"THE GARDEN PARTY"

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18535, 21 April 1922, Page 7

"THE GARDEN PARTY"

KATHERINE MANSFIELD’S NEW '■. STORIES. A GIFTED NEW ZEALAND WBITTBIU' (From Ode Own Cohbesponde^.)”;;; LONDON, February. ZS.Jif ‘‘They are like life reflected _ in a' .pound/ mirror. Everything is exquisitely bright-,: exquisitely distinct, and just a little .queer,’' , Tliis was said by one of the relentless/ guardians of English literature, the London critics, of Katherine Mansfield’s first collection of stories, ‘‘Bliss.” Of the samq cqllec-. : tion the Cambridge Review said; “Xhi» book places Miss Mansfield as the best of - our contemporary writer of fiction.”-:,; ‘ And now this gifted New Zealander—daughter of Mr H. Beauchamp, ,of ~Wel---lington—has produced a nety volume; entitled ‘‘The Garden Party” (published by Constable and Co.). Whereas the' - former collection of stories was the intermittent work of_ six years, this later book has" been written in a year. Not that there, : is any indication of more hasty authorship-!;; Miss Mansfield, in private life Mrs Middle-* ton Murry, has enjoyed better health sine* - she has been living in Switzerland, and, doubtless, in the next few years everyone- f will be looking for other stories from hor.' pen. Though she has been in Europe.for■*/ number of years she seems still to prefer*; the more open spaces of the Southern,,,lands, as the settings for her stories.' Yet- “story’” > is hardly the word. .They am sections of» |ifo limned with such starting accuracy cf : detail that one has the uncomfortable feeling sometimes of eavesdropping or of being. an uninvited guest when intimate domestic ' drama is being unfolded. Few writers ofshort stories have been so daring as to ■ ignore plot and climax almost entirely, vein- - Miss Mansfield paints her section of life with such mastery that any attempt at ' completeness or climax.would be a-weakness"* and. unreal. There is something, of.-ther * realism of the best Russian authors in. her, >. writing, without their pessimism.; fir'?. Not a few of the present group of sketches/ * evidently have for their setting some eluded Tasmanian bay where the worker*from the city nearby have mad** i their-'** summer home. In others we recoghisd the--more familiar scenery on the coast of the/’ North Island of New Zealand where- tlio*-? hammock is slung under the manuka Yet these distinct and unique settingsido*-*-not distract the attention from the hnnihitw' they help to reveal. In ‘‘At the - Bay*?we are introduced to a whole summer colony?) and share in the joy they .feel for , thee- - open-air life and- the sea. There arelightful pen pictures of whole families/ but-* individuals _in these families stand out TV'S vivid detail. “Stanley Fairfield was nqtf-v the Stanley whom everyone saw.- not--the * every-day one; but a timid, •sensitive, * cent Stanley, who knelt .down every night* ’ to say his prayers and who longed to 'b*™ good.’ But Linda, hia wife, what-of:her?*-> “She saw her Stanley so seldom. There *, were glimpses, moments, breathing- spaces':! of calm, but all the rest of the’ timo-it»'! was like living in a house that couldn’t be":cured of the'habit of catching on fire. on a ship that got wrecked every day.-' And. it '- was always Stanley who was in the-thick*-' 'of the danger. Her whole time was spent* ' in rescuing him and restoring him and calming him down and listening to his ■‘story.’ And what was left of her time was spent'!* in the dread of having children.’*'Stanley lias to catch the coach to town.- ! “You might cut me a slice of that *breadt ( -* mother,’’ said Stanley. “I’ve only; twelve and a-hglf minutes before the ooachpksse*;/ Has anyone given my shoes to the’ servant: ■ girl?” ’ ‘Yes, they’re ready for you.” Mrs - ' Fairfield was quite unruffled. . . . Stan--" ley pushed back his chair ai.d got up. ' “Would you get me those shoes, mother f ■ And, Beryl, if you’ve finished/' I Witte you’d cut down to the gate and stop tJs*-" coach. Run in to your mother, Isabel/' 1 and ask her where my bowler hat's beeri'-" put? Wait a minute—have you childreir--been playing with my stick?” . , He snatched his bowler hat dashed out of-'/ the house, and swung down the garden/ path. Yes, the coach was there waiting,'* % and Beryl, leaning over the open gate, was ■’ laughing up at somebody or other just nothing had happened. The heartlessness of women! The way they took it'“for*' granted it was your job to slate away-' 1 ’ for them while they didn't oven -take' 1 trouble to see that your walking-stick lost Kelly trained his whip across the" horses. -‘i “Good-bye, Stanley,” called Beryl, sweetly' • and gaily. It was easy enough to say' - ' good-by©! And there she stood, idle, shading -her eyes with her hand. The worst of it was Stanley bad to shout good-bye t00,.' for the sake of appearances. Then he sa.tr her turn, give a little skip and nin *barft ? ' to the house. She was glad to be rid of I .' him ! . . . Oh. the relief, the difference 1 5 it made to have the man out of the'house, v The return of the selfish \man ‘'in’ thV° evening reveals a clever touch of sarcasm:- : “Forgive me, darling, forgive me," shim*-** mered Stanley, and he put his hand undo'**''’ her chin and lifted her face to him. “Forgive you?” smiled Linda. “But' whatever for?” “Good God! You can’t have forgotten,” cried Stanley Burnell.' “I’ve thought of* nothing else all day. I’ve had the hell of-' a day. I made up my mind to dash- ont>*' and telegraph, and then I thought the wire ' mightn’t reach you before I did.-:-!T'vo--been in tortures, Linda. . . . -Didn't*’ you realise —you must have realise&^fhit^' l ' I went- away without saying good-byfe- ro-* you this morning? I can’t imagine* how”: I can have done such a thing. My con-' - founded temper, of course. But—well—l’ve suffered for it enough to-day.” “What- ’s that you’ve got in your hand?” asked Linda. “New gloves? Let me see.” “Oh, just a cheap pair of of wash-leather ones,” said Stanley humbly. “I noticed 801 l was wearing some in the coach this morning, so, as I was passing the shop, I dashed in and‘got myself a pair. What are; ’ you smiling at? You don’t think it was “ wrong of me, do you?” ' *. “On the contrary, darling,” said;,Lifida, ““ “I tliink it was most sensible.” : She pulled one of the large, pale gl ores’ ,,r on her own fingers and looked at her hand. 1 turning it this way and that. She was still smiling. Stanley wanted to say: “I was thinking of you the whole time I bought, them.” But it is not wise to lift these ’ subtle silhouettes; from the completed canvas. Those who have read “Bliss” will need no persuasion l to read this new collection." Those yiho have not should make acquaintance with the writings of this greatly talented New Zealand author. • THE ORDINARY MADE EXTRA- . ORDINARY. “Whereas the first collection. ‘Bliss,’--could properly be called short stories,” saya.; -_- the Daily Chronicle, “we should hesitate.-, to classify the contents of the present .- volume under that reading. They are. in . . fact, phases of life on which a strong,,, >' hard, brilliant light has been focussed., , They are just ordinary episodes of ordinary' people; but Miss Mansfield makes them extraordinary by the consummate art. which, she employs to detach them.. She.displays”... the passionate intensity combined 'with the cold intellectuality of a man of science m her exhaustive analysis of and penetration into human motives. ‘ “If you read these little pieces in. .‘The Garden Party’ —as you are advised to do-r,• ; you will likely enough be astonished to-fipd ; that so many episodes, people, traits, which.;,, have seemed to you -among the commonplaces of life, are -here revealed as extraordinarily significant. That is because Misi',. Mansfield can irradiate with her mind' a . world that to most of us is seen as through ’' a gloss darkly.”