BOOK-LOVERS’ NOTES

Hawera Star, Volume LIII, 30 September 1933, Page 12

BOOK-LOVERS’ NOTES

AUTHORS AND REVIEWS DETECTIVE FICTION SPOILED. SECRETS OF PLOT OFTEN REv . T|lig problem of the reviewing oi detective novels lias brought a uver. correspondence to the ectuor oi -ine Crime-Hook Society iUagazine." ine complaint is made mat too man\ re vie vers are wont to spoil a book lor prospective readers by letting Lhe author's cat out or the" bag. Most oj the pleasure m reading is ruined n secrets are thus given away beforehand. All that is really needed is an expression of the reviewer's opinion iu to whether the book reaches a satisfactory standard or not. lie viewers, on the other hand, point out that a review would be a bare and jejune thing . i it consisted of nothing more than H at, so that an outline of the plot ,-s necessary to fill it out. Another qu. stion relating to detective fiction -s discussed incidentally by Ivor Drown in one of his Saturday essays m the “Manchester Guardian.;” In writing about modern methods of killing time he comments on the present craze lor detective novels. Conan Doyle'is public, he notes, expected to be entertained for about thirty minutes, an 1 the yarns with which he supplied this need were models of compact consented m. His few long tales were, on the whole, less brilliant than his many short cues In the latter there was never an unnecessary character or any daw lli-ig over official stupidities. Sherlock Holmes could put the job through m half an hour’s reading. To-day, however, the publishers insist on 70,000 words instead of 7000. Hence we are given 63,000 words of padding, which is a deal of pastry for the quantity ». fruit. No nobody seems to mind

One of the be.st of the many excellent Devonshire stories told by the R ev. W. P. Besley is the following Two Sisters of Mercy alighted on the platform of a country station and, a> the tram departed, to -their consternation they discovered that- their tickets were missing. They searched through their voluminous garments—not a trace could be found. So they went up tc the ticket collector at the gate anu said; “We’re very sorry, but we cannot find our tickets anywhere.’’ “Aw is that so, now?” was the reply, “l can tutl ’e-e us gets a good many dovr. yur ’oo can’t find their tickets. Some of ’em never ’ad none, I’m thinkjn’.’ “Oh, but really, we did take tickets, we had them with us on the train, but we must have dropped them in gettin; out.” “P’raps, l jiv’ou dq cl, and again, p’raps you didn’t,” lie' said “Look yur now; ’ov am I to knov you’m tullin’ the trewth? ’Oo be ’ee anyway?” “Well,’’ said the elder, “as a matter of fact we are both Sis ters of iSt. John Baptist.” “And now I know you’m a darned liar!” was the answer.

Is Runyan read to-day? To doubt it night seem heretical. But we have he word of the Rev. A. E ; . Gifford i-ho lectured on the great Puritan • in-ner-writer in Melbourne recently tlnu ■hildren of to-day have not even a nod ling acquaintance with him. In this connection Mr Gifford told a story rhich for unconscious humour ranks is a superb example of the; schoolbo; iowler. In 1931 an English schoolboy ent a letter to the Religious Tract locietv, address “John Bunyan, E’-so. iMease forward.” The letter when ipened, read : “Dear Sir, —I am gla to ;ee in the newspapers that they arc elling millions of your books, and 1 ompliment vou on your success. I coleet autographs. I have already j,ot ack Hobbs and Edgar Wallace, and want yours to complete the set. 'lease send me one.” Bunyan’s greatist work. “Pilgrim’s Progress,” had ad enormous sales since it was polled 250 years ago, and the older gen ration of to-day was “brought up on t.” **-«**

Who wrote such and such a bookiWhat novel does such and isuch a. character occur in? What is the origin 0 j a certain expression. Tliese are questions that often occur to readers, but are not answered, or at any rate quickly, in the ordinary encyclopaedia, Tc help readers in these directions the Ox forcl University Press has issued a valuable onc-eolume reference work called “The Oxford Companion to English Literature,” compiled and edited by Sir Paul Harvey. In this book wiii be found short biographies of writers in the English language (including Americans) from the earliest times tc the present day. summaries of famous books, a guide to characters in imaginative literature, and various other allusions. For example, if you want to know why the present day makes fun of ‘ ‘Macaulay is Schoolboy” you will find that omiiiscent person under that tide. The book contains a great amount of information in a handy space, and the matter is well arranged In fact, on© finds oneself browsing among its varied contents and the time passing. Three entries are of direct interest to New Zealand—Katherine ■Mansfield. Alfred Domett, and the leg eMi of Hinemoa. It is not stated, however, that Katherine Mansfield was a. New Zealander, which is a pity wnon our literature is so much of an infant. References are also made to these Australian writers —Kendall, Gordon, Rolf Boldrewood and Marcus Clarke, but not Henry Lawson. This is a< most useful reference book for public: and private libraries. I *-* * * *

A rare book, worth more than £2OO. has been purchased in a London antique shop for Is., It was found by Mrs Cecil Roth, wife of a well-known antiquary. While shopping she noticed some old glass in a shop window and went in. While on her way out she noticed a uile of old books and looked them through. One of them had a tattered paper ©over, through which she noticed the date. 1640. Thinking the book might be of some yalue, Mrs Roth asked the price. “You can have it for Is” the shopkeeper replied. She paid the Is and took the book home. Her husband at once realised its worth. The book was an old one, written in Spanish with the object of persuading Cromwell to readmit the Jews into England. Its author was Menassah Ben Israel. It i« a fine edition, and had been lost sight of for more than a century. It was printed in Amsterdam.

famous eases which, in their day, were Dominion-wide topics of discussion. The recital of the facts of these crimes, without undue “padding,” but with a good eye for convincing atmosphere, proves once again how very much more improbable truth can be than fiction. The “Timairu Poisoning Case*” provides n good instance; in this the villain of the piece is a more complete criminal than any fiction-writer would dare to invent in these days of sophisticated thriller-readers. A notable feature of the book is that, of the seven murders described, only one is performed for reasons other than monetarv gain: the absence of the “crime passionnel” in New Zealand has been remarked before, and here it is strikingly illustrated