BOOKS OF THE BAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3830, 9 August 1927, Page 74

BOOKS OF THE BAY.

FOR BUSINESS MEN. “ How to Make More Net Profit.” By Herbert N. Casson. (Cloth, 6s net’) Sydney: Cornstalk Publishing Company (per Angus and Robertson). “The one best remedy for our business troubles is more net profit. That silly phrase, ‘ gross profit,’ it means nothing. Yon might as well say: * A victorious failure ’ or a ‘disastrous victory.’ ‘ Gross

profit is a phrase that was invented by accountants to hide the inefficiency ot managing directors. ‘ Profit ’ has a definite meaning. It can never be 1 gross.’ It must always be ‘ net.’ ” Mr Herbert N. Casson, editor of the magazine Efficiency, develops these business aphorisms in the book before us in terse, forcible style, with plentiful homely illustrations. His manner recalls that favoured by many American writers; he never allows the attention of the reader to flag, and drives his meaning home in jerky, incisive sentences arranged in short paragraphs. The book is divided into four sections, entitled respectively, “ Not Gross But Net,” ‘‘Few Firms Earn Large Profits,” “ Why Net Profit is so Small,” and “ How to Increase the Net Profit,” the last of which occupies more than half the volume.

Mr Casson’s basal statement that net profit is the only real profit certainly commends itself to ordinary common sense, and his exposure of the ways in which net profit is lessened and his directions for. increasing it should be valuable to business men generally, whether their concerns are large or small. Briefly, he urges more initiative and less waste. Here is an illustration of his statement that gross sales mean nothing. The Crystal Palace in one year took in £105,000, and made no net profit at all, while a lame ewsboy outside the palace probably made £4O. The illustration is scarcely a happy one ; since the Crystal Palace was not primarily a money-making concern, but a means of providing education and refined pleasure for English people. But it puts the illusivcnes of gross proceeds in a clear light.

It will come as a surprise to many readers, probably to all with little knowledge of commercial affairs, to learn how small the net profits of many big businesses actually are. “ The bigger the shop the smaller the net profit has almost become a general rule,” says the author. “Even the most efficient shops in the United States average less than 8 per cent, on sales.” And Monte Carlo, the gambling headquarters, does not make more than 3 per cent. . . . As to the causes why net profit is so small, Mr Casson, writing as one naturally opposed t-o Socialistic legislation, places first “ the intolerable thievery of taxation.” But this is apart Tom the scope of his book, which deals only with matters in which individual business men may help themselves. He finds the main preventable cause of low profits to be bad management. Many managers are incapable. And it is a frequent fault for the managing director to be taken up with routine work. The manager should not be a head clerk, but an active leader, and keep in touch with the employees. Mr Casson stresses the importance of keeping the employees satisfied with their conditions, and interested in the business. Among the many directions for increasing profit arc—search for new methods, stop waste, make goods and shop premises attractive to the public, have a quick turnover, allot responsibility definitely, win the confidence of your banker, get daily reports from all departments, etc. The book justifies its description as a vigorous challenge for more initiative and less waste in business.

A LIVELY TRAVEL BOOK.' “ Six Years in the Malay Jungle.” By Carveth Wells. (Cloth. os.) Sydney: Cornstalk Publishing Company. Per Angus and Robertson, Limited. Mr Carveth Wells did not go to Malaya as a traveller for pleasure or as an explorer, but was sent thither in 1913 to survey a route for a railway, and by the fortunes of war was kept there for six years. He made good use of his time, and in this book tells us a great deal about the country and its human and animal inhabitants. Most of the time was spent in regions quite off the tourist’s lines of travel. He writes in a lively, unconventional style, with a sense of dramatic effect. One might be inclined sometimes to suspect him of over-colour-ing his picture, but Malaya is a land of wonders, and Mr Carveth Wells is a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society; moreover, there is a preface by Dr Frederic Augustus Lucas, Director of the Museum of Natural History, New York, guaranteeing the credibility of Mr Wells’s stories of the little deer he put in his pocket and ate for supper, the fish that climbed trees and winked at him, and other wonders. Dr Lucas indeed allows that Mr Wells seems to take a delight in so telling the truth that-with Hamlet the reader will “ doubt truth to be a liar,” an effect, we are told, produced more strongly by Mr Wells’s lectures than by his printed W'ords. One would like to hear the lectures; the book provides sufficiently lively entertainment. And for the serious reader Mr Wells furnishes an appendix giving information about the fauna, flora, products, arts, and industries of the peninsula. There is also a bibl iograph j- of modern books on the country, while the volume contains a number of illustrations from photographs. In 1914 Mr Wells was joined by his wife, who left England shortly before the outbreak of the Great War, and arrived in Malaya when the Emden was at the height of its activities in East Indian waters. She, like her husband, suffered greatly from diseases incident to life in the jungle; yet, says Mr Wells, both are longing to return; they did not realise till too late their opportunities for research work.

Darwin called the Malay Peninsula “ Topsy Turvy Land.” “ Nature,” says Mr "Wells, “seems to have been upset by the absence of any marked seasons. You will find birds nesting in one tree, and birds of the same species moulting

in another; you may have a tree in your garden with fruit on it, while in the next garden the same kind of tree is in blossom. Ong bird, a small parakeet, sleeps upside down. The male of the bustard quail sits on the eggs, and in pairing time it is the females that do the fighting. Malay bees make honey which they do not use, but accumulate till the immense honeycombs fall off the trees by their own weight. And so on. Rain falls about 270 days in the year, blit there is scarcely ever a wet day.* The weather may be perfectly fine all the morning, then rain 9in Between noon and 3 o’clock, and be fine again for the evening. Throughout the whole time I was in the Peninsula I never knew rain to prevent survey work for a whole day.” It is a land of mountains, rivers,* and forests, lhe Malays live along the rivers, and the greater part of the Peninsula’ has never been trodden by the foot of man. There are, however, secluded tribes of Negrito race living in the jungle. They are of only 4ft to 4ft Gin in stature, and in type quite different from the main Malay race, which is Mongolian. The animfj.l life is wonderfully varied; it is stated in the appendix that about 700 species of birds have been recorded. Insect life is still more abundant and varied. Truly the Malay jungles are a rich hunting ground for the naturalist—happy, perhaps, is not the word, in view of the torments inflicted by poisonous insects and leeches, the menace of snakes, and the debilitating heat and humidity. A wonderful land; and its wonders are here most entertainingly described. ON THE HEIGHTS. “High Snow.” By “Ganpat” (M. L. A. Gompertz).’ (Cloth, 7s 6d net.) London: Hodder and Stoughton. The sublime scenery that forms the background of the human action of this Indian frontier novel would alone go far to make the book. But the character interest is strong, and the motive underlying the plot is a worthy one. Here we are shown man’s unconquerable spirit matching and excelling the sublimities of Nature. The book is not a romance of secluded tribes and hidden kingdoms discovered by a little band of intrepid adventurers like the author’s previous books, “ Harilek,” “The Voice of Dashin,” and others by which he has made a reputation for ’romantic fiction, but a novel of character, in which nothing more extraordinary is encountered than might be expected by a party of English men and women mountaineering in Ladakh, a region of Tibet bordering on Kashmir. There is gaiety and humour in the story, but the leading characters areseriously inclined people of mature age, several of them burdened with problems of their own. John Marlowe, a sapper officer with an ancestry of Eastern explorers, has for years been occupied in survey work, part of the time in the jungles of the Madras Presidency; time and again in the mountain regions of the Northern Frontier among the high snows to which he feels inevitably called. No one dreams that John, who seems to have a mania for clambering over glaciers and precipices, is really obsessed by terror of the mountains. While other mountaineers do not fear till faced with danger, John is always visualising the avalanche, the falling stones, that he expects will one day kill him. But he will not yield to his fear.

At- the commencement of the story a party of friends discuss the attempted conquest of Mount Everest. One man .thinks such an unpractical enterprise is not worth the sacrifice of human lives. Others, and especially Mary Lenox, maintain that the spiritual influence of such examples of what man can dare and endure is well worth the risk. A man who dies in such high enterprise may be doing more for his children by the'inspiration of his example than his guidance could do for them. The Lenoxes are a pleasant, middle-aged couple, the husband a doctor, who accompany John to Ladakh when he goes to undertake a difficult bit of surveying in the Karakorum Mountains. And with the Lenoxes travels Alison Seymour, whose presence soon begins to dim the image of John’s lost love, Ethel Caruthers. Ethel’s death by a mountain fatality during their engagement prevented John from discovering that she was not really the woman suited to him, and though many years have past she has never been long out of his thoughts. Alison has had her own heavy burden to bear and secret fear to combat, for her youth has been passed overshadowed by the dread of inherited insanity on her father’s side. Owing to this she renounced a lover who soon afterwards fell fighting on the French front; and when she becomes aware of the mutual attraction between herself and John she feels that she must again renounce proffered happiness. But she meets a former friend of her mother’s, Alec Cunningham, who has the reputation of a somewhat eccentric recluse, and who has spent long years exploring in wild regions of Central Asia. How Alec Cunningham, learning how matters stand between Alison and John, intervenes and frees Alison from the life burden that has oppressed her may be left for the reader to discover in the right place. In the course of the narrative we are shown much of Tibetan life; we see people of the various tribes, both stationary and nomad; enter Buddhist temples and monasteries, and witness strange ceremonies and religious performances. Readers who .like fiction that opens up new fields, and takes one away from the

trivialities of sophisticated civilisation will do well to inquire for “ High Snow.”

DISCOURSES ON BOOKS. Companionable Books.” By George Gof; don, -Merton Professor of English Literature in the University of *’Oxford. Series I. (Cloth, 2s 6d net.) London: Chatto and Windus. At the invitation of the British Broad; casting Company in November and Decern; ber last vear, Professor George Gordon delivered these short and delightful dis; courses by wireless. His aim was to show people who had an idea that, because a book was a literary masterpiece, it was sure to be over their heads, that they were making a mistake, and were, in fact, missing a great deal of pleasure by not, reading it. None of the books he chose were modern, but all were masterpieces of their kind. And as a result of his talks many people who before had thought of them only with distaste on account of their supposedly pedantic nature, bought and read them with delight. The books in this first volume are Pepys’s “ Dairy,” Walton’s “ Coinpleat Angler,” Sterne’s “Tristram Shandy,” Boswell’s “ Life of Johnson,” Cowper’s “ Letters,” Kinglake’s “ Eothen,” aaid “The Humour of Charles Lamb,” each of which is described in a way which only a man who is an authority on his subject, is in sympathy with his hearers, and has a marvellous sense of humour, could accomplish. Chattily, charmingly, and sincerely the books are introduced, and if a first meeting does not incite the reader to desire a further acquaintance, then it is not the fault of their sponsor, Pepys is found to be a very likeable, ordinary sort of man, fond of kissing pretty women and of attending the theatre, ambitious, ready to tell a “ fib ” if the occasion demands it, witty, and possessed of little faults of character simi. lar to those of probably all his readers. That nobody but himself was ever meant to see his diary makes it all the more interesting. In it is contained the spice of the seventeenth century as well as substances more solid.

Walton is the ideal figure of quiet and content. A drowsy calm pervades his book, and the mind is lured to delight as it reads of rural England in those sunny, peaceful days when the angler set about his sport. Sterne is revealed as that most interesting of creatures, a clergyman who has “ broken out ” into print, and who, by means of his pen, expresses the thoughts and fancies and moods which in no other way would he have dared to admit as possessing. He paints a picture cf family life so whimsical and droll and true to reality that one is fascinated, and though, so erratic and peculiar is his style (the preface is in chapter 64!) that one sometimes loses patience with him, one cannot help but return to read him again. Boswell is the faithful biographer, who, a man man’s, has written a man’s book which will live as long as literature lives. His talk, however, is quite unbookish. It deals with the topics of daily life, and has a pungency and decision liardlv ever to be met with except in the occasional utterances of strong and educated minds. Cowper is the man who, struck down with illness and threatened with insanity, fought his disease by forcing himself to write cheerful, discursive letters to his friends. There is no form of literature more intimate than the letter, and perhaps no letter-writer more interesting than Cowper. He could frame an cnistle bn nothing at all. The reader is charmed with the art his writings disclose, and marvels at the brave spirit which kept itself happy thus. Kinglake is the traveller, a voting man in the prime of youth, who, in 1834, made a journey to the Near East from Belgrade to Constantinople, and over Syria and Palestine and part of Egypt. His experiences are caught and written with a pen made vivid bv enthusiasm, and the reader follows him on his way with breathless interest: “ All his wits and senses are at work, for he knows that this cannot happen again. He is youth the truant on ticket-of-leave from civilisation.” Lastly, Charles Lamb, the man many people think may be boring because ho happens to write in the form of essays. He is here presented as a humourist. “ I notice, Mr Lamb,” said one of his superiors, “ that you come very late every morning.” “ Yes,” said Lamb stammering, as was his habit. “ but see how early I go.” He once pulled Wordsworth’s nose, which was long, shouting as he did so: “ You old lake poet! You rascally poet!” “ Reader,” lie says, in his essay on “Music,” “I have no ear.” Here is no dry-as-dust high-brow, but as lovable a character as one will meet anywhere. To hear of him is to wish to know him better. Professor Gordon has done his work excellently, and must be congratulated on the pleasing pictures he has painted of the great ones of literature.

A NEW ZEALAND LOVE STORY. “Life’s What You Make It.” By Rosemary Rees. (Cloth. 7s fid net.) London: Herbert Jenkins, Limited. Rosemary Rees, author of three other novels of New Zealand life, has written a most attractive and successful book in this her latest, “ Life’s What You Make It.” Told in a style which makes for easy reading, the story is full of human interest, and in several places produces emotional response on account of its sincerity. The descriptions of New Zealand scenery with which it is lavishly sown are charmingly done.

The scene is set at Lake Okatama, obviousy meant for Lake Okataina. and centres round a fishing village there. Candida, a society girl, and Lane Fullerton, presumably her husband, are living in one of the shacks when Gwendolen Searth, ‘“The Vamp,” appears on the scene and wins Lane's attention. Candida

fa not Lane’s- wife, but is living with him until his own wife will divorce him. News of her death comes, but Candida reaps no benefit from it, for Lane runs away with and marries Gwendolen. Candida has overdrawn her private income and is bereft of funds for six months. She decides to remain through the winter at her lakeside shack, and repair the wreck of her life. She makes friends with old Luke Hanson, the storekeeper and postmaster, at Taranui, but feels the enmity of his son Bob, who considers that it is not right for a woman to live alone as she proposes doing. Bob, who ran away in his childhood, is a morose, silent man with decided opinions. However, when Rigby Ross from Otana appears and decides to help her in her loneliness, she feels happier to “ carry on.” They fix up a trap in which to catch any burglars who might prowl round Candida’s shack, and Ross lends her a horse. They become good pals. A stranger arrives and discloses the fact that he is the real Bob Hanson, the imposter, David Keppell, having promised to take his place in bld Luke’s affections, so that he may inherit his money. On account of Luke's ill health, however, David refuses to let Bob reveal his identity in case the shock will be too much. Candida is the only other person who knows the truth.

Ross falls in love with Candida, is refused, and goes away, and Candida realises that she loves David. Who should appear now but Gwendolen, Lane having been drowned, who plays the siren to David, seeking to lure him with her charms. He repulses her, and Candida knows slight triumph. But not for long. As soon as Luke dies, David, after handing over the old man’s wealth to Bob, disappears, leaving a note to inform Candida that he is unworthy of her. What follows is exciting to a degree, and how happiness comes to both David and Candida makes an unexpected and charming ending. “ Life’s What You Make It ” is a worthy addition to Rosemary Rees's already long list of books.

SEA STORIES BY CONRAD. Youth’ and Other Stories.” By Joseph Conrad. (Cloth, 3s 6d net.) Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood and Sons, Ltd. ‘‘ • ■ • But the Dwarf answered: ‘No; something human is dearer to me than the wealth of all the world.’ ” — Grimm’s Tales.

'This quotation, which introduces the three tales in the present volume by Joseph Conrad, expresses most aptly the nature of what follows; for "Youth,” “ Heart of Darkness,” and “ The End of tlie Tether” are written to show the value and romance in things human, with the result that one wonders if fiction could ever have a greater appeal than the facts here presented. All three are stories of the sea. Conrad ha s well been praised for his power of presenting sea-pictures, for under his pen the narratives glow with life till the reader fancies himself to be actually on board the boats which are the scenes of the dramas described. All have appeared in larger editions previously. The present edition, however, i s meant to fit the pocket, and is a worthy addition to Messrs William Blackwood’s already long list of books in this series.

“ Youth ” is a narrative given by an old seafaring man to his elderly friends, and tells of a voyage on a crazy ship when the narrator was young. The subtlety of the tale is in the contrast between the terrifying and depressing aspect of the voyage as seen by the old man, and the adventure and joy of it as experienced by the youth. All horrors imaginable—threatened shipwreck, storm, a fire in the hold, an explosion, the ship on fire, and nisrhts spent in open boats on the sea before rescue came—are described, and the reader alternately shudders with the old man and thrills with the boy. It is a tale which, like “ Typhoon,’’ compels the attention and holds one spellbound until it has all been told. The other two stories, “ Heart of Darkness ” and "The End of the Tether’’ are of a similarly high literary value. ANOTHER EMILY BOOK. Emily s Quest.” By L. M. Montgomery. (Cloth, 3s 6d net.) Australia s. Corn.stalk Publishing Company (per Angus and Robertson, Ltd.). We have met Emily before. To begin with, she was a small child with elfin tendencies, and then a girl whose ambition to write put her on the journalistic road. In this latest book she begins to grow up, and watches the flowering of her literary buds. L. M. Montgomery describes her as “ a slender, virginal, young thing. Hair like black silk. Purplish grey eves with violet shadows under them that alwav s seemed darker and more alluring after Emily had sat up to some unholy anj un-Elizabethan hour completing a story or working out the skeleton of a plot. Scarlet lips with a crease at the corners. Ears with Puckish, slightly pointed tips. (Perhaps it was the crease and the ears that made certain people think her something of a puss.) An exquisite line of chin and neck. A smile with a trick in it—such a slow-blossoming thing with a sudden radiance of fulfilment. Faint stains of rose in her rounded cheeks that sometimes deepened to crimson. And ankles that scandalous old Nancy Priest of Priest Pond commended. She was one of these vital creatures of whom, when they do die, we say 'it seems impossible they can be dead.”

Her story is as charming as her appearance. But even to attempt to describe it would be to spoil it for that legion of

girls who love L. M. Montgomery so sincerely on account of the " Anne-books,” and the “ Story-girl-books,” and the “Rainbow Valley books,” and all the rest which she has written to thrill and inspire them. Emily is as original and lovable as any of the author’s heroines, and this latest record of her doings will not fail to delight all readers.