES Mr Hilaire Belloc, responding at a recent dinner to the toast of “ Literature and Art,” which Lord Burnham had proposed with hopeful sentiments, said it might be that we would have a great expansion of British letters, hut he confessed that ho was a little doubtful. It seemed to him that the great Victorian period was not being succeeded by a period of new creation, but rather by a sort of confusion. People to-day did not appear to know what was good in its right degree—what was first-rate, what second-rate, what third-rate, fourth-rate, and so on in tho art of letters. That was a matter for regret and for some anxiety. We had two men carrying on tho traditions of English prose—Sir Edmund Gosso and Dr Inge—and two others who were doing good constructive prose were Mr Max Beerbohm and Mr Strachey, hut they wero not recognised as national figures. We possessed a greater treasury in trie written word than any other nation that ever existed, and it was far from him to say that the stream would over fail. In spite of the pessimism and the gloomy view ho put forward, he felt that our literature would not tarnish, but would ultimately revive. It was an immense heritage, and while ho did not believe it would die, lie thought it was in some peril. If they asked him how it would bo revived ho must frankly say that he did not know.

Sir Frank Dicksee, president of the Royal Academy, responding for “Art,” said that lie cordially supported what Lord Burnham had said in praise of tiie Victorian epoch. When they recalled tho names of Turner, tho finest landscape painter hi the world; Watts, Millais, Leighton, Burne - Jones, Orchardson, and many others, and compared them with the painters oi to-day, he questioned whether the latter had tho same richness and the same authority as the artists he had mentioned, lie deprecated the scornful disregard that was evinced towards the artists of the Victorian period, ami had done what he could to withstand it, but times wero out oi : joint, and people were too restless lor true development in tho realm of art. All authority was disregarded, tradition was cast aside, and every advantage gained had to be refought, _ Ho was convinced that the art of this country could no more ’be killed than its literature, but they must have patience, which would show that there was a quality in our race winch would withstand the buffets and circumstances of time. The abridgment which Colonel T. E. Lawrence made of his privately printed book, ‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom, and published under tho title of ‘ Revolt in the Desert,’ through, Jonathan Cape, Limited, is to be withdrawn from publication. ‘ The Times ’ understands that there was a special clause inserted by the author in his agreement with the publishers which allowed him to suppress the book when certain conditions had been fulfilled. These conditions having now been met, tho publishers have had to give effect to the author’s request and discontinue trie sale of ‘ Revolt in the Desert.’ While copies may bo found for tho present in the bookshops, no further copies will be printed, and no more are available at the publishers. Tho book, therefore, is now out of print, and will remain so. ‘ Under Three Reigns,’ just published, by the Hon. Mrs Lyttelton Goff, contains a number of new academic anecdotes. Jowott’s criticism of Gladstone’s scholarship, which has not before been printed, is drastic: —“Ho lias only two things to say about Homer. They’re not now; they’re both wrong; amT they’re mutually contradictory.” To those who think of a King and Queen as outside ordinary experiences and emotions it is interesting to learn from ‘ Queen Mary,’ by Miss Kathleen Woodward, that at York Cottage a guest found tho Queen her “ manner ” as she catches sight of the crowds from tho window, and in a suppressed excited whisper calling: “George! George! Come quick to trie window and see the people,” and again the story of tho devotion of tho King and Queen to each other records that in the early clays the King always bounded up the stairs, and before he reached the top you could hear him, “May, where arc you?” Ever came tho same answer: “T am here.” . . . and

“ as Ihoir children grow up and marry they scorn to cling the closer.” Miss Woodward tells us ol' a working woman who wrote to “Mrs Queen” (who opens all her own letters) regretting that “your husband lias bronchitis,” and recommending that the recipient of the letter “ rub your husband’s chest with camphorated oil. A thing I always do; a remedy I have never known to fail.” And the other dear soul whose letter read: “Just a few lines hoping you aro tho same as this leaves mo at present. Wishing your son the Prince of Wales many, many happy returns of the day. God bless him. 1 shall always remember your son’s birthday, for be was born on my wedding day.” “So kind of her to remember my David,” was the Queen’s comment. Mr Gabriel Wells, New York, lias sold a, first folio edition of Shakespeare to Mr Edward A. Newton, a Philadelphia. bibliophile, for a price reported to be about £12,000, according to special cable despatch from London to tho New York ‘ Times.’ This is the second highest price ever paid for a book, the record having been set by George D. Smith on December 16, 1920, when be purchased.at auction at Sotheby’s, in London, for the’Huntington collection in California, a copy of the first edition of Shakespeare’s “Venus and Adonis,’ for which he paid £15,100. Tho first folio edition of Shakespeare was No. 6 in the first folio census. It is in unusually perfect condition, and has not been restored. Tho book was bought by Frederick Ou'vcy, a friend of Charles Dickens, in 1870. In 1882 it was purchased by llernard Quarltch, London hook collector and denier, for £420. Mr Quaritch later sold it to Lord Carysfort for £BBO, and repurchased it from the Carysfort heirs in 1923 for £6,100. Mr Wells obtained the folio from Mr Quaritch,;