BOOKS OF THE DAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3889, 25 September 1928, Page 72

BOOKS OF THE DAY.

ARE WE CIVILISED? “Civilisation.” By Clive Bell. (Cloth, 7s. fid het.) London: Chatto and Windus. At the time of the Great War many slogans were invented to answer the ever-recurring question, What are we fighting for ? 1< inally came the answer, “ For civilisation,” which seemed such a triumphantly decisive reply that there, for most people, the matter rested. But Clive Bell went a step further. “Yes, but what is civilisation ? ” he asked, and in finding a response to his o.wn question . has written a whole book, thus proving that the glibly-spoken work is by no means as glibly disposed of when it comes to explaining it. The cleverness, wit, and thoughtfulness shown in his work are delightful, and keep the mind of the reader stimulated Till the time. The essay is excellently thought out. After an introduction the book tells us what civilisation is not. A nation which studiously keeps the Commandments is not necessarily civilised. “Neither a sense of the rights of property, nor candour, nor cleanliness, nor belief in God, the future life and eternal justice, nor chivalry, nor chastity, nor patriotism even are amongst the distinguishing characteristics of civilisation,” says the. author. “ Obviously the essence of civilisation is something to which savages have not attained; wherefore it cannot consist in primitive virtues. The antithesis between the noble savage and the civilised man which has been current these 200 years implies a general recognition of the fact that civilisation is not

a natural product. ", . Civilisation is something artificial.” To describe what this artificial something is he goes to history, and, after contemplating certain ages which were noted for their greater or less degree of civilisation, selects Athens at the - time of Socrates and Plato, Italy at the Renaissance, and France in the eighteenth century as being the most worthy of attention, and examines them minutely to see what it was they possessed that made them civilised. The resulting studies are of a diverting nature. Little by little the theme is elaborated until we perceive that a civilised state is one which, under the dictates of reason, has divided its people in such a way that certain of them arc able to enjoy the best pleaurcs in the greatest possible way. Under an arrangement where the work of the State is done by slaves, a leisured class such as that belonging to the period of Gre k history mentioned above is able to give all its time to the business of becoming civilised. Any pleasure that does not interfere with another pleasure is good, and those which appeal to the mi”d and emotions are preferred above purely physical ones. But the aim is always for pleasures not to be limited. To follow too closely any given enjoyment is detrimental to the civi'ised ideal of wide interests, and, moreover, h's a hampering effect upon conversa'ion which, in clutivated communisms, "an be made an art.

The result is a large clas • of men and women whose worth to the State is enormous, for their refining influence affects the mass, with the result that everybody benefits. Of course not all can be as highly civilised, as those mentioned. Unless there are people to work and earn there will be no onnortunity for the leavening portion of the communitv to grow. Clive Bell is definite as to the meaning of civilisation. Not every man can attain to it. The saint, the artist, the philosopher, the hero—these by the very seriousness of their work do not achieve it. For civilisation is, above all things, a concentration on the aim of extracting from life all the rarest essences of pleasure it owns. Pleasure in its highest sense is the goal of the civilised man. Th make those who do rot naturally feel the urge towards this exquisite state of artificiality become conscious of its attractions is not, as the author admits, easy of accomplishment. - He feels, however, that education might do it. He says: “I. teachers could somehow make ordinary boys and girls grasp the quite simple fact that, though the world inay seem to offer nothing better than a little money and a great deal of work, any one of them can, if he or she will, have a life full of downright, delectable pleasure; if teachers could make them realise that the delight of being alone in a bed-sitting room with an alert, welltrained and well-stocked mind and a book is greater than that of owning yachts and racehorses, and that the thrill of a great picture or a quartet by Mozart is keener (and it is an honest sensualist who says it) than that of the first sip of a glass of champagne; if the teachers could do this the teachers would have solved the problem of humanity.” But would they? Perhaps for those belonging to the States of high civilisation chosen for discussion, but for the present day also?

Clive Bell pays no heed to the thought that there may need to be .in modern civilisation other aims than those of aesthetic and artistic pleasure. The fact that this is an age the chief delight of which is pleasure, a goal which science is ever making more easy of attainment, seems to have escaped him. -’What of our immortal souls? May they not be endangered if we seek such civilisation as he suggests ? And may not religion and spirituality—two factors which the author dismisses altogether in his essav —be necessary nowadays to add weight to what is too light for present endur? ance? The essay makes very stimulating reading, and is delightfully freph and interesting; but it does not cover everything. Neither does it take into consideration the supposition that pleasure get forth too obviously as a goal may frighten those who are willing to race for it before they begin. A life given wholly to the enjoyment of such benefits as Clive Bell describes in his ideal States might defeat its own ends and prove nauseating unless an ideal more enduring and solid than pleasure be added to it. « THE “ GLOOMY DEAN ” OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. “ The Skull of Swift.” By Shane Leslie. (Cloth, 12s Gd net.) ' London. Chatto and Windus. Beginning with “Ariel,” M. Andre Maurois’s story of the life of Shelley, there has grown up of recent years a vogue for writing biographies which invest historical figures with the trappings

of reality. Dead men and women, "brought out of obscurity, have their characters and environment, described minutely, while the problems which posterity has discovered about them are solemnly discussed and solved. Shane Leslie, a young writer of no mean reputation, is one of the most recent to join these biographical ranks, and recalls in his “ Skull of Swift ” i; number 'of vexed points which for some time have been forgotten. He takes his title from the 1835 episode when a pair of skulls were excavated in the Cathedral Church of Saint Patrick the Apostle ol Ireland within the Metropolitan City of Dublin. One was-Stella’s, the other Swift’s; and by a piece of colossal irony the phrenologists diagnosed the latter as “ amativeness large and wit small. ' Even in death he was a riddle! Mr Leslie does not contribute any profoundly new thoughts to the riddle, for. as he says on his first page, “ the life of Dean Jonathan Swift will never be written.” But he succeeds in making a real personality from the dry bones of history, and presents the great satirist as a man of absorbingly interesting character. The questions which have bothered and are still bothering people with regard to Swift are of a large and varied kind He was proud, keeping himself aloof from all men. What was his secret thought about life? He was in love with Varina (Miss Jane Waring) who spurned him, and friendly with Vanessa (Hesther Vanhomrigh) and Stella (Esther Johnson). Was he also a lover of the former, and was he married to Stella? Was he a man of brain anl r.o soul ? Was the Church nothing to him but a profession where he could indulge his pride more than in any other? These are a few of them, and Mr Leslie does not pretend to give them decisive answers. But it. doe* not matter. By his very -übiect he grins the attention, and with such a man to write about it would be impossible not to produce an arresting work. The story of Swift’s life is told with appreciative sympathy. Mr Lesli?, obviously, is not fond of the “first gloomy dean,” but he relates his story with imparial candour. The early years in the employ of Sir William Temple, where, as that gentleman’s secretary, Swift first gave rein to his ambitions, the longing to win power and reverence and to express his “ soul of a dictator,” and the facts which led up to his satires in which, bit by bit, he reveals his savage hatred of the whole of mankind, make splendid reading, while his literary works are described with care and precision. Most interesting of all, perhaps is the tale of his idyll with Stella. His biographer seems to have a spite against him for this. After a few early in discretions Swift led a celibate life, and, according to surmise, both Vanessa and Stella died of love of him. We cannot discuss his relationship with them, however. All we know is that to Stella, at least, his letters are full of affection, and what the secret of his attitude was is not divulged. He may not have been the soulless monster which Mr Leslie sees him as. Some writers even say that he and Stella were brother and sister, and that Sir William Temple was father to both. By the end of the book we are little further’on than at the beginning, except that a name has been resurrected and made to come alive for us. The theme elaborated by Mr Leslie that Dean Swift had no soul would have been better left alone; for, if he really feels thus, surely he cannot write an unbiased biography of him. The book is well illustrated.

THE ANSWER TO “ MEN ARE PICS.” “Women Are ?” By C. Nichol. (Cloth, 2s Gd net.) Sydney: Corn stalk Publishing Company (per Angus and Robertson). The disconcerting part about books like this is that, behind all their facetiousness and cynicism there is more than a little truth. “ Men Are Pigs ’ held some undeniable facts about the male sex, while in “Women Are ?” the retort written by C. Nichol and dedicated to “ those women whose perfections have made the imperfections of their sisters the more apparent to the author,” we are shown a number of convincing secrets about females of ’all ages. Written in the form of unrelated, pithy sentences, not all of which are clever, the book makes a series of statements about women, and ends with a very amusing “Old Maid’s Thermometer.” Here are a few of the witticisms for which it is remarkable:— A woman who asks your advice has not the slightest intention of following it unless it coincides with what she has already decided to do. * * * When a woman throws up her hands in holy horror at the act of another, one always wonders how lately she has done the same thing, and given a fair chance of not being found out, how soon she hopes to repeat it. * * * A woman who is reticent concerning her own doings becomes very suspicious of a man if he follow her example. * * * A woman will buy an umbrella of the latest fashion, but it will never occur to her to carry it, however wet the day. < THE LURE OF COLD. “ Tide of Empire.” By Peter B. Kyne. (Cloth, 7s Gd net.) ’ London: llodder and Stoughton. , It is only necessary to tell those of our readers who know something of the work of Peter B. Kyne that this bock deals with the gold fever days in California and the coming of the law, and to add that there are several interesting characters and much adventure.

Possibly some of them know Cuppy Ricks and some more of them may have read The Pride of Paloniar ” or “ The Valley of the Giants.” It does not matter much which of his many books they have read. They will enjoy this one, and if they have not read any of his earlier works they can make a good start with “Tide of Empire.” " this book opens with a lone traveller at .the mouth of the pass through the formidable range which forms the principal barrier between California and Nevada, the White Mountains. He rides Pathfinder, a pure-blooded stallion, and dines two pack animals. The man is Don Dermond D'Arcy. He is a rolling stone with a college education. In the long trek to the goldfields he has many adventures. He meets Josepha Guerrero and likes her. But his eyes are focussed far away. He throws in his lot with B. .Jabez Hamon, known universally as Bejabers, Sir Humphrey O’Shea, Bart., the Rev. .Obadiah Poppy, Jim Toy, two horse thieves, and two men who had killed their opponents in street duels these are organised into a co-operative mining party, and the story is woven lound these principles. It is unnecessary to say that it lacks neither action nor surprise. In its pages arc the high lights of heroic sacrifice and the shadows of cowardice and selfishness. There is pathos and humour and tragedy. Dermod is a real man, and the book is a man’s book. It contains some fine passages and thrilling situations. The reputation of the author will suffer nothing bv the publication of “ Tide of Empire.” IN AN OLD-FASHIONED TOWN, “ Chronicles of Melhainpton.” Bv E. Phillips Oppenheim. (Cloth. 3s Gd net.) London; Hoddm- flnf | stouriiton. The prince of story-teliers ’ has some interesting stories in these chronicles of the old-fashioned town of Melhampton. The characters are all of an interesting nature, Mr Henry Tidd being perhaps most so. “ The Small TrageiTv of Mrs Tidd,” “ Mrs Dowdsvvell’s Prod Along,” “ A Minor Hero.” “Mr Mukes’ Bomb sheik” “ The Incomparable Mr Trigcr,’* “A Man Must Hold his Wife.” “Honeydew and Kisses.” “A Thief bv Night,” “The Remarkable Astuteness of Police. Constable Chopping.” and “ The Ultimate . Triumph of Mr Tidd ” are the chronicles in the collection which, owing to. its previous popularity, has now b»en reissued at reprint price along with others of the author’s works. °