LITERATURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3205, 18 August 1915, Page 74

LITERATURE.

BOOK NOTICES. “Kitchener Limps.” By A. Xeil Lyons. London; Jomi Lane (“The Bodiey Head r ). (doth; Is.) This is a volume ot capital short articles having lor tneir aim some phase of the war movement, some prana, or humorous trait of tire steadily-increasing band of “Kitchener Chaps,” proud to be designated by that Honoured name. Air A eil Lyons has already written several volumes ox short, humorous stories which have been well received by the London press, and have already reached several editions. His books are “ full ot laughter and tears,” and bits that one feels impelled to read aloud. One story in the present collection combines these qualities in the highest degree. It is the story of a deformed young fellow who “lived a very secret life in a little loft in Shandy lane above the haddock-smokers,” and worked in the pickle works. This poor fellow had been run over as a nipper and fearfully maimed. His body was frail and broiten, but his heart was the heart of a lion. When the war broke out he went to the recruiting office, but was dismissed with contumely. Then he set to work to recruit on his own account, and never ceased until he had recruited all the young men of suitable ago and physique who had worked in the pickle factory’. Quaint and deeply pathetic are the means which “ Nicht ” employs for this purpose, and before he can gain the last man he suffers himself to be “ bashed ” almost to death, counting his life of no value, so that he may gain another recruit for “ Kitchener’s army.” One absurd story narrates the tale of “The Mutiny in Sludge Lane.” Sar’nt Majaw (Sergeant-major) tells of Che “licking into shape” of a squad <f “doggies” from Mid-Lancaster, of how he got his “twice nine hundred and eighty clogs, and put them in a row, and when he told them to move they moved, and what he told them to do they did.” Another yarn tolls of the wounded soldier who was nursed “in silk and down r.y a grateful Government—at somebody else s' expense, some private person’s expense.” There are many and various reasons for recruiting set forth in these pages, but none better than those advanced by Mr Sydney Tunics, and few new members of an “ awkward squad ” have found themselves more awkwardly placed than “Private Joe Dasent ” when he found himself commanded by his own son. Thus in quick kaliodoscopic vision do a few of “Kitchener Chaps” pass before the reader, who feels quite pleased to m ake their acquaintance. “The Good Soldier.” By Ford Madox Hueffer. London : John Lane (“ The Bodiey Head ”). (3s 6d, 2s 6d.) This is a careful and elaborate analysis of the characters of two married couples, mated, but not matched, each one of the four being absolutely antagonistic to the other three. These two couples live side by side. They are intimate friends, wealthy people, who visit the same water-ing-places and frequent the same places of amusement. They know each , other as well as it is possible to know anybody, and yet in another sense they knew nothing of each other. This intimacy, 'that was, after all, no intimacy, had gone on for nine years, when the fatal communication was made by the wife of Cautain Ashburnham to Mr Dowell (the writer of tion was made by the wife of Captain .Ashburnham and Airs Dowell - have been on too familiar terms for some time, and that the lady’s illness has been merely a ruse to blind her husband to her improper conduct. The story tells in detail how this state of things occurred, and gives a minute analysis of the character and conduct of 'all the parties concerned. “ The Good Soldier ” is Captain Ashburn - ham, who seems to possess every virtue desirable in a soldier, a landed proprietor, a friend, and a citizen, except faithfulness to his marital vows; and. as it is the man whom, technically, Ho has most injured who makes this avowal, it is probably correct. Such a case is not unprecedented, and Air Ford Madox Hueffer works out his theme with extraordinary knowledge and close / observation. The book is, of course, like all this author's work, a triumph of literary workmanship. reminding ns in mauv ways of Mr Henry James; and although the central theme is certainly unpleasant, it is calculated to give rise to much serious consideration. The author-—a typical Realist —wishes merely to point out-certain facts, leaving, their interpretation—if there is anv—to his readers, and reserving to himself a purely agnostic attitude ; Mind, I am not preaching anything contrary to accepted morality. I am pot advocating free love in this or any other case. Society must go on. I suppose, and society could only exist if the normal, if the virtuous, and the slightly deceitful flourish, and if the passionate, the headstrong, and the too truthhff condemned to suicide and madness. And I guess that T myself in mv fainter way come into the category of the passionate. of the. headstrong, and the too truthful: for I can’t conceal from myself that T loved Edward Ashburnham, and that T loved him because he was just myself. Tf T had had the courage and the virility, and possihlv also the phyaioue. of Edward Ashburnham, T sh on Id. T fancy, have done much what lie did. He seems to me like a large elder brother who took me out on several excursions and di 1 many dashing tilings whilst T just watched him robbing the orchard- from a distance. The villains in this story are punished with suicide and madness. “ The heroine —the perfectly normal, virtuous, and slightly deceitful heroine—is rewarded by becoming the happy wife of a perfectly normal and slightly deceitful * husband. She will shortly become the mother of a perfectly normal, virtuous, and slightly deceitful son or daughter; so the story comes to a happy ending, wedding bells, and all.” It is a queer story, told in a most unusual manner, and it is often

difficult to find a path through what seems like a maze of mixed motives and cross actions. It is supposed to be told to a silent listener in a country cottage, who hears it between the gusts of wind, the noises of the distant sea, and the cries of the gulls; and it is told in a reminiscent manner, without chronological order, backwards and forwards, just as the different incidents strike the attention of the reciter ; for “ real stories are probably told best in the way a person telling a* story would tell them.” The story thus told is amazingly real and convincing. “ Xurse Charlotte.” By L. T. Meade. London: John Long. (Cloth; 7d.) This is the latest addition to Mr John Long’s issue of sevenpenny novels—a modern form of “ half-hours with the best authors.” It tells the story of the feud which for long years destroyed the peace of two families—a" feud which was the result of mutual misunderstanding, and was ended by a mutual explanation and wider knowledge, and sealed by the passing of a “ deed of oblivion” in which Xurse Charlotte played a very important part, similar to that exercised by a ray of sunshine in a dark house. ‘‘The Undying Race.” By Rene Milan. London: Stanley Paul and Co. (5s 6d, 2s 6d.) This is a very remarkable book, of special value at the present crisis. The author, Rene Milan, is a French torpedoboat commander, now serving in the Flying Corps of the French navy. He appears to be bi-lingual, for in his preface to the English edition of this novel he says : “ This book was imagined, written, and finished in Gloucestershire; its material was mainly drawn from those exhaustless collections, the Bodleian Library and the British Museum.” The story itself may be described as history touched with romance, fact interpreted by fiction. The period covers some 25 centuries, from 500 b.c. to the present time, and the book treats of the evolution of one family and of one race; and incidentally of all families and all races. It follows the chronicle from father to son, choosing always some one member of the family, sometimes harking back to a collateral branch, but never losing sight of the main issue. The method of telling takes the form of living pictures with appropriate setting, enlivened by conversation and description. With light, vivid, virile pen Rene Milan paints his series of pictures ,made real by the unmistakable touch of genius which makes the dead bones live. It is an epitome of the history of Europe for the period it covers. Those who have never learned any history, tho:e who have forgotten what they once knew, those who remember and love to trace analogies, will be equally pleased with it.' History repeats itself. In the Huns with their brutal ferocity, delight in bloodshed, inhuman cruelty and gosjiel of hatred we behold the true ancestors of the Kaiser and his military supporters. Huns in nature and by descent with all the advantages of greater intelligence and the results of knowledge and skill as applied to the arts of war, in them are found the same character and the same conduct as that of Yaleuz and Attila. It is not only of the Russian that Napoleon’s famous saying holds true, “ Scratch the Cossack and you find the Tartar.” Savage man lies at the back of each one of us: it is our business to see that that savage never again comes to the surface. Woe to that nation which preaches the reversion to type and the gospel of hate!