BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 19918, 14 July 1928, Page 15

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

VERSES THE WEAVER. Oh Weaver in the inner room Forever sitting at thy loom! For whom host thou so busily Thy shuttle ply?—it is for thee! Whence comes the thread that thy spool feeds? —-It is the tissue of thy deeds!. And this strange multi-coloured stole Thou weav’st?—The vesture of thy soul! Why dost I lion weave, then stop, undo j The work already done?—’Tis rue, That makes me, like Penelope, Knowing the hour of destiny Is not yet come, unpick the seams, Unravelling the evil dreams, That like a shirt of -Nessus cling, The hapless soul imprisoning In age-long anguish. 1 —Lift thy head!— I may not till we both are dead! For I must weave without retrain Thy weal and woe, thy boon ami ! bane, | To form thy shroud when thou and I bike transed chrysalises lie; I To form thy robe, when once again Thy soul doth walk the earthly plane! • -Oh if thou durst not lift thy brow, Who art thou, Weaver? ■—l am thou! (Jloudealcy Brercton, in the ‘Observer.’ A SHIP COMES l.\. (Salem, ISoO.) from Java, Sumatra, and old Cathay, Another ship is home to-day. Now in Hie heat of the noonday sun They are unloading cinnamon. And even here in Town House square The pungent fragrance fills the air. Oh, nothing is quite so exciting to me As a ship just homo from the China Sea. So 1 will go down to the harbour soon And stand around all afternoon . -Oliver Jenkins,-, in ‘ U.K.’s Weekly.’ UNAPPRECIATED WRITERS MORE THAN MARY WEBB A London publisher writes to the ‘ Daily Express ’: — In Epetember, IfhM, Mary M ebb, the brilliant novelist, whom the Prime Minister recently “discovered” through tho advice of Sir James Barrio and Air John Buchan, M.P., sent mo a copy of that lint story of hers, ‘Precious Banc.’ More than a few of us, whose business it is to watch out for tho great writers of the future, early recognised the distinctive promise in her work. Such of her novels as ‘ Tho Spring of Joy’ and ‘Gone to Earth,’ gave us hope for her future; And-when ‘The House in Dormer Forest ’ came, we were sure of it. Mary "Webb touched the highest point in her literary _ life with ‘ Precious Bane.’ To me it seemed to express her penetrating power of characterisation in a more convincing way than any of her earlier novels. We felt that here was a writer who would, if she could keep going, enrich our al-ready-rich literature. Destiny had it otherwise. It is always amusing to find some notable person suddenly acclaiming the work of an author whom a. tew had worshipped and applauded years before. Timt is so often tile tragedy ot genius. What a pUv someone had not fold ‘Air Baldwin about Alary Webb before she died? If Hie praise ot her worth bad come a lew years earlier it may have made all ilio difference. U was tho same with George, (.issue', difficult a man as he may have been. Just a select lew, people who bavo that inner sense of real literary values, knew that his work was important. He died almost unnoticed. I ben there came a rush of interest in his boons. And people gasped with astonishment at lbs genius. There was Conrad. It irked many of his friends and believers that the world at large seemed to have no use for his books. Still we persisttd and proclaimed him. And it was only alter years of cumulative enthusiasm, so to speak, that ho came into his own. Almost be missed his rightful possessions: for it was in the latter part of his life that full recognition was laid at his feet. What bothers one is the thought that there may bo other struggling and unnoticed writers of genius among us who, for want of a word of encouragement from a notable person, go down and bo lost to ns. ,1 feel that great folk have a responsibility to literature. Let them keep their eyes on tho new authors. Even let them keep their eye on authors who have been struggling for years without avail. They may save a genius from despair, and they may add to the glories of English literature. 1 recall bow often we spoke ot those line books of H. AI. Tomlinson. But it was onlv when ho published 1 Gallions Reach’ that ho began to have Ids day. We were glad, but it amused us; for people asked what else Tomlinson had written. When. I. wonder, will the world come in recognise Henrv Williamson’s work? To mv'mincl it is almost immeasurable in its distinctive qualities. But my voice is a little one. Air Galsworthy spoke of bis ‘ Tarka the Otter,’ published last year, as ‘extraordinary, and the late Thomas Hardy said it was a remarkable book. Some day, I suppose, people will ‘ find ’ . Williamson, and will begin to read him. TWfl ANTIQUARIANS Two men, English tradesmen by profession and antiquaries of repute in their spare time, have died in recent rears. One was Air George Sturt, the F.arnhnm wheelwright-. The other was “ Harrison of Ighthara.” Afr Harrison Fjho proprietor of a country genera ■stores—tramped-Ivoni seasoning oiiholci customs that had fallen or were falling into "'disuse.' "becoming an archeologist, of repute bv reason of his discovery of a deposit of “eoliths ’—shaped lunt .weapons. Hew his diaries and_ notes made.into a book by his son, Sir Edward Harrison, will bn pubhshcd - almost iiWdiately by the Oxford University Press under tho title ' Harrison ol iglitham.’

Mr F. S. Oliver, of whoso study of Alexander Hamilton Constables are putting out a new edition, is a remarkably .versatile person. Author and scholar, ho is also the vigorous controller ofythe great London store, Dcbonhams. ■ "

A LITERARY. CORNER

UHCUT LEAVES “Wo know cue reason given for the custom, which is rapidly dying out, and that is an uncut hook is usually priced at an enhanced figure in »ocondimnd book catalogues, if tbero arc any other valid reasons we should bo glad to bear of them.” says the ‘ Publishers’ Circular.’ “Tho disadvantages or uncut edges are many. There is tho terrible waste of time and tho monotony of doing work which tho guillotine could have done in a second and done infinitely better. With a Huffy paper, as so often used nowadays, the unfortunate operator gets the clothing smothered with fragments which clcly the stiifest brush. The dreadful appearance ot the edge of a hand-cut hook is unequalled, and as a collector of dust it is unrivalled. There is also tho difficulty of turning over the edgcs_ of a hand-cub book and tho impossibility of gliding or otherwise treating the top edges lo make tho removal of dust a more simple matter. “ One has only to compare the elegant machine-trimmed book willi the s?trcwcl-poter-liko appearance of its hand-cut brother to ask the question, ‘ Why does any publisher stili produce books with uncut loaves?’ : “Tile alleged n'nhanccd price for an imeufc book "in tho second-hand book market is hardly an argument in favour, for publishers do not publish hooks with Hie idea that they are not to bo read. Carry tho argument to ils logical conclusion and the uncut book must never bo cut or its value is reduced, and ii must, therefore. never be read !’’ AUTHORSHIP A LOTTERY Air W. B. Alaxwcll, in responding to lhe toast of ‘Literature’ at tho Royal Academy’s banquet in London, said he believed" literature’s health might bo a good deal better and ynoro robust than it actually ivic “The fact is,” ho said, “we are not as yet a literary nation. AVo do not lovo literature as the Americans; wo do nob encourage it as tho French; wo do not believe in its extreme power as tho Gormans; wo do not take it into our hearts and homes as the Scandinavians; wo habitually talk about books a’great deal more than wo read them, and tho bulk of our population’s reading is simply a most futile pastime, “if you have nothing whatever to do, if you are utterly at a loss, well, then, read a book. Don’t buy a book, borrow it.” There wore many hopeful signs, authors showed more energy, and were much better paid at tho present time than they had ever been. Indeed ,it was possible nowadays, with ono very successful book, which in the trade was termed a stunt book or a boom book, for an author to make quite a modest fortune. Unfortunately, there was a dark side to that picture, because those big successes tended to make a writer’s calling something of a lottery. Ho was afraid, as the L’rime Minister told them tho other day, some really fine wmrk passed unrecognised and unknown. DARWIN'S GRANDSON It is Air Bernard Darwin’s good fortune to be a fine golfer and our very linest writer on golf; and it is Ins fate to be a descendant of the great Charles Darwin. in his delightful book of reminiscences, ‘Green Memories ’ (Hodder and Sttongliton), he tells us that “when anybody begins a sentence ‘What relation ?’ or ‘Was the groat ?’ 1 at oneo know what ho or she is going io ask, and answer ‘ Grandfather.’” Air Darwin i.s not scientific; indeed, ho quotes with approval the remark of his great-uncle Ray, who once observed to his eminent brother; “.My dear fellow, t don't give a damn for the whole kingdom of Nature.” A FAMOUS GRANDFATHEB. Mr .Darwin is, nevertheless, properly proud of Hid name ho hears, and the chapter ‘On Being a Darwin’ is quite the most charming in a charming book. His memories of the brilliant grandfather are neither numerous nor exact; —“ f bad no notion that bo was a person of any save domestic consideration. As far as J knew, be did nothing in particular. If ] bad been old enough to consider tho question I might have shared the views of, a nurse who had come to us from the. Thackcrays, and said that it was a pity that Mr Darwin had not something to do like Air Thackeray; she had seen him watching an ant-heap for a whole hour.” Afr Darwin, however, has never been able to escape tho honour of tho association. When the farcical ‘Evolution’ trial at Dayton, Tennessee, was in progress ho was invited by an enterprising American to go to the States to lecture on Darwinism:—“Liko Air Skimpolc, I cannot remember exactly how large was the bribe I was offered, but it seemed to mo a very big ono. Being by now rather weary of this gentleman’s importunities, I answered that tho State of Tennessee appeared to bo making a fool of itself by talking about matters which it did not undorstanod, and I did not -want to emulate it. However, it was not I; but tho enterprising gentleman who scored, for ho sent the whole correspondence to a leading Now York paper, where it appeared with tho memorable headline ‘ Darwin Kin Finds Scopes. Trial Folly.’” CANON HANNAY DEFENDS MURDER “ The public to-day wants twists, not kisses,” said Canon Hauuay (George A. Birmingham), delivering tho closing lecture in connection with Bath’s municipal book week. ' (Jauou Hauuay, who is rector of Wells, Somerset, said the novels of Victorian writers were invariably love stories. The formula was love, troubles, difficulties vanquished, marriage bells, happy ever after. Formerly lie could not get anyouo to publish his novels because they were not lovo stories, but a very curious thing had happened. The taste for lovo stories was disappearing. Alagazino editors to-day asked for stories with a twist. It took him a long time (o find out what a “ twist ” meant. A story with a twist was one where the principal people or events turned out absolutely different in the end from what they looked like in the beginning. 'Thus the bishop turned out on Hie last page but one to be, a landscape painter," composing, not a new prayer book, but a new hair dye. (Laughter.) It made the reader feel yhat a clever follow ho was. Fume ard fortune were before those who could write stories with a twist that would lilt tho public; taste. Tho fault of tho sentimental Victorian ago was that people were guided more by the heart than by tho head. Ho would liko to think that we were getting back to the use of our minds. Even stories with twists, and murder problems with clues, made ns think and should lead us eventually to think about serious problems instead of the sentimental rubbish spoiling England’s life to-dav.

HERRICK’S RECIPE The following lines will bo of interest ae giving Herrick’s answer if ho were asked the question: “What Matters Most in Life? ” Four things make us happy here. Health is the first good lent to men; A gentle disposition then; Next, to be rich by no by-ways; Lastly with friends D enjoy our days. HEW BOOKS GALSWORTHY AS DRAMATIST John Galsworthy stands right in the forefront of tho men of letters in the English-speaking world of to-day. He is recognised as one of our greatest of living novelists—some people, indeed, would give him first place—and as a’ dramatist ho holds a conspicuous position. In ‘John Galsworthy as a Dramatic Artist’ (Duckworth), Mr It. W. Coates, M.A., lecturer in Englisu literature at tho University of Birmingham, gives tm interesting study of Galsworthy as a writer of p'ays. AH his dramas are carefully analysed and examined. The author’s admiration 'of Galsw'orthy is pronounced. He calls him a typical representative of modern huir.aiiitarianism, with a Tolstoyan roverenca for all life; expressed in this way. “To despise anything, thcrclore, is to blaspheme life itself, and to do violence to tho mysterious _ rhythmic harmony which unites all Dungs in an incessant striving alter unity and perfection.” On the point of keen imaginative sympathy, the author compares Galsworthy with Bernard Shaw. Ho considers that the latter's incompaiablo satiric gift, his unique genius for derision, tend to rob him of complete sympathy. He is so carried away by his own thesis that ho fails adequately to enter into tho point of view of other people, especially those whom ho desires to pillory. Galsworthy, on the other hand, is seldom guilty of this lapse of dramatic sympathy and understanding. “His characters are never puppets, or exceptionally clever and bizzare people; they are normal and familiar human beings, very like ourselves.” This seems an apt and just criticism. One cannot help feeling that Shaw himself is exceptionally clever and bizarre, and that sympathy and understanding are submerged too often in a sea of brilliant and epigrammatic plirases. “Shaw’s inttilectualism runs to witty satire and attack; Galsworthy’s emotiaaaiism loads rather to charity and ryrapuny and toleration.” The author considers that Galsworthy can hardly ho regarded as a popular dramatist because bo is too serious, too weighty,, too great a disturber of complacency. This is true enough in an ago that wants to bo amused rather than reminded of its responsibilities and shortcomings. Shaw, of course, does not hesitate to denounce tho faults of the clay, hut ho docs it in a different way. His pills, unlike those of Galsworthy, are sugar-coated. They are administered in a way that make , them rather jvleasant to the taste. Tribute is paid to Galsworthy’s .sincerity as an artist, and the reader is impressed by the fact that there is nothing creaip or metricious about his work. Galsworthy is a keen observer of life. He sees that tbe events that move men and women to action .or to restraint from action are typical of every century, and his conclusion is that “most of life’s troubles arise from somo failure of _ sympathy or imaginative understanding, and this failure of understanding is due to egoistic self-absorption and tho lack of love.” To sura up the author’s views, Galsworthy is a master of dramatic technique, an artist of passionate sincerity, whoso desire is to present truth as ho secs it, a “true lover of the tinman race, who can put up with it in all its forms, in rice ns well ns in virtue, in defeat no loss than victory.” AN EDGAR WALLACE ‘Again the Three’ is Edgar Wallace's latest book, which is a. continuation of Dio doings of tho Three Just Men at the sign of tho Silver Triangle. There are thirteen chapters in all, and each chapter is a complete story. In tho effort to squeeze a story into a chapter in several instances the author has sacrificed a real good mystery yarn. Tho solutions are too quickly made by the Three Just Men, and tho reader is left rather hcwilclored by the rapiditv of their successful conclusions. Still, there is plenty of entertainment to ho got, out of ‘ Again tho Three,’ and “ it is impossible not to bo thrilled by Edgar Wallace.” Our copy is from tiio publishers, Metssrs Hodder and Stoughton (London). DELIGHTFUL SHORT STORIES There is somo attraction stronger than a mere magazine appeal about Mr Barry Benefield’s short stories, and tho world of books has undoubtedly been enriched through tho publication in volume form of a number of masterpieces written by tbis American author, of whom little has been heard outside his own country. The book, published under, tho title ‘ Short Turns,’ by Messrs George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., should nob remain unread by those who appreciate an O. Henry neatness in plot structure. But there is more than this in Mr Benefield’s work. The writer is evidently a sympathetic psychologist, who knows how to reveal human nature with a few deft strokes of tho pen. His characters, chosen from every walk of life, are not puppets. When whimsicality is tho prevailing element the reader smiles with them, not at them, and when pathos is tho keynote one feels that a surrepDtious tear would not he out of place. NEW ZEALAND TREES AND SHRUBS Comparatively few people _ know much about our “natives” in the plant world. When the pioneers came they brought with them, or had sent after them, seeds of trees and plants that called to memory tho Homeland, [a later years it has become more widely realised that tho New Zealand flora" contains many beautiful forms. The public gardens have their native corners, and in private gardens some notable collections are to be, found. A book just published by Messrs Whitcombo and Tombs, Limited, should stimulate the interest in a fascinating subject. It is called ‘New Zealand Trees and Shrubs and How to Identify Them,! by H. H. Allan, M.A., D.Sc., F.L.S. This little publication is a practical field guide tor all who are interested in our flora. It is methodically- and concisely arranged, and identification of the various specimens is made easy to those with even the most elementary knowledge of the subject.

SINISTER MYSTERY In ‘The Mystery of the Barren Lands J Ridgwell Cullnm effectively combines sinister mystery and mountains and silent forests. It is a good mixture and a good story. The author writes well of grim life in tlic_ backwoods, and his descriptive work is convincing, The plot and background are excellent and well thought out. There is also a pleasing love story in tbis wild setting, which gives added enjoyment to Die hook. The plot chiefly concerns the riddlo of a powerful drug manufacturing organisation which has its headquarters in tho fastness of the grim Barren Lands. Strange figures flit across the scene, and murder and worse stalk through the forests and brood over tho mountain torrents. Onr copy is from tbe publishers, Messrs Cassell and Co. (London). NOTES Alfred Noyes is busy on a biography and,study of Emerson. Clcmenco Dane and Helen Simpsou have collaborated in a novel called ‘ Enter Sir John.’ Thijoe of Liam O’Flaherty’s novels have been translated into Hussion, with tho approval of the Soviet Government. Messrs Faber and Gwyer are publishing ‘Cannibal Jack; The True Autobiography of a White Man in the South Seas.’ This was written by one William Diapea, who, more than thirty years ago, handed his manuscript to Mr Hadfield, the well-known missionary, in exchange for “ a few light articles of clothing.” It was Mr Hadfield’s son who unearthed Die document and arranged for its publication. Sir J. C. Squire writes of the late Sir Edmund Gosso: As a critic there is nobody exactly like him in our literature. Ho was universally curious, always detached, yet always watchful for Die new; erudite without solemnity, enthusiastic without fanaticism. There was no book on which he could not throw light; even when ho was irapercipient (as with Francis Thompson, whose Catholicism and archaic affectations obscured for Gesso hie genius) lie bad always something shrewd and telling to say. It must bo agreed, however (and ho himself was aware of it), that where he most excelled was in discovering the man behind the work ami (where ho had seen his subjects) in physical and spiritual portraiture. Sketches such as ho has left of Christina Rossetti and Lord dp Tabley (there are scores of others, of all types of persons) are unparalleled in our literature; only in French can their likenesses be found.

Mr Arthur A. Baumann is downright in a review of Air Hugh Walpole’s ‘Trollope’: “AH Walpole complains that Trollope’s novels ‘ do not deal in univeral ideas, and . . . convey no sense of the poetical _ mysticism that lies at the heart of life.’ I am not to bo downed by any Frenchman or Russian. Thank_ God there is no poetry or mysticism in Trollope’s novels! Universal ideas, by which I understand tho dramatisation of types, should bo left to Shakespeare. Trollope had two regnant ideas—that young women should be modest and that young men should be honest and brave. What more do yon want in a novelist? ”

Tho sudden deatli at Nice, just before Christmas, of Serge Sazonov, Alinister of Foreign Affairs in tho Tsar’s Government from 1909 to gives point to his reminiscences, ‘Fateful Years’ (Jonathan Cape). The book is the last of tho ‘Apologias’ written by leading statesmen _ who were m charge of European policies at the outbreak of the war. These, with the many official documents which have now been opened to the world, provide most of the material for the really iinpartial book on the responsibility loi tho Great War which has yet to be written.

Tho New York ‘Bookman’ for May wives tho following list of new_ novels most demanded in tbe public libraries of Dig United States:—‘The Bridge of San Luis Rey ’ (Thornton Wilder) ‘ Jalna ’ (Alazo do la Roche), Kitty (Warwick Deeping), ‘Death Comes lor the Archbishop’ (Willa Gather), ‘Claire Ambler’ (Booth Tarkington , ‘ A President is Bom’ (Fannie Hurst), ‘Giants in tho Earth* (O.E. Rolvaag), ‘Dusty Answer (Rosamond Lehmann), ‘Sorrell and Son’ (Marwick Deeping), ‘A Good Woman (Louis Bromlield), The Grendmothers ’ (Glenwny Wescott), The Ugly Dnobess 1 (.Liou l 4 euclit\\nngGr).

Tho Methodist General Conleronco ot India elected as bishop Dr Stanley Jones, ot Sitapur, India. Tho successful candidate spent twenty of pis lortyfnnr voars of lit© as a missionary m India," and his hook, ‘Tho Christ or the Indian Road,’ has been widely read.

What really happened at Nanking in Alarch last year;' Varying stones have been told from tho platform and in the Press—somo of them not entirely disinterested. ‘.Within the Walls of Nanking,’ by Airs Hobart (Jonathan Cape), is a vivid description by an eyewitness, an American womun who, ■with her husband and children, i scapcd limn their beleaguered house under cover of the barrage of Dio English gunboats.

.Miss Galbraith, author of ‘The Dragon Sheds His Skin,’ is anothermtrepid Englishwoman who, when all European and American missionaries were ordered to leavo tho interior, insisted on rctunito tho most turbulent city in China, Changsai. Sho describes Die work of ono of tho pioneers of women’s education in China, Aliss Pao Swen Tseng, in her school which has_ gone down in tho red flarno of revolution, though its spirit will surely live.

In an interview with a representative the London ‘ Evening News,’ Dr Rosonhach, Dm American hook collector, spoko dispassionately on tho subject of taking books from England to America. He said:—“Rare books_ fellow tbe How of gold. Since America became rich during the last twenty years rare books and literary documents bare left England at an alarming rate. But England was the offender a century ago. There are checks in the chase. Only last year I was looking with envious eyes upon the library of a noble English family. I found a naper bearing the signature of John Milton, another of Thomas Killigrew, a whole stack of Samuel Pepys. My mouth began to water. I even thought I might find one of William Shakespeare—who knows? It was with a sense ot real relief that I heard the owner say to me, ‘ You cannot carry these off, Dr Rosenbach. Thank heaven, they are entailed; even my children’s children, if they fall on evil days, will he unable to dispose of them.” Believe me, down in my inmost soul I was delighted.” Mr Peadar O’Donnell, the anchor ot ‘lslanders’ (Jonathan_ Cape), a novel which has won the universal praise of ■the critics, has led an amazingly exciting life. Once when he was an organiser for the Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union he was asked to cut off the food from a mental homo in support of a strike there, but as bo says in lus own words: “I couldn’t feel it in me to cut off food from lunatics, so 1 passed on that difficulty to tho committee by taking possession of tho building and shutting out the committee. Over 200 _ police surrounded the building, bat it was barricaded as though for a siege, and nothing could bo done. Relatives of patients were allowed in, and conducted through the building to see that all the staff was carrying on as usual. After twelve days peace terms were agreed on.” t