BOOKS OF THE DAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3882, 7 August 1928, Page 72

BOOKS OF THE DAY.

TWENTY-SIX STORIES.

“ The House with the Echo.” By T. F. Powys. (Cloth, Os net.) London: Chatto and Windus.

These are the simplest stories! Their setting a little English village, they all deal with some form or other of country life, the humbler the better. They read easily and fluently, and, for some inexplicable reason, become more and more dear to the reader as he goes on. The collection is one to charm and fascinate through a sincerity of purpose which approaches genius. The first story, from which the book takes its name, “The House with the Echo/’ merely relates how a wayfarer is befriended by a Mr Theodore Dove, from a certain point in whose garden an echo can be heard. The friends are parted, and when the wayfarer returns he finds the house empty:—

My Knocking reverberated through the house; it sounded in all the rooms as a knock will when a house is empty. I stood still and listened ; the only sound I heard was the rain falling. I found my way round the house, and went along a path that I knew led to the place where the echo could be heard.

I called out to the echo: "Theodore, Theodore ! ” No reply came. And then I asked in quite a low tone: “Is Mr Dove dead?" “Dead," responded the echo.

Nothing could be simpler. And yet, by the same token, nothing could be more effective. The tale springs into real life with that last, terse sentence. “ The White Weathercock ” is a humorous piece, as are also “ Nor Iron Bars,” “ In Dull Devonshire,” “ Seven’s,” “ The Badger Hunters,” “ Lady Louisa and the Wallflowers,” “ The Lost Proofs,” “ The Two Horns,” “ Adder’s Brood,” “Dear Time’s Waste,” “The Devil,” and “Mr Facey.” Some of them are ironical—for example, “ Nor Iron Bars,” where, the hero is a poor downtrodden creature until he goes to prison, after which he achieves great popularity ; and “ The Lost Proofs,” where, not until they read a fact in a roundabout way will the people believe outside news.

The others in the book are serious, and even tragic in “ Squire Duffy,” “ The Lonely Lady,” “ I Came as a Bride,” “ The Painted Wagon,” “ The Windmill," “The Beautiful Hock,” “Benjamin Jim,” “ The Stored Barns,” “ King Pirn,” “Mad,” “The Mullet and the Swans,” “ Ducky,” and “No Room.” Many of them deal with graveyards, those resting places observed so naturally by country people, and are beautiful in their tender simplicity. Most appealing, perhaps, are the following four: “I came as a Bride,” “The Windmill,” “ King Pirn,” and “ Mad,” which grip the heart with their tragedy, and leave one with the impression that they are perfect cameos of pure art. “ Ducky ” is perhaps most vitally dramatic of all. Beginning with the tale two riotously happy and non-moral people who were always laughing and wrangling at the top of their voices, it leads from step to step until, after argument, it tells how John, the husband, agrees that he and Ducky shall drive their wagons home along the narrow road which Ducky and the parson favour instead of the broad one they usually use.

The wagons started again, making the usual rattle and noise, and Ducky sang to herself to make the way the shorter, feeling how happy she was with John, who though they squabbled every moment, would always be ready to pinch and push her about, which was what she liked "I must mind thik devil's stone,” she

Her wagon jolted. The horso stopped, but pulled again. There was another jolt, for the hinder wheel had gone over some impediment in the way. “ ’Tis the stone," said Ducky sleepily, pinching her own plump arm to wake herself up. “ And I do believe that John’s road be the best."

John’s horse turned into the yard where the faggots were stocked. Ducky drove hers in too.

John always used to swear at the horse even when it stopped, as it always did, in exactly the right place for unloading, but now he said nothing. Ducky was surprised, yet thinking that he might be asleep she went to awake him. John wasn’t there. " Poor John were thik stone in road," moaned Ducky, and began to cry. “ Thee’ve rid over ’im," said Shepherd Poose, who had followed the wagons at a little distance, ” an’ *e be dead.” ” But preacher did hold wi* I about the narrow road,” sobbed Ducky, falling into a heap in the road. A COMEDY OF FOUR. “ Pas de Quatre.” By Basil Creighton. ■ (Cloth, 6s net.) London: Chatto and Windus. Here is a ■witty, interesting comedy told with originality in an entertaining manner. Four characters play their parts in it, each contributing to the situation of the others. The whole makes very good reading of an unusual nature.

Norah Ramage—a woman considerable “ for excellence of figure and for a depth of quiet charm that used no arts and no allurements, the charm of impassive dignity that might htpm made

beauty momentous, but did nothing to enliven a face which called for no epithets—unless it were called a ‘ good ’ face in some vaguely non-moral sense, implying an aesthetic concord between form and content; for if her character was composed and firm so was the structure cf her face ” —marries George Cruikshank, the only man who ever comes to visit her father’s house. George is a man of about 50, who, after seeing Norah grow up, decides to wed her so that she can be his ornamental ’and docile housekeeper. That, as his wife, she should exhibit any but the characteristics he knows seems to his snobbish, supercilious, and selfish mind impossible.

But, once married, Norah begins to seek for freedom, and particularly does she wish to have a child. Now enter the other two of the four actors—Paul Perrean and Irene Piggott. Paul, aged 23, is the son of a healthy, solid watchmaker, and is working at art in Bloomsbury on an allowance. Irene is a romantic, passionate, young woman, who meets Paul at a garden party, after which she marries him. How can she refrain? He is such a youthful, likeable creature, in spite of his egotism, his fondness for conventions and his pseudo-morality. But she, who is intense and passionate to a degree, drains him of both his vitality and patience.

It was enough that Perrean was various, facile,’ and superficial, and that Irene was single, earnest, and passionate—made, as it were, to contract the rays of his sensuosity into her own inexhaustible night. Time could not wither her, nor custom stale her infinite monotony, a monotony as sweet and full as the one long-drawn greenfinch note in summer trees.

It just when he is fretting under the force of Irene’s personality that Paul meets Norah Cruiskshank, who feels she has a grievance, and is not a happy woman. Besides she wants a family.

What follows makes the plot of a novel which is a delight to read. Norah tells some splendid lies; Paul behaves like a helpless fool; Cruickshank, after trying to divorce his wife, is divorced by her instead; Irene grows more and more enervating and intense; and there are some ludicrous situations, such as a divorce court scene with no jury in attendance. To describe it all would be to spoil the tale.

The charm of this novel lies chiefly in the fact that it moves briskly without being in any way sensational or “ modern.” The author has a keen sense of humour and exploits it admirably. He sees his people as British dolls wit British characteristics, and in the antics they display amuses himself royally. “ Pas de Quatre ” will be hugely enjoyed by discriminating readers.

HOW TO LIVE.

“ The World Without ar.d the World Within.” By Theodora Thompson. (Cloth, Gs net.) London: John

Lane (the Bodley Head, Ltd.).

As a keynote for her new book Miss Thompson takes Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s lines—“ A twofold world must go to a perfect cosmos—natural things and spiritual ” —and in it sets out sincerely and thoughtfully a general philosophy of life and conduct which will appeal to all those who are striving to see a light in the darkness and turmoil cf modern existence.

It was Mark Pattison (says the preface) who put the question, “What is most worth living for ? ” and answered it thus: “To deliver one’s message.” Each one of us has a message, tiny and unassuming though it may be. We may all help each other in life by telling things that we feel to be true, things which we have found add to “ the great theorum of the liveableness of life.”

“Through the ages,” says William Robertson Nicoll, “ we have a line • of books on conduct written by men and won en of varying powers, and yet all are valuable in some way if they are written honestlj’ from a real experience.” So Miss Thompson sei ds her little book forth with its message—which, narrowed down to a word, is love —in the hope that it may help some to see with more understanding eyes the glories of this visible world without, and something of the deep things of the invisible world within. To awaken to the sense of measureless riches and bounty which surround us on every hand, and to gain a clearer perception of an eternal world of goodness, truth, and beauty, is to realise new life, hope, joy, and peace. We all possess a world within or internal self a region of thought and longing and memory, which is spiritual in its nature, and where energy and aspiration originate and principles and ideas hold sway. And we all possess a world without, or external self—a world of speech and action, which is more immediately . concerned with the things

of time and space and of sense and matter.

Most of us live in one or the other of these two worlds. Few of us live in both. We live either a purely external life in a world of so-called matter that has no reality outside the five senses, and with no inner soul-life to which all experience must be related, or we live a life of self-denial and asceticism, and draw such a sharp line of demarcation between the two, that we are barely conscious of our material workaday selves. But we must have the two worlds, insists Miss Thompson, and we must learn to fit ourselves into anc make the most of both worlds—neither to repress the one nor over-emphasise the other. To realise this oneness is to see existence in its true light. It is to find material and spiritual poise, with a deep nd widcspreading love to all men. We live most truly when we love most truly, for all life comes from love To make the great law of love the centre ot our being is to find, even in this world, the Kingdom of God within us, and to enter that peace which passeth understanding. • Div l ded ~i nto two Parts—“ The Meant”? L l . fe L and “ The Fullness of Life M-ss Thompson’s book very lucidly and sympathetically expounds her main theme. The volume is charmingly printed and produced.

fun in a suburb. Suburban Days.” By K. R. G. Browne. (Cloth, 3s 6d net.) London and Melbourne: Cassell and Co., Ltd. The last book we read by K. R. G. Browne was “A Knight and a Day.” It amused us immensely, and was very " r ‘oht and chatty and entertaining. Suburban Days ” is equally so. Arranged in the form of daily doings not really related to each other, it tells of the doings of Eve and “ I a youn" married couple in a suburban neighbour°hood, and provides a series of character sketches and amusing events full of entertainment and laughter. Eve and I have the good fortune to find excitement in whatever they undertake, and are very human and delightful people. The style is brisk and witty, as is to be seen by the following extract, taken at random: (“I” have been asked by Eve to look after a mongrel dog named Ronald, which she has bought for ten shillings. “ I ” have done my duty nobly, but after a tussle have returned to the house to await Eve’s coming. Durin" the hour that follows “I” set down Ronald s activities in a species of diary) :— 3.15. Began on hearth-rug. 3.16. Declined to abandon hearth-rug. saying “ Grrrr! ” 3.25. Finished hearth-rug. 3.26. Knocked over telephone table, damaging my prestige at the exchange. 3.29. Bit postman. (This was an embarrassing accident, as although tnere was no actual bloodshed, the omcial trousers suffered perceptible disfigurement. The amount demanded in reparation heightened my respect for the business capacity of the Government.) 3.37. Ate half a pair of slippers. 3-40. Knocked over umbrella-stand and ate some umbrella/ 3.50. Ate half a pair of slippers. 4.1. Bit postman again. (Thio, I submit, was the postman’s own fault, as he should have remembered to deliver the registered letter on his previous visit. Luckily it was the same leg, but the postman was at. some pains to make it clear that I had lost a friend. 4.12. Bit me. The rest of the book is in the same glad vein.

FOR SCHOOLBOYS. “ Dogsnose.” By J. H. M. Abbott. (Cloth, 3s 6d net.) Sydney: Cornstalk Publishing Company (per Angus and Robertson). At “ Brummy ” Jenkins’s school in Sydney is a boy named Bill Carfax, between 14 and 15 years old, and in no wise remarkable to look at. He has, however, one peculiar feature—a nose which has the same power of scent as a dog’s. When he has been allowed to smell people, he is able to track them wherever they go, and though he is tested by master and boys alike, he never fails. At the end of his year at school Dogsnose is called upon to help in tracing a criminal. Sam Considine steals a valuable ring belonging to one of Dogsnose’s masters, and leaves in the room the fingerprints of a thief named Conky Ike. Conky Ike, however, is found to be still in prison; so it is obvious that the robbery is a “frame up.” Dogsnose helps with the tracking, and some most exciting detective work takes place. The story, which is very entertaining, makes interesting reading, and every boy perusing it will envy Dogsnose the number of adventures he has at his early age.