LITERATURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3313, 12 September 1917, Page 53

LITERATURE.

BOOK NOTICES. "Through the Iron Bars." By Emile Cammaerts. Illustrated from cartoons by Louis Raemaekers. London : John Lane, "The Bodley Head."' (Paper; 6d net.) This is the story of the sufferings of Belgium at the present moment, written by a Belgian eye-witness. It is of a nature to make the reader's blood boil with helpless indignation and rage. It is a minute and careful account, written with great moderation and supported by statistics. Again and again, in one form of words or another, the author repeats the statement that the atrocities of the first weeks of the war which made the whole of Europe shudder with indignation and wrath, are slight when compared with the state of things at the present moment, for the cruelties of the early days were swift and sure, and, "considered in the light of present deportations, almost merciful." The horrors of Louvain and Dinant have been compared, with some reason, to the excesses of the Thirty Years war; but modern history offers no parallel to the present system of forced labour and wholesale deportations. It is slavery under its worst conditions—the slavery of white civilians who are not even prisoners of war. Step by step the fiendish programme intended to crush out the soul of a people has been, and is still being, carried out with every aggravation of brutality; and the ' 'sound of her crying reaches us only from time to time, muffled by the enemy's stranghold, which grows ever tighter and tighter." Step by step this evil has been wrought spite of the most solemn pledges to the contrary. Again and again the officials in charge of Brussels and other cities declared that they "did not intend to hurt the feelings and self-respect of the inhabitants; that their onlv aim was to protect them." Each one of these promises was but another "scrap of paper," to be torn up and thrown to the winds as suited the writers :

Since August, 1914, thousands of civilians have been imprisoned or deported: workmen, because they refused to work for the enemy; lawyers, because they refused to accept his laws; bankers, because they would not let their money cross the frontiers; professors, because they would not consent to propagate Kultur; journalists, because the3 r objected to print Wolff's news; tradespeople, because thoy put their patriotism above their private interests; priests, because they did not worship the German god; women, because they did not admire German officers; children, because they did not play the German games.

The imprisoned Belgians were killed in hundreds, "sometimes for small offences, sometimes for no offence at all. For the Germans are in a hurry, and they have no time to inquire too closely into such matters. The vengeance of a spy, the slightest suspicion of a policeman, sometimes even an anonymous letter, are sufficient to convince them of the guilt of any accused person." And what becomes of the unfortunate deportees? Torn from their homes and families, often with no clothes but what thev stand upright in, they are marched through the streets, flung into cattle trucks, and carried—no one knows where. If any ever return, it is as bruised and beaten men. dving of disease and famine." And yet they are not beaten any more than the first Christian martyrs were beaten. From the laden trucks fall little letters from these white slaves urging their fellow countrymen" not to give up the struggle, not to support a "false peace," and, above all, "do not sign an engagement to work in Germany. Do not sign a German peace." These men have lost all but their own souls and the approval of their own consciences; but they will not accept the German olive branch. "It is no lonuer green. There is a drop of blood on every leaf."

There is but one peace that matters. It is the peace of man with his own conscience, the peace of the soul with its God. We have it alreadv, and- even the roar of the German cruns will not, disturb it. It hovers over our trenches, over the sea, even over those terrible German camos where the hiest blnod of a great people is being chained by the vampire of war. ... It is not for Germany to offer peace. She has lost it with her honour. . . . The victorv of the Allies will be our victory, and—if we should ever consider the possfbilitv of defeat—their defeat would be out defeat. . . . Tlie whole "poliev of Germany is determined bv her first

stroke in the war. That stroke was delivered aarainst a small nation. The whole policy of Entrland and of the Allies is determined bv their first efforts in the struggle. And these efforts were made to protect a small nation against Germany's aggression. Never has the

choice between right and wrong been made plainer in the whole history of the world.

The cartoons of the famous characturist Raemaekers adds much to the power of this pamphlet, which in its present cheap and portable form should be in the hands of every reader.

"In the Royal Naval Air Service." By Harold Kosher, with an Introduction by Arnold Bennett. London: Chatto and Windus. (Paper, with portrait of author ; Is net.) This is the fourth edition—containing some additional letters —of the actual experiences of one of our brave naval _ aviators. It is a graphic and moving picture of life in the flying corps; and the public, who have little conception of the real work of that body, will realise, whils reading these letters, a little of the dangers risked, and the personal character required by those who wage war in the air. It is perhaps the finest picture yet written of a young pilot's training and early difficulties. The frankly intimate nature of the letters, even the slang, make an irresistible appeal; and the one which describes the writer's feeling while bombing Antwerp under terrific fire may well become a classic. The effect of this little volume is to make the older among its readers feel how well bartered would be our too many years for such a few stirring months 01 true service as closed Harold Rosher's career at 23. Arnold Bennett's Introduction gives the personal history and parentage of the young hero, and ends with this remarkable personal testimony : I was quite extraordinarily Impressed by his bearing and speech. In age and appearance he was a mere boy—a handsome boy, too. But the gestures of youth were restrained. He was very modest, but he was not diffident. In the presence of men older than his father he upheld in the most charming and effective way the dignity of his own generation. He talked Quietly, but no one could escape the conviction that he knew just what he was talking about. All his statements were cautious, _ and in giving a description or an opinion he seemed to dread superlatives. He had the eye and the voice of one who feared no responsibility, and who, having ruled himself, was thoroughly equal to ruling others.

"Canada Chaps." By J. G. Some. London : John Lane, "The Bodley Head." (Cloth; Is net.) This is the latest addition to the war series commencing; with "Kitchener Chaps." The present volutme opens with a sketch of a wounded typical Canadian citizen soldier, who embodies in his own person the finest traits of his country, and who emphatically declares: See here, we went to the front because we wanted to. It was our scrap. . . . The Empire was at war. We don't want you to think that it was "good" of us to come. It wasn't that way that we came. We came because we wanted to. ... I like to "have that clear with every one. It was our scrap just as much as England's. Don't forget it. The same man, speaking of his feehjags in the firing line, says: isr^ Sometimes you feel as if it can't be real. I've seen things, watched them, and felt nothing. It's like a movie. It's not real; you feel it can't be. Sometimes you want to feel and can't. There's other times when you feel just scared. You're frightened still. You lie there in the trenches. You're wet and cold, and shells come pounding down on you. You lie and wonder where the next will land. You're scared. So's the man next to you. You folk back here at home think it's all charging and recklessness, and rush and feeling nothing. Well, it isn't. Don't you see it's far finer just the way it is. The men are scared to death, yet cheery. They're frightened stiff, yet they '"'do" the things. They haven't much to joke about, and yet they're cheery all the time. They're fine. Don't you see that's fine. The same man speaks of the "fascination" of the game, and longs to be back, and the reason that he gives is the comradeship. And the grand equality. . . . Out there it's the only time I've ever known the way it feels to be just the same. Equal. That's where war is grand. . . . It's horrible and terrible, and wicked, too; but you can share and die and bo as good as any man. . . . Out there wo help and want too. That's what makes the difference. . . . And when you're through, by God ! it's worth it. The rest of tho volume is filled with tales and sketches of the Canadians at home and abroad.

—— ZEALAND NOVEL. By Constant Reader.

As a rule I fight shy of "Prize Novels"; they are generally disappointing, and scarcely over has a front-rank novelist been discovered by a " Thousand guinea Novel Competition '' —Miss Selma Lagerlof being a notable exception. The fact that "Myola" came heralded as a New Zealand novel provided mo with the first incentive, and the story, once started, compelled attention to the end. The author —H. Musgravq—is an unknown quantity in the field of fiction; I judge her to be a woman, and a colonial —probably an Australian rather _ than a New Zeafander; but this is deductive guesswork. The story begins and ends in New Zealand ; the action of the body of the book taking place in England. It is a strong story, dramatic, almost melodramatic, in its conception, and it ought to stage remarkably well. I shall not spoil the interest of readers by outlining the plot; but there are certain implications in the novel which appear to reflect the mind of the writer.

Tho heroine, Myola. was born in Queensland, and named after the place of her birth. Her early life was shadowed by the drink-craving to which her father was a victim, and which led to their settling in

the remote back-blocks of the far north of New Zealand. The descriptions of North Island scenery are very well done, and back-block life is painted in with a. good deal of artistio fidelity. The first implication is that the titled scions attached to the Government House staff —in Australia, of course —do not hesitate to play fast-and-loose with colonial girls; and that the girls, on their part, provided they fall in love, do not shirk the consequences. With Myola marriage was of little import; love and maternity were everything. When the scene shifts to England the self-poseessed and self-contained, colonially educated and trained young woman—of whom Myola is a type—is placed in sharp contrast to the ill-bred, flignty, and superficial American heiresses, whose only ambition is to marry into the English aristocracy. Although Myola is a girl with a past, she more than holds her own with the legally married American girls. The atmosphere of this part of tho book is cleverly created, and the ensuing complications are ingenious and well worked out. The general competency of the Australian girl in contrast to her helpless English and American sister, is illustrated when Myola comes to the rescue of her hostess in a matter of a dinner party. At the last moment, after the menu had been drafted and the guests invited, the cook disgraces herself by ting drunk. Myola, rising to the occasion, turns to and cooks tho dinner to the entire satisfaction of all concerned, afterwards appearing in the drawing room and taking part, in the general conversation. Miss " Musgrave," if her first novel is a fair sample of her talent, " should be heard of again." "Myola" is well worth reading, the theme is strongly but delicately handled, and the tone of the story is beyond cavil. There is not a line in the book which will give offence to the most sensitively minded. Above all, there is not a word in the novel about the war, and this in itself in a great relief. I predict for "Myola" a good circulation in the Dominion.