THE BOOKSHELF.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20656, 30 August 1930, Page 8 (Supplement)

THE BOOKSHELF.

BACK TO NORMAL.; ANOTHER WAR BOOK. English critics aro making a bold bid to stanch the flow of war books,-one going so far as to deal with a whole batch of them under tho caption, " Late on Parade!" But authors aro slow to take tho hint. Almost everyone who went to tho war, and numbers who did not, seem to have started war books when the run set in, and they feel it is a pity to wasto them. The wonder is that, amid the dross submitted, here and there one appears which still demands attention and interest.

At tho end of a bout of " physical jerks" it was tin custom to give an oxerciso which purported to restore the organs to normal once more. Ilero is a war book, " Tho Price of Victory," by J. I). Strange, which docs precisely that. Written with the utmost simplicity, without any striving after effect, it tells the war experiences of a boy of sixteen, who went right through to the Armistice —just a decent, ordinary youngster, who became a hardy veteran of twenty in the trenches. It never enters one's head to doubt that all ho says is true, tho very matter-of-fact, everyday quality of his experiences carries conviction. " Undertones of War" is generally accounted the best war book written, but after all it is the experiences of a poet, told in a poet's language. Hero is a book of warm humanity, every man's experiences, a book, which, because it moro nearly describes tho lot of the common man, must rank among the best war books written. In straightforward stylo, Mr. Strange's book never boggles at any incident or description from start to finish, but presents in tho plainest of language every new phaso and experience. It grows grim in the stark horror of the tronchcs, and so real do the people met become that as death takes them it feels like tho loss of a friend. Without mincing or hiding an atom of truth or horror, " The Price of Victory" makes lurid excrescences like " All Quiet on the Western Front" and " The Brass Hat " seems liko mere hysteria. It is a book which, published earlier, woidd have made a tremendous name. Whether at this lato date it will be equally successful seems problematic. It is to bo hoped that this sincere, normal book will be the last word in war literature. " The Price of Victory." by J. D. Strance. (The Bodley Head.)

THE TERRIBLE PEACE. AN AUTHOR OF PROMISE. Mr. William Faulkner, the author of " Soldier's Pay," has been hailed as the most interesting novelist in America. His method is interesting certainly. It would be untrue to say he exaggerates, but he heightens emotion and intuitions by leaving out some of their usual accompaniments. Thus, when his men and women meet for the first time they are enabled to see the thoughts and emotions passing in each other's minds, and, instead of interposing the conventions by which people hide thoughts, they strip every-

thing away and coine to direct grips with each other's minds, and let each other see that they have. The result is as startlinglv brilliant as that juxtaposition of colours with which the French school of painters has been experimenting for some years. The story itself seems of minor importance, and, in fact, shows some confusions and crudities, besides being reminiscent of Rebecca West's story, " The Return of the Soldier." It tells of a soldier returning to his home in the United States after the Armistice, wounded, disfigured in tho face, his memory gone. On his haphazard journey he gathers in his wake a heterogeneous collection of people, soldiers, civilians and a woman, who, without more ado, leave all and follow him. Naturally they bungle his entry to his family, who had thought him dead. The rest of the book is concerned with the reactions of stay-at-home friends and soldier comrades to his misfortunes, and a rather disillusioning tale it is. Mr. Faulkner has a bad trick of keeping up the surprise of his story by equipping all his seeming rogues with hearts of gold, whereas most of his " goodly outsides" hide a canker in their hearts. As in all novels written in the modern style, you may look in vain for a continuous thread of reality in this book. If yon say, "Did this happen?" it is obvious that it did not—not as set down here, certainly. Your modern author has cast aside the trammels of truth. Tho truth has been (old so often, it has grown stale. Instead, the imaginary world is shot through with brilliant little flashes which seem to bring the truth nearer than reality. Mr. Faulkner shows unwonted confidence for so unrecognised an author. Interesting he is assuredly, but more for his promise than for his performance. His present book is too untidy and extravagant of emotions, and shows the gropings of excited youth. " Soldier's Pay," by William Faulkner. (Chatto nnd Wintlus.) NAOMI ROYDE-SMITH. AN UNCOMFORTABLE BOOK. " The Island," Naomi Royde-Smith's latest book, completes a trilogy of which " Summer Holiday" and " Children in tho Wood" are tho earlier two. Tho books are not in any way supplementary to each other; they merely share the same background. Certain characters aro familiar in all three books. Miss Royde-Smith's talent is distinctive. There is a charming quality in her writing that leads the reader from page to page, with the promise of something rare and exciting, a promise, however, that is never actually fulfilled. " Tho Island" tells the story, with somewhat unconvincing embellishments, of Goosey Hughes, an awkward Welsh girl. It is in many respects a commonplace story cf a thwarted personality. The " long littleness" of Goosey's lifo is detailed with much sly humour. It makes excellent anril interesting reading, until Goosey seems actually to come alive, whereat tho reader's smile grows a littlo crooked. Toor Goosey's luck never turns. Here is a book that holds no pleasure for that large section of novel readers who secretly languish for a happy ending, nor for those who cling to the creed that, the world being " full of a number of things, wo should all be as happy as kings." For 1 these " The Island" holds disillusion. Its 1 appeal is to the minority, who will de- < light in the subtleties of Miss Royde- ' Smith's imagination, tho few who will i bow before the grave charm of her style. J Even these will likely enough pronounco ' it an uncomfortable book. 1 " The Island," by Naomi Royde-Smith. (Constable.) !