CURRENT LITERATURE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15563, 21 March 1914, Page 4 (Supplement)

CURRENT LITERATURE.

NEW BOOKS. " in Queer Street "—by Fergus Hume (Bell. London; Wildman and Arey, Auckland) Naturally one locks for a murder from Fergus Hume, but at the beginning o! his book he strolls along so quietly that one believes the author has taken to new paths. It does come, however, with all 1„ s usual entanglement and circumstantial evidence; though it is an extra wicked .|ain surely that would ropy * certain pi I ladv s costume m order to fix the crime upon her. ami himself get away with a few thousand pounds by selling the secret of her complicity. "In ,leel Street" has no very exciting moments: but two at least of its characters are interesting studies of a "nut" and a foreign countess. "ldonia"-bv Arthur F. Wall.* 'Sampsii Low. London; Robertson, Melbourne).—A pleasant old time romance of Loudon in the days of ElinEethr with that purl of tin- city known as Petty Wales for its setting The villain of the book is Botolf Cleeve, who appears under various aliases in his attempts to iob his brother's son, sent to London for the purpose of rancoming this same Notolf from imprisonment in the Tower. The design is « hoax, and the \ Main's intention is t> get hold of the thousand pounds, a goodly sum in such days. A fair maiden, one Idonia, is Diet and beloved by the youth, and he is in despair to find her the wi»rd of his wicked uncle. Murder and sudden death are matters of little account in the tale, and eventually Denis is rid of his enemies, and takes a bride back with him to the ancestral home in the West of England.

" A Father in God "—by Michael Wood (Marmillan, London).—"This Episcopate of thirty four years in the Primatiul See of the whole of South Africa, ougflt to be interesting from many points of view ' (writes -Mr. Wood, for many years secretary to the "Archbishop of Capetown, whose biography he interestingly deals with). Such at' least was the opinion of those who. in the latter .part of 1908, commissioned the author to write this booknamely, Dr. Carter, then Bishop of Pretoria and Senior Bishop of the Province of South Africa, now himself Archbishop of Capetown; the veteran, Earl Nelson, one of the truest and most devoted friends the South African Church has ever had; and others who represented the relatives of the late Archbishop and the Church of the Province of South Africa. And as judgment upon the biographer's record of the archbishop's life the Archdeacon of Northampton remarks in his introduction that "something is shown in this book of how much he was trusted and revered by Mr. Cecil Rhodes. His own suffragans in Africa, and his brotherbishops in England, could tell hov? much they relied on his saintly and sound judgment. His friends know what a charm he had, and can guess what ras its source. His life throughout was a consistent and unbroken one. Wherever he went he won confidence, respect, affection, and those he never lost. Years after he had left his parish of Summertown, the people seemed to know him as well, and think as constantly of him, as if he were still with them. There is no more difficult or depressing task in Oxford than to gather a meeting to listen to some one who has long left the University, and whose work has been done far overseas with no romance or excitement to keep his name in memory. But there was never any difficulty in filling a hall when Dr. West Jones came back to Oxford. People came, without any ' whipping-up.' because they wanted again to see and hear one who stood higher in their regard than almost any other they knew, who would speak to them quite simply about what he made to sound quite simple tasks, undertaken in flu: iiamo of Christ, and carried on under His continual benediction."

" Theodore Roosevelt—An Autobiography" —(Macnuli&n, London).—More than any modern President has Theodore Roosevelt won the interest of the world, and it is therefore fitting that he should write a personal record of his aims and achievements. Thlj greater part of his book is interesting, but he is a most uneven writer, and often deliberately, it appears, spoils his work by suddenly becoming reminiscent in the wrong places. In the midst of another subject he remembers an incident that occurred 10 years later than the date of which he is treating, and at once he digresses. This habit causes some confusion in the reader's mind, until he is accustomed to his vagaries. Of hin early life, of the Spanish-American War, and of his efforts to secure impartial justice, he treats copiously, and be finishes without any warning at all. On the necessity 'or preparation lor war, he speaks with no uncertain note: —" Our people are not military. Wo need normally only a small -landing army ; but there should be behind it a reserve of instructed men big enough to fill it up to full war strength, which is ever twice the peace strength. Moreover, the young men of the country ehould realise that it is the duty of every one of them to prepare himself so that in time of need he may speedily become an efficient soldier—a duty now generally forgotten, but which should be recognised as one of the vitally essential parts of every man's training. There are men who put peace ahead of righteousness, and who care so little for facts that they treat fantastic declarations for immediate universal arbitration as Wing valuable, instead of detrimental, to the cause they profess to champion, and who seek to make the United States impotent for international good under the pretence of making us impotent for international evil. All the men of this kind, and all of the organisations they have controlled, since v we began our career as a nation all put together, have not accomplished one-hundredth part as much for both peace and righteousness, have not do'ie one-hundredth part as much either for ourselves or for other peoples, as was I iinomplished by the people of the United States when they fought the war with Spain and with resolute good faith and common sense worked out the solution of the problems which sprang from the war." His peisonal tastes interest one Of hooks he says.—"A book must ho interesting to the particular render i\\ that particular time, but there me tent* of thousands of interesting book.«. and some of them are sealed to some men and some are sealed to others ; and pome stir the soul at some given point of a man's life and yet convey no message at other times. The reader, the booklover, must meet his own needs without paving too much attention to what his neighbours say these needs should be. He must not hypocritically pretend to like what he does not like. Yet at the name time he must avoid that most unpleasant of all the indications of puffed-up vanity which consists in treating mere individual, nod perhaps unfortunate, idosyncrasy. as a matter of pride. I happen to he devoted to ' Macbeth.' whereas I very seldom read ' Hamlet' (though I like Darts of it) Now T am humbly and.sincerely conscious that this a demerit in me and not in ' Hamlet;' and yet it would not do me any good to pretend that I like 'Hamlet' as much as ' Macbeth' when, as a matter of fact, I don't. I am very fond of simple epics and of hidiad poetry, from the Nibelungenlied and the Roland soncr through 'Chevy Chase' and 'Patrick Kpens' and ' Twa Corbies' to Scott's poems and Longfellow's 'Saga of King Olaf-and 'Othere.' On the other hand, I don't care to read dramas as a rule; I cannot read them with enjoyment unless they appeal to me vert strongly." *.'.< f 4 '. ', , . .

"The Vintage of Vice"—by Guy Thome (Greening, London).— Mr. 'Guy Thome lias a positive gift of painting what he prepares to condemn in the most lurid of colours j and his study of hereditary drunk en is sufficient to cure the most easy-going drinker of his bad habits. The fierce light that beats upon the sons of a toper misses no detail. The author puts the knife in and turns it round with effect.

"Gaiety and George Grossmith "—by Stanley Xaylor (Stanley Paul, Loudon). — Under tins title George Grossmith, better known to London playgoers than to NewZealand readers, gives his impressions of theatre life and of the philosophy of living. His book is amusing, often pithy, and always good-humoured. His view of our national merriment is summed up by him thus :—

" liio trouble with us English is that we are seldom thoroughly happy unless our amusements take a tangible shape. We must have some blatantly, outward and visible sign of the fact that we are enjoying ourselves. When we are at play, we must be sitting in a motor-car or playing with a ball, definitely doing something, in fact.'

"Wo haven't learnt the art of the flaneurthe man who is happy doing nothing. We don't understand that gaiety is an instinct that springs from within and need not be a question of immediate environment. To he gay, it is not strictly necessary—although, if I were a good business man. I ought to say, perhaps, that it is highly advisable—to go to the Gaiety Theatre. If you have the true spirit of gaiety within you, it is possible, even if it is not probable, to feel just as gay elsewhere and in other circumstances—when you are at the annual entertainment of your children's school or shopping with your wife, for example.''

"The Valley ol The Moon "—by Jack London (Mills and Boon, London; Robert-, sou, Melbourne). Although it is a trifle long-drawn-out, and in its latter half overidealistic, Jack London's latest book is clever and telling. It is the work of a man who has studed the science of boxing, the science of agriculture, and the! inside question of Labour, as well asthis perhaps ihe finest matter in the bookthe; nature of a woman typical of the best among the working classes. And this time he has a real living woman, with her ambitions, her daintiness, her sway over the husband, her simple loyalty to live with him a clean life, free from the conflict of strikes and bad companions; and transcending all her great love. The man, Billy, is not so successful a study. It is rather absurd for Jack London to picture this ill-spoken, roughly-mannered, totally uncultured man being received among educated folk, unless they tolerate him for the sake of his wife, who takes colour from her surroundings. As it is never implied that Billy is not received for himself alone, this detail rings false. Billy is to the end a good-looking prize-fighter, ■with no conversation, a fine teamster, a good honest labourer no more. Again, if one is critical, the years of journeying while the two, husband and wife, search out a paradise upon earth, are scarcely compatible with one's ideas of subsistence, or with the capital of these would-be owners of land. It is, however, admitting the weakness of plot, an engaging novel and a good one, in purpose and in execution. This is the story of it":—A girl, Saxon Brown, working in a laundry, meets a young teamster, Billy Roberts, at a dance. They fall in love instantly, marry and are happy until the strike comes, and Billy takes his part in "slugging" the free labour used to break the strike. Being an ex-pugilist, he does this part effectively; but for assaulting' the lodger, whose money is keeping them in food, Billy gets a month in gaol. Saxon suffers from hunger, but will not accept strike funds. She holds out until Billy's release, and then persuades her husband to pack their clothes and to leave the city. In various ways on their tramp they make enough money to keep them, they meet excellent helping friends; but they settle nowhere until they find the ideal spot for a farm. Billy takes contracts and buys horses, selling them to San Francisco stables. And after many threats of reverse the cloud shows its most silver lining, and j they are left on the road to fortune, with their ideal love for one another to illuminate the way.