LITERATURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3309, 15 August 1917, Page 48

LITERATURE.

BOOK NOTICES

" Enchantment." By E. Temple Thurston. London: T. Eisher Unwin. (Cloth; 45.)

" There is nothing so full of magic as reality. But just because some dunderhead has shuffled the issues up in a basketful of modern words and newfashioned terminologies, we have come to regard an express train as a far less wonderful thing than a pair of three-legged boots. . . . The pity of it is that wonder has gone out of the eyes of man before knowledge has crept in. He is like a child who has been permitted a glimpse behind the scenes, and, having seen the crude reality of ropes and pulleys, of changing liglits and shifting canvases, can no longer enjoy the magic of the story on the stage." Thus Mr Thurston, in support of his contention that magic and romance are as truly with us now in the twentieth century as they were in any of the preceding ages. Enchantment is here and now if we would only recognise it. Here, too, are all the time-honoured characters of the fairy tale —the enchanted princess; the stern king, her father; the court physician; the wise woman nurse; Prince Charming and the Deadly Dragon; tne joy of life and the test of life. All these, with countless other necessary details, are to be found in Mr Thurston's charming Irish story, " Enchantment," full of local colour and genuine Hibernian humour; and, just as in the time-honoured fairy tale, we are told no more than is absolutely necessary, for when once the princess is set free of the spell of enchantment, in the thrall of which she has been held, the end is left to the imagination of the reader, so here it is only with the big issues of life, however skilfully diagnosed, that the storyteller concerns himself, and, having settled these to his and our satisfaction, finds nothing further to relate " Once upon a time," says the fairy tale, " there was a king of a great country. . . ." And wasted no moment on genealogical trees or such contrivances to explain how and when he attained that dignity, nor why the enchanted princess was so much more desirable than all her sisters, or Prince Charming so superior in looks and daring to his many brothers, all these less important details being eclipsed by, or merged in, the more important facts which, to romancists of all ages, are greater than any psychological analysis of motive, or the searching inquiry of the proo.em novel. As an example of the delightful Irish humour of a thoroughly Irish novel, much of which is put dramatically into the mouths of the "king" ....v m-,.2 "nurse," we give the Jollpwing:— « \ r ~~~ .-j, priest has a bigger business than wan who would be paintin' his name on an office window. Shure, doesn't he spend half his days gittin' a man to make his promises to the Lord God, and the other half on makin' the peace of the pore fella with the Lord God for breakin' 'em? 'Tis a grand trade, I'm tellin' ye, for - 'tis that way a man gets paid both sides of the counter. But 'tis damn pore pay, and I dunno would he make a livin' out of it if there were . nine days in a short week. . . there's one thing that beats me, 'tis a woman when she has to be explainin' her mind, and she tying the wits of the Lord God into an almighty knot the way it would tease the patience of any saint in heaven to be untyin' it for Him. . . . There's being drunk and havin' a drop taken. And I thank the Almighty it is possible for a man to be pleadin' guilty on both counts at the same time. . . . Ah, shure I'm drunk; but the question is, Will I be doin' better if I confess it? "Carmen's Messenger." By Harold Bindloss. London, Melbourne, etc. : Ward, Lock, and Co. (Cloth; illustrated ; 45.) The scene of Mr Harold Bindloss's new novel is laid first in Western Canada, then in the Border district of England and Scotland, sometimes on one side of the line and sometimes on the other, returning to Canada for the final denouement. The hero, " Carmen's Messenger," is a fine, straightforward, English-born colonial, who, having undergone great hardship's in the Old Country and on his

arrival in the New, has " made good " as partner in a sawmilling business. When the story opens this man. John Foster by name, is on the point of starting for England with his partner, Lawrence Featherstone, for a well-earned holiday; but Lawrence, having been traced by a persistent blackmailer, is afraid to go, yet

insists on his partner making the journey and going to stay with his people in North Britain. Before Foster leaves Canada Carmen Austen, who appears friendly towards him, although her father is a business rival, requests him to take a small parcel and deliver it personally to an address in Edinburgh. Of course, he accepts the apparently trifling commission. Serious results follow. The little parcel contains stolen bonds of great value, obtained by murder, and Foster only discovers this after he has given, them up. In his efforts to recover them he finds that the murderous thieves are part of a gang connected with his partner's blackmailer. He does not therefore dare to give his information to the police lest it should lead to Lawrence's disgrace and forms the wild project of tracking down the culprits himself. This scheme, absurd as it appears, springs from the kindest motives of devoted friendship, and leads to some very fine experiences in the Borderland, good descriptions of their wild moors and moss-hags, and of their hardy, staunch, silent natives. Foster has glimpses of a country as wild and jDieturesque, though on a less magnificent scale, than Western Canada, and he becomes associated with many strange characters, who show him hitherto unknown sides of life. One of the most startling of these adventures makes Foster, almost against his will, take part with some poachers, and assist in their escape from authority. This brings about an introduction to Pete Scott, who leaves his poaching to become a sort of guide and companion in Foster's strange quest. "Carmen's Messenger" is full of adventure and fine descriptions of wild, romantic, little-known country; but the filot is complicated and not easily folowed, and there is a good deal of repetition in the incidents. It is, however, a clean and wholesome story, and, like all the work of this popular author, it advocates high ideals, faithful friendship, sincere love, and an earnest devotion to duty.

" Chin Music." By Koble Howard. London : John Lane, " The Bodley

Head," (Cloth; Is net.) This is a bright, sparkling little volume of dialogues, all with a • martial note, and each telling its own story in short, wellchosen words. For instance, the first dialogue. " Dinner With Dad," in two parts, 'July, 1914 and 1916," shows the difference between the schoolboy, who finds the club, with all its details, " magnificent," and dines contentedly on a roast and vegetables, washed down with ginger beer, and the sub-lieutenant, dining with the same father at the same club, himself the centre of interest and condescendingly appreciative of a fine menu, while his father indulges in a " grilled chop and potato." One of the most irresistibly humorous of the series called "All the War Round" is "Top Dog.'" also in two parts —"Last Year" and "This Year." In the former the then "Top Dog" is entreated by his jobbing gardener to give him a day's work, as " times are bad " ; in the second, the once Top Dog entreats the gardener to come and tidy up his place, which, after some demur, the man condescends to do, making his own terms —wages, rate of two and a-half previous pay,—" no diggin' " ("It hurts me back"), and a self-selected dinner on his master's premises and at his expense. Somewhat on the same topsy-turvy lines is "A Christmas Dream," which is by no means all a dream. Very excellent, too, are "The Moods of Grandmama," representing " Grandmama at Peace," the elderly lady drinking tea " beneath- the historic elm " in July, 'l4, assiduously waited on by her grand-niece, declaring that all that old people want is peace and rest. "There is nothing that could rouse me from this quiet lethargy into which I have fallen." And the same lady two years later, seated in a severe chair at a severe table, under the same historic elm, busily " stamping documents with a rubber stamp at the rate of 300 a minute," issuing orders to all and sundry, and writing rousing letters to laggards even in high places, such as:

My dear Archdeacon, —Your twaddling excuses to hand this morning. I really cannot waste time in expostulation. Unless you let me have a complete list of reservists' wives in your district who have less than a pound a week all told by Tuesday next, I shall take the matter in hand myself and ignore your official position.