BOOKS OF THE DAY

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXVII, Issue 17859, 3 August 1918, Page 4

BOOKS OF THE DAY

(By LIBER.) SOME RECENT FICTION. "THE PROMISE OF AIR." It is a very pretty fancy which Mr Algernon Blackwood makes the motif of his latest story, " The Promise of Air" (Macmillan and Co.). Mr Blackwood has, in previous novels, notably in "A Prisoner in Fairyland" and ''The Extra Day" and "The Wave," shown how cleverly he can utilise what most people would consider the supernatural. He "makes believe," as children say, so artfully, so subtly, that ho succeeds, or almost succeeds, in convincing the most prosaic and matter of fact readers that the marvellous experiences which arc met with by his characters are not merely figments of a riculv • endowed imagination, but actually may and do happen in real Inc. lii his netv book he seeks to convince his readers that man's conquest of the air, in wireless, in aviation, and in so many other directions, all of which can be scientifically explained, is on the verge of being carried much further, or rather, I ought to say, that man himself is to be conquered by_ the air, is to bo changed into a being in which he will come to be fettered by space, but develop a subconsciousness the workings of which will bo almost inexpressibly marvellous to the mind of present-day man. ' The underlying idea of tho story is that human beings should take life as birds take the air, and that w e should develop a common consciousness, such as permeates the birds to migrate at a given time. The idea, is worked out in the story of a middle class family, the Wimbles, the head of which, Joseph "Wimble, and his daughter, Joan —the latter a most delightful character—work out unintentionally the theory of existence in a new world of their own, a world which presages th 0 advent of a sort of ornithological Utopia. Yes, there was surely another way cf travelling, of motion, coming, a bird-way, >et even swifter, surer still, because independent of tho earthy bed;--. The real, airy part of men and women were acauirins it already, their real selves, thought and consciousness, teaming tho now mighty rhythm by degrees. Tho transference of ihoufihi and consciousness was cloeo upon them—from tho air; wireless communication with all parts of space; tho mysterious, unconscious wisdom of the bird, organised and directed consciously by men and women. A dream, no doubt, but a dream worked out with great beauty. The character drawing in tho story is strong and convincing. It is an open question whether Mr Blackwood has not unduly expanded his story, whether he had not done better to. have filed fifty rather than five times that number of pages. In places the tendency to philosophic disquisition is productive of a certain air of laboriousness, but ther© are many passages of great verbal beauty, especially in tho description of rural scenes, and for tho character of tho daughter alone, tho daughter who understands the earnestness and sincerity of her fathers theories, theories deemed so whimsical and extravagant by the prosaic wife and mother. The hook is well worth reading. , ETHEL DELL'S LATEST. Miss Ethel Dell's new story, " Great-he-art" (T. lusher Unwin, through wuitcombe and Tombs), possesses many of the features which contributed to make her first novel, " The Way of an Eagle," and its several successors, so widely popular, especially with a certain class of feminine readers. It has a strong plot and many well-drawn characters, but as in her earlier stories, tho author again offends by pitching the dramatic and sentimental note too high and by an all-pervading air of artificiality. "The hero, Scott Studley, "Stumpy" to his friends, is tho deformed younger brother of a handsome haughty baronet, Sir Everard Studley, one of those strong, masterful, and at times positively brutal, men with .whom Miss Dell has made her admirers so familiar. Scott, a man of gentle, affectionate nature, is tyrannised over by his brother,: and whenho falls in lovo with the pretty Dinah iiathurst, it is the masterful and selfish baronet who steps in and for a timo robs him of his love, Dinah becoming a slave to a fascination, apparently taken for granted by tho author, but which may not be so convincing to some of her readers. Semi-hypnotised by the autocratic Sir Everard, and under the influence of a careless father aud, a worldly mother, of Whom, although long ignorant of the fact, _ she is tho illegitimate offspring, Dinah agrees to become the baronet's wife. Gradually, however, his outbursts of passion, his overweening egotism, and his positive brutality, bring about a feeling of revolt, and she begins to sec where her affection really lies. The discovery of her illegitimacy affords her an #pportunity of breaking off tho engagement, whereupon her intriguing and heartless mother flogs her unmercifully with a hunting whip, and she runs away from home. ■■■ Of course, it is, "Greatheart," her first and always faithful lover, who rescues her from the suicide she had contemplated, and the story ends as any astute reader must early have seen would bo the case. In the"character of the egotistical, passionate and supremely selfish elder brother is a curious psychological study. The baronet is certainly one of the most unpleasant persons I have encountered in latter-day fiction. The hero, on the contrary, is a very lovable character, and some of the minor personages in the story, notably the invalid sister of the two brothers and an old Irish nurse, are firmly and convincingly drawn. LIBER'S NOTEBOOK. THE DEATH OF COLONEL NEWCOME. At an inquest held in London recently some curious reminiscences of the Charterhouse, which, as readers or "The Newcoines" will remember, figures so prominently in Thackeray s novel, were, given by the Registrar ot the famous institution. The subject of the inquest was Frank William Wilson, aged seventy-eight, a brother ot the Charterhouse, who for thirty years had been an architectural draughtsman, and who was taken ill m the Barbican and died in St Bartholomew s Hospital. Mr Wilson was admitted to the Charterhouse on the nomination of King Edward VII., said Mr Henry &. Wright, the Registrar. He mentioned that ho thought' tho health of the brothers was better now than before the war, and added that Thackeray was educated at the school. And died there?" said the coroner, questioningly. "No," returned Mr Wright, "he died, I believe, in the West Knd; but he decided that his character Newcome should die there. Thackeray used to visit a brother in tho Charterhouse named Captain Light. One night when Thackeray was there he heard wie curfew, and made up his mind that his great character, Colonel Newcome should die there." " Liber' may add that the character of Colonel NewI come owed not a little to Thackeray s I step-father, Major Carmichael Smyth. I In. the story the Charterhouse this called Grey Friars. "BOBS" AND BISMARCK. It is well known that Lord Roberts had a horror of cat 3 and could not sit in a room where there was a puss. In India, says "A Woman of No Importance," in her new book, Further Indiscretions," it was quite a usual custom for hostesses when General "Bobs" was dining with them, to give orders for all cats on the premises to he shut up in rooms or baskets until the visit was over, and it really was extraordinary the way they managed to get out! ,and always rush for him. In Bismarck; the man of "blood and iron," the author was surprised todis-

cover a fellow enthusiast in the study of the " creepy-crawlys " of the earth —to wit, beetles, spiders and the like. He gave her an interesting account of some spiders with yellow bodies, that are of the warrior typo and fight fierce battles. Once he put two on a bush to see them fight. Their tactics were full of subtlety, and when Bismarck interfered ono of them swelled out its body and tried to frighten him by making little rushes in his direction, and giving what he presumed were stamps with its feet, after tho fashion of rabbits when they wish to warn others of a danger. The knowledge tho Prince had acquired of insect habits implied much careful observation. PRESENT DAY LITERATURE. A great deal of • rubbish is talked and written nowadays as to an alleged i falling off in the quality of latter-day ' literature. Just recently a contributor to the "Spectator" committed, himself to the statement that out of ten thousand books published every year not more than fifty are worth reading. Publishers as a class were accused of being only concerned about " the best sellers," something which, by sedulous puffing handsomely paid for in advertisements, may catch the half-educated nation. The article attracted the attention of Mr John Murray, the famous publisher, who promptly challenged the " Spectator's" sweeping condemnation. Mr Murray writes:— "The writer's standard of literary value may bo as highly intellectual as it ib eclectic, but oven so, I doubt if he would find half-a-dozen educated men and women to endorse his decision. Books are not all published for him, and there are innumerable classes to bo provided for besides himself, at tho one end of tho scale, and the ' half-educated millions" at Hi' other. I do net know, how many books have boon reviewed in your columns in tho nast year: have only fifty of them received commendation at your hands? and have you been handsomely paid in advertisements for these? Value is, however, a qiicstion of opinion: influenced at times by a critic's liver. Your writer's next statement is a. Question of fact: "a publisher's only ob.ioct is to eet hold of o. pood seller.'' I think I may claim to have a more intimate knowledge of the aims and activities of the loading publishers than your writor has, and I have no hesitation in saying that this sweeping generalisation is not only untrue, but most unjust. Let him po to any first-class library and spend an hour or two in examining a, few of tho leading works of reference (to name only one class among hundreds), and then let him say if ho regards these as what ho calls " best sellers.' THE UNSPEAKABLE HUN. What a piggish brute is your Hun. In "My War Diary," Madame Mary King Waddington (an American-born widow of a former French statesman and ambassador, M. Waddington) tells how her country house at Mareuil was occupied by German officers. A friend who made investigations on behalf of the owner reported: They havo entirely demolished tho inside of tho houso, stolen linens, dresses, all tho batterio do cuisine, twenty-nino lamps, the silver broken, and spoilt all the furniture. In the cabinet stolen medals, arms, ransacked and thrown about all the papers; all the bedding spoilt. Later on, Mdme. Waddington herself visited tho house. She says: The inside of tho house was a desolation. It had been cleaned—four women' working hard. Mdme E. said tho dirt aud smells wore something awful. Tho. bedding was in a filthy state. For twenty-four hours after they had begun to clean they couldn't eat anything. ■" Si Madame avait vu la salota. jamais plus Madame n'aurait mis pied a la maison." Perhaps it was just as well that Madame didn't see all, as the actual »tate was bad enough. Not. only, had the Huns, who in this case were, it must bo remembered, officers, not privates, befouled the whole place, but the things they had not stolen had been deliberately destroyed. Wide cuts were found in valuable satin and lace dresses, which had been dragged out of cupboards and boxes, tho chairs and tables were all broken, pages torn out of the middle, of valuable books. Evidently in Germany officer does not connote gentleman. Mdme. Waddington's worst story concerns an unfortunate Belgian lady and a royal duke. The Duke of W.—the reference, says an English paper, is obviously to Duke Albrecht of Wurtcmburg—-this specimen of Hun royalty occupied, with his staff, a Belgian chateau, and summoned the chatelaine and her brother to dine with him. When she refused, saying, when pressed for a reason, that she really could not bring herself to break bread with soldiers who burned churches and villages and killed women and children, he " flew into a rage, told her to hold her tongue, and banged out of the hall. Subsequently her brother escaped and succeeded in joining the Belgian army, and then vengeance was wreaked on the unoffending sister. Hie German authorities carried her off to Brussels on the pretext that they wanted her evidence in the Cavcll case. They promised to let her return to her chateau as soon as tho trial was over, and they broke their word: She never got back, was sent to prison in Germany, and obliged to wear prison uniform allowed to go out for half an hour every day in the courtyard, and she is still there. Verily the Hun is as pettily vindictive as he is piggishSTRAY LEAVES. A notable biographical work is promised for early publication by John Murray in tho shape of "The Life and Letters of Sir Joseph Dalton Hooker. The biography, which is written by MiLeonard Huxley, is based upon incidents collected and arranged by Lady Hooker. The correspondence of Hooker and Darwin is largely drawn upon. W. L. George, whoso clever novel, "A Second Blooming," was so popular, has written a book entitled "A Novelist on Novels," in which he discusses live public taste in fiction, and offers a critical estimate of the present position of some of our modern novelists. Admirers of Hugh Walpole s clever novels should note the fact that copies of his latest book—and a very fine book it is—" The Green Mirror," arc now available at the bookshops. This is a story which no lover of really good fiction should miss. Next to "The Duchess of Wrexe" it is the best story Mr Walpole has yet given us. Mr Walpole has written much upon English life in the immediate pro-war decade. It will be interesting to see how he will deal with that greatly altered life which began in August. 1914. He has written one war novel, " The Dark Forest,' but its background is Russia, not Eng- ' That highly original and thoughtcompelling story, "Tho Ragged Trousers Philanthropists," has long been out of print. A new and cheaper edition is being published by Mr Grant RichSir Frederick E. Smith, M.P. (news of whose promotion to a law lordship was cabled last week), has written a very entertaining little book in his recent mission to the United States. It j includes a description of a brief so-' iourn in Canada.. Of Toronto, Sir Frederick lias a wonderful story to tell. In that loyal city alone, on an average computation, every man, woman and child has contributed nearly £lO each, yet in 1889 Professor Goldwin Smith announced that "Canada never has given, and never will give, a penny to Imperial armaments." Recant library statistics at Home place Ethel M. Dell as the most popular w riter of fiction, and the announcement that the well-known author has just completed another story will be welcome news to readers. The new novel, "Greatheart," is a powerful love story which will bo read with intense interest from start to finish. Knowing by experience the preference of the, New Zealand public for Miw Dell's stories, notably " The Way of an Eagle" and ''The Rocks of Valpre," Whitcombe's Londjon house placed an advance order with the publishers, and the first instalment of the new book arrived a few days ago. A number of copies were told soon after they were olaced on the shelves and the tables. " Greatheart," which is retailed at 4s 6d, appears likely to put up a record sale. 1