LITERATURE.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 17324, 25 May 1918, Page 2

LITERATURE.

THE COMING WOMAN.* By Constant Rbadeb. "It is not in tho fighting Male of tho J race; it is m Woman, that we have tho i iuturo centre of Power in civilisation." This sentence from tho late Benjamin ICidd's I niuch-dobated book, "Tho Scioncc of Power," seems to foreshadow tho arrival of a new I typo of womanhood, evolved, or, rather developed directly as tho result of tho war conditions to-day prevalent over so large a ; portion of tho globe. For tho time being . ™r° 'jilting male is in tho ascendant. As < Mr 1< W. Bain so well expresses it in the , 'production to " Tho Livery of Kve," Upon strange days and evil have we , fallen, when it is well nigh criminal to • bo anything for the moment but a soldier. Ilail; all hail! to the fighting man." The change that war has wrought in the aims ; and ambitions of the Gt man of military , age completely transforming his life and virtually narrowing his horizon to the scope . anil area of the battlefield, is having its re- i floel ion in the altered ideas and ambitions , of the averago young woman. Whether or i no Kidd's prophecy regarding the coming ; woman is likely to bo realised—and much difference of opinion must exist on that point,—at least it is both interesting and instructive to attempt to define the shadow wh:eh she is alreadv letting fall as she appears in tho pages of tho modern novel. Among the large number of voung rrpn novelists writing to-day, Mr S. P. B. Mais may be reckoned as, perhaps, the most modern—that is to say, ho continually lays stress on the note sounded by the men of the younger school of artists, poets, and literateurs. He has already given a taste of InV quality in those two striking stories: " April's Lonely Soldier" and " Interlude." in both of which he has attempted to set forth the outlook and idea of tho young men and young women in England sinco the war began, and always he insists that the man is the weaker and the woman the stronger character. To appreciate thoroughly the onward march of woman in the pathway of economic independence and of personal freedom it is only necessary to recall the sensation caused by the publication of Mr H. G. Wells's "Ann Veronica." and to reflect that- that story was first published in 1909. less than 1.0 years ago. The sentiments expressed and the course of conduct adopted by Ann Veronica, which excited so great a commotion in the dovecots of the Homeland, are mild nnd innocuous in comparison with tho qualities of thought and action with which Mr M». : s endows his heroine Sylvia Durrant in his latest story. "Rebellion." the. title hornet derived from the ■wardfl which Shakespeare puts into the mouth of" Morton in tho second part of " King Henry TV " :— For that same word, rebellion, did divide The action of their bodies from theic souls, And they did fight with queasiness, constraint, As men drink potions, that their weapons only Scem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls, This word, rebellion, it had froze them up. As fish aro in a pond. Prior to picking up " Rebellion,"l had been reading David Graham Phillips's posthumously published story "Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise," probably the most terrible indictment ever written of western civilisation and of the industrial conditions aficcting women as they existed in America -before the war. Indeed, the perusal of " Susan Lenox," coming so quickly after Upton Sinclair's "King Coal," had the effect of leaving mo well nigh hopeless regarding the better world for which all men are looking as a reward for tho sacrifice of war. Phillips wrote his book ten years ago, although it has only just been published. He takes an illegitimate girl child, physically almost perfect and possessed of mind and will above the average, and shows her escaping from a loathsome marriage into which, as a giri, she had been forced by relatives who feared lest she might follow the example of her mother. That way of escape led her along the paths of darkness, degradation,, and despair, and she came bitterly to believe that- tho majority of men regard beautiful women as their prey, and that they so arrange matters, industrial and social, that they ever havo women at their mercy. She arrived at the conclusion that a woman without money is a slave, but that a woman with mor.ey may be a tyrant; and eventually Sustn Lenox won through, and tho story closes on tho words "Yes, she has learned to live. But—sho has paid the price." " Susan Lenox" can scarcely be called literature; it is too melodramatic, and it lacks perspective. The author piles on to the back of his heroine every misery and hardship which a, sojourn in the underworld of New York could possibly entail. Ho suhjects her to every kind of brutality and ill-treatment which a woman without money or friends can be called upon to hear. Yet. hopelessly out of perspective as is the story in detail, it bears the impress of truth until the moral comes home that the reason of ihe "rebellion" pictured ly Mr Mais is because women, not in America alone, but in well nigh every land of the Old World, havo endured, and are still enduring, tho horrible conditions of life so vividly and poignantly pictured by David Graham Phillips. Out of the welter arises the question: Does Mr Mais point to any way of escape and deliverance? To this, answer must at once be returned that such is not his purpose. Rather docs he attempt to show to what extent and in what degree the young women of England, under the new conditions of life imposed by the war, are uii(Jeavouring to work out their ultimate sajvation. Incidentally, he describes the egcct upon the fighting male of tho inevitable conclusion, that his life, sound in wind and limb, is destined to be brief, and thattherefore it may as well be a merry one. There' aro two ways of approaching " Rebellion." The easier is the way of criticism. Mr Mais lays himself open to a slasning attack on y.h;lt side. The preferable approach, however, is to regard the story as a sincere and honest attempt to deal with the difficulties of the position and to treat Sylvia Durrant as an actual product of present day conditions in the Homeland. These premises being granted, the theme of her story resolves itself into the problem of the modern girl, thoroughly dissatisfied with marriage as sho sees it exemplified in the lives of her friends and relatives, adventuring into the unknown with the object of discovering a satisfactory relation between the sexes for herself and the man of her choice. Even that man is depicted as inconstant, readily lured away by' other women, and at best, able only in DowBon's famous phrase, to bo "faithful to thee, Oynara, in my fashion." Indeed, it is significant of the days in which we live that _ both Mr Mais and David Graham Phillips cite the spirit of "Cynara" as tho level of the averago man's morality. Sylvia Durrant was an orphan, the only I child of a widower. Her father " was the one person to whom she could turn for information when she was obsessed with difficulties and doubts, suro that he would at least give her an honest answer; her mistresses all appeared to havo signed a bond never to divulge anything that really mattered and to maintain a solid silence when questioned about any of the laws that govern life." Slhe read Shakespeare in a " complete cheap Oxford edition" and her father explained to her " exactly why it was that some editors were expected to ' Bowdlerise' any work of art."" Consequently " Sylv'a was not innocent as these others were supposed to be through ignorance. Her father had never beaten about tho bush on any subject whatever; whatever sho asked to the best of his ability ho answered." After her father's death Sylvia tried her hand as a governess, entering the employ of_ Mrs Hardy Jamieson. Sylvia's personality is indicated by the nature of her particular possessions: — Of pictures she possessed very few; a few copies of Whistlers, one or two Pissaro's, a Sickert, and a Frank Brangwyn; all cut from the pages of Colour or tho Studio and put into cheap frames obviously made by the village carpenter On the other hand, her bookshelves were well stocked. There was a dramatic section chiefly filled with the works of Synge, Shaw, and other moderns. American authors occupied a corner to themselves. Most of the .standard poets were represented in editions that spoke of heirlooms. She was certainly not the first of her family to care for literature. In addition, however, to her Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth. Coleridge, and Byron, she owned a good many of the volumes of contemporary poets and an assortment of modern fiction. All these volumes bore traces of carefully digested reading; passages were marked, marginal notes were made, the insides of the front and baok covers were littered with comments, eulogistic or the reverse, on tho characters nnd setting. There was practically no history or > * " llflheUiflJi." By S. P. B. Uaii. London: , Grant Iliohuds. (4i fld.)

philosophy; Sylvia's mind was being formed by fiction, poetry, and drama alone. When the story opens Sylvia was on tho point of going to London lor a holiday, alone and unattended, but with £300 left her by her lather, "which she proposed to spend on having u. good time; the interest from investment appeared to bo of so little use." Before she left tho house, Mr llardy-Jamicson, taking- opportunity when 6lio was aloue, suddenly caught hold of her and kissed her. She burst out laughing and gave the ardent old gentleman a pieco of her mind; concluding with, "You don't suppose I wanted your beastly kisses, did you ? What I said w,is that tho experience may prove valuable to me: that's quite a different matter. Do trv to be sensible, and not regard yourself as a Don Juan of 1917." _ So saying, she left the astoundfrd Lothario ejaculating: "Good God!' so this is the new typo of womanhood. What an escape!" In the train going op to London, Sylvia, who, of course, was a pretty girl, met Gerald Tatham, who. having just gained a commission in the Dorsets, was going to town to " celebrate." The pair struck up a friendship., were soon calling one another by their Christian names, and figured out a programme of pleasure, for the few days they were together. The working out of that programme covers a capital description of London in war time, its theatres, its restaurants, including the Cafe Royal, its tea-rooms, and all the haunts open to people with money and leisure, who love luxury as only those whose ordinary lot is work and hardship can. Sylvia and Gerald discussed practically every subject under the sun, but the favourite topics were literature and life. Addressing her companion, Sylvia says: He.re am I, who set out yesterday with tho intention of having as good a t'Tne as I could for a few days on the salary which I had saved and the meagre capital tnv father left me, and then iroin<r to live with mv aunt for the rest of tho holidays, suddenly find myself pitchforked into your companionship. For the moment I seem to bo in clover. T am in London, the city of my heart's desire, and 10, like the Queen of Sheba. I feel that the half hath no't been told: It's all far more stupendous, far more tempting, far more full of all the things I love than I had ever dreamt of. I have realised within the last 24 hours that without money it is impossible to realise all that it "has to offer. London is a golden servant but the hell of a bad master. So I have to have money. For the moment that's all right. Next comes companionship. Well, I find you, the almost ideal companion for five days. I am in danger of falling in love with you, which would bo disastrous for me, because you would the first, whereas I should be a mere episode. You might swear to marry mo, you might even do it, to secure your ends, for I know you want me now, but in the end I am afraid lest some other girl should come along and I should be left. I am trying to think it out. On. the last night of their holiday together in London, Gerald and Sylvia went to the revival of " Hindle Wakes," at the Court Theatre, with the result that thev took a leaf out of the book of Fanny Hawthorn and Alan Jeffcote in Stanley Houghton's well-known play. Parted from Gerald, Sylvia felt London unendurable and Bhc spent a miserable Christmas with unsympathetic relatives in the country; while Gerald, bored with a duty visit to his own people, solaced himself with Betty Birch, the temporary booking clerk at the railway station. When complications came to Sylvia in the shape of a little Geraldine, she was befriended by a celebrated literateur rejoicing ing the name of Wycherly-.Manfred. until Gerald returned blinded from the front. Meanwhile, Manfred's first wife having died. Sylvia had married him. but Gerald's arrival caused a rupture, and led to their separation. Eventually Manfred dies, and the wny is at length open for legitimate union between the two lovers—Sylvia sums up the situation in a few. telling words : she is speaking to Gerald: When you *ind I met we were just a couple of rebellious selfish children, thinking that we could use the world for our toy, brea-k its laws and play havoc with its age-long hallowed conventions without any fear of being broken in the attempt. We had seen a few ordinary marriages and feared to embark on the sea of matrimony because we had witnessed a few shipwrecks. What fools we were! How long would you have been satisfied with promiscuous philandering? How could I think myself capable of standing up against Society branded with the mark of the beast? I don't pretend not to be glad that we had our turn at rebellion, but there is no doubt that our souls and spirits were being frozen up in our attempt to carve our way regardless of every moral law and custom of society." The sidelights of "Rebellion" are better than the story itself, which, however, ends on a note of optimism. " The greatest pleasure, the highest delights wo shall ever experience," exclaimed Sylvia, " will lie in spreading our gospel, hand in hand exhorting tho young to learn. We're going to found a great 00-educational school and university where people will bo encouraged, yes, actually taught to think—and not to accept unthinkingly any sloppy catchword phases, any cowardly gospel of ' good form' and insincerity." • NOTES ON NEW BOOKS. Mr Algernon Blackwood's new novel will have for its title "The Promise of Air." A sale of at least a quarter of a million is anticipated for the shilling volume of "Twenty Poems," by Rudyard Kipling. Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins, of whom a capital sketch by Mr George Sampson, appears in the March number of tho fiookman, has a new novel nearly ready. Mr Frank Swinnerton, author of that little masterpiece in fiction, "Nocturne," is 33 years of age. Already he has seven novels and two works of criticism—one on ( Stevenson, and the other on Gissing—to his credit. A sketch of this writer is one of the features of the March issue of the Bookman. "The Pretty Lady," a romantic, dramatic, and realistic war story with London for a background, has been written by Mr Arnold Bennett for immediate publication. I Mr Jajiies Stephens's new volume of prfems " Reincarnations" is largely based on old Irish verso of from 100 to 500 years ago. Mr Jeftory Farnol, the author of that ; popular novel, " The Definite Object," has written "Some War Impressions," being | descriptive of visits paid to munition works and shipbuilding yards in England and in Scotland, and to hospitals, training camps, and battlefields in France. 1 Madam Duc.laux (A. Mary F. Robinson). ' author of "The French Procession." has written "A_ Short History of France," in ; which, beginning with Caesar's invasion of j Gaul, the author traces with rapid strokes 1 the development of France up to the battle of Waterloo. i "A new volume of the war, which will ; at least equal in interest any of those pub- ' lished before, is being prepared bv a most influential, if silent figure in the strife" ; writes "A Man of Kent" in The British > Weekly. Mr H. B. Irving in his intervals of leisure 1 has_ made a close study of criminology, which is his pet diversion when off the ' stage. He appears now as the author of \ A Book of Remarkable Criminals." which r is likely to have a considerable vogue. Captain Francis Brett Young, author of a • critical study of Robert Bridges, and of an ' exceedingly creepv story called "Under- - growth," has written a new novel, the - scene of ; which is set in Africa. It is called "The Crescent Moon." The story . is a grim one, and in places almost unbearbably hornble, but it holds the reader to the end. 5 Lieutenant (acting Captain) Charles J. . B. Masefield. a cousin of Mr John Masefield. died of wounds in July of last year. , Lieutenant Masefield published in 19il, a little book of verse entitled "Tha Seasons' , Difference and other Poems." A selection j of his war poetrv is included in "More Songs of Fighting Men." Mr Boyoe Bowden's " Wellington Verses" receive favourable notice, in the London Bookman. "There is tho free air of tho t I £" m ' nion i" them," remarks Katharine Tynan. •" Mr Bowden's verse runs as easily and naturally as a clear little stream ' I down hill. . . . These are good patriot-'o f songs, ardent with a boy's love for his j. country and his town, the beloved places which twine themselves about one's heart like 'iv : ng loves." " Modern Scottish Writers." by W. M. 3 Parker, contains complete sketches of *12 ■> I'terary Scotsmen; of -whom five—Andrew j Lang, R. L. Stevenson, William Sharp. John Davidson, and George Douglas Brown, r of " The House With the Green .Shutters " f;ime—have orossel the great divide. The : living writers dealt with are Sir .T. M IWrio, Mr OonnrnghsrvGriahairt, Sir WD-

liam Robertson-Nicoll, Sir George Douglas, and Professor William Paton Kerr ,of University College, London. Tho third volume is' announced of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The British Campaign in France and Flanders." It covers the history of the operations during 1916 and gives the first full detailed account of the first great Battle of the Somme. The author, taking conservative figures, calculates th.vt in this battle the total combatants of the three armies were not fewer than three millions, and the casualties totalled approximate l ./ a million. Nothing on so large a ecale is known in the previous history of the world. The output of new -poetry continues without abate. Recent announcements include the following: "Resentment," a first volume of poems, by Alec Waugh, author of that much discussed novel, " The Loom of Youth"; "Reincarnations," a book of verse by James Stephens, author of " Insurrections," "The Hill of Vision," "Songs from tlie Clay," etc.; " Tho Judgment of Vnballa," by Gilbert Frankan ; " Tides," bv John Drinkwater; ' Ditchling Beacon/' by Alfred Bathurst Norman, with introductory note by E. V. Lucas; and "More Songs of the Fighting Men," being a second volume of Mr Erskine Macdorlald's "Soldier Poets." To Mr Leonard Merrick has been granted the great distinction of the issue of a uniform edition of his novels, with ■ntroduo tions by a number of his contemporaries Thus Sir J. M. Barrie introduces "Conrad in Quest of His Youth, and Sir Arthur Pinero does like service for "Hie Position of Peggy Harper." For tho rest "The Man Who Understood Women " is introduced by Mr W. J. Locke; "When Love Flies Out o' the Window" by Sir W. R. Nicoll; "The Worldlings," by Mr Neil Munro; ''The Actor-Managf-r," by Mr W. D. Howells; "Cynthia," by Mr Maurice Hewlett; "The Juaint Companions." by Mr H. G. Wells; "One Man's View," bv Mr Granvillo Barker" The Man Who Was Good," by Mr J. R. Protliero; "A Chair on,the Boulevard," by Mr A. Neil and "The House of Lynch," by Mr G K. Chesterton. Mr Leonard Merrick's new bock will be called "While Paris Laughed."