VERY NEW AND VERY OLD.*

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18032, 4 September 1920, Page 2

VERY NEW AND VERY OLD.*

DAISY ASIIFORD AND DOROTHY RICHARDSON. By Constant Reader. "Wouldn't you like to come up before supper suggested Graco in answer to her uneasy gazing into tho lire. Well 1 feel lather grubby. Give her somo hot water murmured Mrs Pliilps taking up the Daily Telegraph. Grace preceded her up the little staircase carrying her bag. Will you have your milk hot or cold Miriam called Florrio from bolow. Oh hot 1 think please. I shan't be a second said Miriam into the sparo room hoping to be left." "Oh I say gasped Bernard and laying the dainty burden 011 the grass ho dashed to j the water's edge and got a cup full of the t fragrant water to pour on his true love's pallid brow. She soon came to and looked j up with a sieldy smile. Take me back to t the Gaierty Hotel she whispered faintly. r With plesure my darling, said Bernard. I j will just pack up our viands ere I unloose 0 the boat. I trust you have not got an illness my darling murmered Bernard as c he helped her in. Oh no I, am very strong > said Ethel. I fainted from joy she added to explain matters." Ihe first of tho above two passages is taken from the opening chapter of Miss Dorothy Richardson's "Interim" ; the second is extracted frpm Miss Daisy Ashford's "Tho Young Visiters." The similarity in style, accentuated by the sparsity of punctuation in bot,h_ cases, will bo so apparent as to need no stressing. The similarity in style is not confined merely to the punctuation; it reveals itself in the phonetic spelling. "Arrya fond of London" and "No let 'or changer dress," a couple of Miss Richardson's attempts at realistic reproduction, are continually paralleled by Miss Daisy Ashford, as, for instance, "Take care of your bronkitis" and "That is rarther an idear." It is surely more than a coincidence that the youngest novelist of the period, in the shape of Miss Daisy Ashford, who was aged nine when she wrote "The Young Visiters," should have so much in common with Miss Dorothy Richardson, who in her series of stories "Pointed Roofs," "Backwater," "Honeycomb," "The Tunnel," "Interim," and "Deadlock" represents the high-water mark in the modern movement towards ultra-realistic fiction. A very little r'efljpt\on, however, goes to ' show that, whatever tho ultimate, the : modern movement in fiction is following li» the steps of the modern movement in ' poetry, and is uniting the very new to the 1 very old. A distinctive mark of the newest of the now poetry, and especially of the ■ American variety, is the breaking away from ' accepted tradition in the matter of metre and of rhyme, and the reversion to the formlessness of the Chinese and other Eastern poets of a thousand or more years ago. In this enterprise the very new* and the very old link hands and march in unison. The new fiction would appear to be attempting-to escape from tradition and accepted form, and one of the first signs of freedom is the throwing to the winds of ' all the rules of punctuation' and spelling, besides setting at naught all the restrictions of grammar. Here again may be discerned a meeting of tho Tory old with the very new, since punctuation, or word separation, is a comparatively recent practice. According to one authority there was little word separation before the ninth century. "And even after the now fashion was introduced small words were written continuously with those to which they were related. In Latin manuscripts a system of separation was fully perfected by the eleventh century, but in Greek a tendency to inaccurate separation continued longer." Similarly, in the beginning of language writing was an attempt to reproduce speech, and the spelling of words depended on their pronunciation. Thus, when Miss Richardson makes Mr Leyton in "The Tunnel" say, "Sawl right Miss Henderson. 'V'you got any emery strips ; and when Miss Daisy Ashford in 'The Young Visiters" describes Mr Salteena as "secretly getting jellus," or when she makes Bernard give "a frown of jellousy at her rather more words," both writers are following an age-old fashion, at the same timo justifying Roosevelt's attempt to introduce phonetic spelling to the United States some 15 years ago. The very old and the very new are' at one in lending formlessness to their product, and this is especially apparent in the latest trend in fiction. In an article on "Form and the Modern Novel'' in a recent issue of the Chapbook Mr W. L. George classes Miss Dorothy Richardson with Mr James Joyce, author of that much discussed book "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," and inquires: "Where are we going to? Shall we, under the orders of Dr Fieud, persist in tearing at our dreams? I am not, of course, dismissing as nonsense the works of Mr Joyce and Miss Richardson but I do not believe they indicate the future of English novels. This because thev havo made a leap; they are entirely unlinked with their forerunners. And no form can survive that does not spring from another form. They are purely pictorial. Into what form the English novel will settle within the next 20 years I do not know but 1' believe that it will continue to seek , coherence Mr J. C. Squire, reviewing Interim ' in the London . Mercury exfelaims: "This kind of thinking and thV liind of writing seem to be abroad at the moment. TTiere are deep and genuine analogies between Miss Richardson's style and the style of Mr James Joyce It would not be difficult to find' in her traits which she has m common with the more sincere exponents of Futurist poetry fhlh theory an attempt to embody 1 j ii V,S e ma - m Futurist paintings." And Mr Squire makes his point still plainer when he continues: That Miss Richardson is genuine whether we like reading her books or not, is a question beyond dispute. She writes as she does because she must because it is the way in which it lias been given to her to write. . But minds which observe and record in her close literal fashion are not normal minds; and therefore her impressions of life coloured as they are by her acute introspectneness, cannot correspond to life as normal persons see it. The normal person simplifies life, not merely, when if ove r he describes it. but also when he perceives it The world is not to him the fragmentary incoherent whirl of feelings cv f ?" s wh '!;h it is to Miss Richardson Nevertheless, _it is obvious that this is how the world appears to her; and here again for what it is worth, is her descrln tion of it. With such a book, a document v a /T?-' th -° attitude of the critic of fiction is naturally unsuitable and inapplicable. He cannot Zl the conventional position of judgment from a definite and unalterable stalTrd He can, m fact, do no more than explain it at that 16 him and kavo The best explanation of "Interim" following cm Ihe Tunnel," is to sav thnt h^T.£LKr,H^' cas 1 siX&sf n* : wh;? n ' • ilira,m Hnderson is every whit as genuine a person as Barbellion to-day is proved, to be, despite Rhe suspicions at 011 c time entertained in regard to authorship. Whether Miriam is actually (Richardson, and what niirf if any, Miss May Sinclair has played Whe joint, production, must for the moment . remain a mystery; which brings me t^the Book " y Ashf ord: Her "The Young Visiters" was undoubtedlv a work of genius, and after much new£ paper controversy, it has generally accepted as the unaided work of Mii Daisy Ashford at the age of nine. The tnhH™ tion. of "Daisy Ashford: Her Book/' tainmg the remaining novels" of the rrM authoress, is the more to be regretted since these stones are obviously the work of a child mind, and indeed are such as almost any child with an average imagination and a fancy for scribbling might have wwT" OX3^ y the quality which made The Young Visiters" famous In a preface to her second book Miss Dw Ashford says:— J "A Short Story of Love and MarnW* I wrote at eight years old. It was dionSln 0 m Li a r her ' wh ,° took it down faithfully word for word. My verv fir*+ Br!d *. « also dictated M among those that have been lost. TTie True History of Leslie Woodcock" was a Liter production, and was written at about the ago of 11, as a surprise for my mother on her britbdav . . . "Where Love Lie s Deepest" was written when I was 12, and dedicated to our governess, of whom I was very fond. "The Hangman's Daughter" started f-i the age of about 13 and finished tho foi»(1) "Interim," by Dorothy M. Richardson. London: Dnokworth and Co. (2) "Daisy Ashford: Her Book." A collection of the remaining novels hy the author of "Tne Yoitns Visiters," together with "Tne Jealous Governess," by Angela Ashford. London: Cfeatto and Windue.

lowing year, f always consider tho greatest literary achievement of my youth. . . I can never fool all tho nice things that have boon s>airl about " Tho VToung Visiters" are really duo to me at all, but to a Daisy Asbford of so long- ago, that silo scorns almost, another person. ]t has all been like a fairy tale, from tho accidental finding of the. original note-boon to tho day when, at her request,! loft a copy with ray friend, Miss Margaret Mackenzie, for it is to her I really owe the publication of tho book. Sho showed :t to Mr Frank Swinnerton, and then I was lucky enough to have it brought to the notice of Messrs Chatto and Windus. But tho real success of the book I owo 'o the great kindness of Sir James Barrie in writing such a wonderful preface. An examination of the contents of "Daisy Asiitord: Her Book," inevitably excitts the question whother "Tho Young Visiters'' is alco ' jLitr Jjook,' and wiieumr in- uuuils Jjumo v.as content with merely writing the preface. For "The Young Visiters" lweais something of the same quality winch posseiiscs Miss Dorothy Richardson's stor.ts, and as JVIr Mais remarks in his article in ■\book3 and. iiicir writersr' "tneru is 110 question about Miss Richardson's genius.'' Writing with special reference to "The Tunnel," he goes on to say:— As novel loilows novel in rapid succession, ail dealing with, the development of Miriam Henderson, wo l'eel moie un<l more certainly that the authoress has justified her peculiar method ot presentation. She has detinitely cut loose iroiii tradition. She relies on no incident to revive our interest: there is neuuer beginning nor end: there is 110 reason why tne series should not bo continued to infinity. Her thoughts and impressions take up the whole of the book, fcjmdocs not analyse; she does not explain, she does not narrate; she simply unfolds the workings of a girl's mind. As a result, she gets closer 10 actualities than any writer outside the Russians. . . . And yet at the end o£ all, she does interest us. "The Tunnel" is no easy book to read. Quite nine tenths of those who take it up will not have patience to work out the rich ore contained in it, for there is rich ore, and concentration is certainly needed if we are to profit by the experience of ploughing through it. The identification> of Miss Richardson, with her heroine, is closely and cleverly accomplished by Miss May Sinclair, when she says of the novelist: ehe must be Miriam Henderson. She must not know or divine anything that Miriam does not know or divine: she must not see anything that | Miriam dees not see. 'She has taiken Miriam's nature upon her. She is not concerned in the way other novelists are concerned with character. Of the persons who move through Miriam's world you know nothing but what Miriam knows." a similar result is achieved with signal success by Miss Clemence Dane in '"Legend," one of the most greatly discussed books of the year. Hie heroine of 1 the story, Madala Grey, does not oiice appear in its pages; the reader gains his knowledge of the character indirectly through the conversation of a little group of people who in no wise understand her. Yet the "Legend" is perfect, and there is nothing to add. Close to reality, as Miss Dane succeeds in getting, Miss Richardso'i comes clcser still. "No atticide or gesture of her aim,'' says Miss Sinclair, "is allowed to come between her and her effort. Whatever her sources and her raw material, she is concerned, and we ought to be concerned, solely with tho finished' result, the work of art. It is to Miriam's almost painfully acute' senses that we owe what in any other novelist would be called the portraits of Miriam's mother, of her sister Harriet, of the Corries and .Toey Banks in Honeycomb, of the Miss Pernes, and Julia Doyle, and the North London school girls in Backwater, of Fiviulein Pfaff and Mademoiselle, of the Martins, and Emma Bergmann, and Ulrica and 'tiie Australian' in 'Pointed Roofs.' The mere 'word painting' is masterly." The thought packed into "Interim," foi instance, is positively marvellous, and the London backgrounds are perfect pictures "n their way. A brief paragraph conjures up a .whole vision, as for instance: — The Euston Road was a narrow, hot channel of noise and unbreathable odours, the dusty, exhausting cruelty of the London summer, leading on to the feathery green floored woods i of Endsleigh Gardens, edged by grey housefronts, and ending in the cool stone of St. Pancras Church. She would find coolness at, the Leart of the swelter of London if sho could keep a tranquil mind. The coolness at the heart nf the central swelter was wonderful life, from this moment, pure life. To go forward now, from this moment, alive, keeping alive, through tho London summer. Even to go away for holidays would be to break up the wonder, to snap the secret clue and lose the secret life. The gold was fading, a soft mistiness spreading through the deepening rose, making the leafage darker and more opaque. Presently the sky would be mother of pearl above a soft dark mass, and then pure evening grey outlining the dark feathery tree-tops of a London square turning to green below in the lamplight, sinking to sleep, deeply breathing out its freshness to meet the freshi ness pouring through the streets from the neighbouring squares. Freshness 'would steal over the outside walk of the houses already cool within. Only in the garrets would the_ sultry day remain under the slowly cooling roof.

There are wonderful thoughts in "Interim," thoughts about music, thoughts about religion, thoughts about life, thoughts about books, thoughts about people, all compelling the reader'to think as he reads. In ner combination of the Very New with tho. Very Old Miss Richardson offers an antidote to what may be called the narcotic novel, with its kinema characters and its panoramic plot. People to-day aro dulling their thoughts, by the frequency of their visits to the picture houses, which cater expressly for the intellectually lazy and the mentally tired audiences; who uneconomically increase the shortage of sugar by a well nigh incessant chewing of lollies. Miss Richardson has uttered her protest, and for the few who are able to read and enjoy her novels the "movies" will positively have neither attraction nor charm. Reading Ibsen's "Brand" Miriam thinks on this wise: — Why did ho write it? A book by a genius is alive. That is why Ibsen is superior to novels; because it is not quite about the people or the thoughts. There is something else; a sort of lively freshness all over even tho saddest parts, preventing your feeling sorry for the people.