THE NEWEST BOOKS.

Otago Witness, Issue 4038, 4 August 1931, Page 64

THE NEWEST BOOKS.

THE GALLANT COMPANY. “Of That Fellowship: The Tragedy. Humour, and Pathos of Gallipoli.” By Stanley Sherman Wright. (Cloth; 3s 6d.) London : Arthur H. Stockwell, Ltd. The rush of action, the desperate holding of ground gained, the violent deaths, and helpless wounded, have no glory to those who experienced them. The glory of war is in the spirit of self-sacrifice and true comradeship. It has no glamour for those who taste its realities: it is filthy, destructive, and horrible. This book is dedicated to the memory of those comrades who lie sleeping on barren Gallipoli. It covers the gamut of that great adventure, the chapter headings being “Gallipoli Bound,” “The Landing,” “ Walker’s Ridge,” “ Cape Helles.” “ Hospitals,” “Action Again,” and “ The Evacuation.” The construction of the book is original in that the story is told in short paragraphs, frequently consisting of a single sentence. It is convincing, and in parts realistic. The style is in harmony with the. material. For instance,’this from “The Landing ”:— i The destroyer slips quietly towards i the shore, then stops. We are in the zone of fire now; bullets whistle and lash the water astern. A man is hit in the shoulder; a slight wound, but it paralyses him. He is to linger for four months: I am to help to bury him at Alexandria.

Near man is wounded in the head, and the blood streams down his face. A doctor sitting almost alongside him is stupefied by the flow of blood. He sits powerless. It is not all so tragic. In the rough shelter of the trench Australians and New Zealanders chum up. “ How did you get on? ” ask the Aussics of us; and we tell. Death has armed us against death. We can speak as a matter of fact now of our dead.

There is a fine tribute to the Maoris, who “ were left behind in Egypt when we sailed for Gallipoli, and the big fighting men were hurt.” And later, when they had their fling—“ a wild ‘ haka ’ —a maddened rush that flung Abdul back and pierced for a time his splendid infantry.” The comment of a Tommy was apt; “Blimey! I’m glad them coves are on our side, chum! ” Thus, the Maori surprised the heads—and was hailed as “cobber” by one and all. And last—the evacuation: “ The navy is managing this affair—there won’t be any blunders! ” What strange feelings intrude as we stand looking shorewards at the tumbled mass of hills that stand serene against starry sky. Why we were withdrawn is still a mystery to us, for we haven’t been beaten. Of the fires on the beach there remains only two red glows in the darkness. The glow on the light is at Anzac Cove, where we first received our impression of battle. That to the left marks “ Walker’s,” where we first experienced battle—saw its ugliness, felt its terrors, and were disillusioned.

PERSONALITIES OF THE PAST. “ Portraits in Miniature, and Other Essays.” By Lytton Strachey. (Cloth; Gs net.) London: Chatto and Windus, Ltd. If one were asked to choose a date for the beginning of the modern world, probably July 15, 16G2, would be the best to fix upon. For on that day the Royal Society was founded, and the place of Science in civilisation became a definite and recognised, thing.

In this procession of big figures of the past Mr Strachey has presented characters so versatile and original thai it must prove engrossing. Men and women who have played widely diverse parts in the great game, of life are-here presented in varied garb by this master of character sketching. There is apparently no special reason why some are chosen, but Mr Strachey quickly persuades the reader that in every case there is ample material for an essay. And such essays. There are no flagging moments. The past is made to live once more in the pages of Portraits. “An old miniature shows a young man’s face', whimsically- Elizabethan, with tossed-back curly hair, a tip-tilted nose, a tiny point of beard, and a long single earring, falling in sparkling drops over a ruff of magnificent proportions. Such was John Harrington, as .he appeared in the happy fit teen-eighties, at Greenwich, or at Nonesuch—a courtier, a wit, a scholar, a poet, and a great favourite with the ladies.” Friend of Queen Elizabeth and other famous people of the time, quite a character in his day. He wrote a little, played his part, invented the water-closet, “ and Englishmen to-day, reflecting on many things as they enjoy the benefits of a sanitary system unknown to the less fortunate inhabitants of other countries. give neyer a thought to Sir John Harrington.” There you have the opening and closing words of the essay on' Sir Jofin Harrington.

Follows Muggleton, Lodowick Muggleton, the London tailor who founded in Cromwell’s time a new religion composed of strange people with strange beliefs, whose followers are known as the Muggletonians of to-day. “ Their terrible offensive weapon—which, in the early days, they wielded so frequently—has fallen into desuetude: no longer do they pass sentence of eternal damnation.” John Aubrey, a foundation Fellow of the Royal Society, the first English archaeologist, was always busy and always a muddler. He possessed “ a natural gift of style ” —and he wrote some short biographies. The words quoted at the beginning of this notice open the essay, and give us “. . . a sense of the pleasing, anxious being who, with his odd old alchemy, has transmitted a few handfuls of orts and relics into golden life.” “The Life, Illness, and Death of Dr North ” is a strange storj’ of strange happenings. Death was always before his eyes, and though he was an eminent scholar he was beset by strange fancies. For four years he lived a strange existence and died in his bed.

“ Congreve, Collier, Macaulay, etc.” contains some interesting literary comparisons not all of which will be accepted as accurate. Of quite dissimilar quality is Madame de Sevigne’s cousin, Emmanuel de Coulanges, who “ on his seventy-sixth birthday sings and dances, and looks forward to being a hundred without any difficulty at all. Then he eats and drinks, and sings and dances again. And so he disappears.” The verbal duel between the Rev. Dr Colbatch and Dr Bentley, the threecornered battle between Froude, Freeman, and Dr Round, and the long argument between Voltaire and President de Brosses are masterpieces of literary gymnastics. Boswell, the Abbe Morellet, Mary Berry, and Madame de Lieven are

all subjects for original treatment, and essays on six English historians—Hume, Gibbon, Macaulay, Carlyle, Froude, -and Creighton—close a book which is distinctive in every sense. Mr Strachey is always in his element in such subject matter as form the subjects of these living portraits. A FAMILY AT PLAY. “ Four in Family.” By Humphrey Pakington. (Cloth; Gs.) London: Chatto and Windus, Ltd. Nevertheless . . . neither side could find any just cause or impediment why Robert Warmstry should not marry Helen Cutler. Relatives of varying degrees of kinship had conflicting ideas about the marriage, but the principles were of one mind. And that, after all, appears to be the most important factor in the success of the great adventure. The family which succeeded the union were Elizabeth, Crispin, June, and Laura. These, with their original and unlike parents, together with their varied-minded neigh, hours, enable Mr Pakington to provide some very pleasant and intelligent entertainment. Robert fails to come up to the standard set by the most narrow of his aristocratic neighbours, though his versatile queerness is merely the result of independent thinking; while Helen is placidly content with the gifts of the gods. Robert sets his mind on restoring the Warinstry name in the countryside. Tn furtherance of this plan he builds a house in a spacious field above the little village of Bodsey and commanding a stretch of westward-facing countrv in North Severnshire haunted by ancient Warmstry family shades. It was an “amusing,” billowy, ship-like house, anchored as it were to the top of its hill and surrounded on all sides by the “ places ” of such desirable neighbours as the rather “ sticky ” Canfields of Warnedon, the Eaton-Shrubsoles, radiating new riches, and the complacent hierarchy nestling round Severnhampton Cathedral.

The family is never dull, and the family difficulties and triumphs always interest and amuse. Some—that is, principally Laura and June—have their young men, and their, ways are varied. Robert and Helen remain to the end proud parents, experiencing the thrills and sometimes the trials inseparable from parenthood, and_ when the narrative concludes the reader is sorry; perhaps especially because Elizabeth and Crispin happily plan for their future in a state of spinster and bachelorhood. Mr Pakington, has given us a book of original quality, away from the beaten track of fiction. Forthat and his humour and the charm of the story we join the throng of readers, who will give him thanks. A NEARLY-PERFECT MURDER. “ The Missing Money-Lender.” By W. Stanley Sykes. (Cloth; Gs). ‘London: John Lane (the Bodley Head, Ltd.). Assuming your theory to be correct, this man is an inhumanly ingenious criminal, who has hit upon an almost uiiGetectcible method of murder. He has already fooled me once with it —still assuming you are right—and he lias now arranged things so that chemistry cannot help you even now, when you have told me what to look for.

Sir James Martin, eminent pathologist, and Inspector Dennis Drury, of Scotland Yard, with the assistance of Inspector Ridley, met a maze of mysterious deadends while investigating the death of Mr Israel Levinsky, a well-known moneylender. In the above extract Sir James is explaining to Inspector Drury that though he has full knowledge of the cause of death and the method by which it was accomplished, he may easily fail to demonstrate it. plainly enough to secure conviction by a jury.

This mystery story is the work of a medical man, and it is at least original. Breifly, the plot is woven round the death of Dr Laidlaw and the simultaneous disappearance of Mr Levinsky. The doctor is visiting a North England seaside resort, falls ill, and is attended by the local practitioner. The doctor is reported by his widow to have died, and a certificate is given. At the same time Mr Levinsky, disappears, leaving no trace. Inspector Ridley puts in some clever work immediately following these events, and this in the end proves of the greatest value to the Scotland Yard man.

The crime is most skilfully carried out, both in method and in the agency employed. To use a poison which is not a poison, and to come through two autopsies undiscovered, is surely something like a medical achievement. The publishers assert that the solution will come as a surprise even to the medical profession. The layman cannot express an opinion on the effects of insulin a. administered by Dr Laidlaw to Mr Levinsky, but he can appreciate the diabolical cunning of the plot by which the money-lender was buried in place of the doctor. In the field of detective fiction “ The Missing Money-lender ” will occupy a prominent place. It also has the merit of originality in treatment, and in the means employed to accomplish a nearly-perfect murder—which, from the criminal’s point of view, is & crime in which detection is impossible, and where punishment is avoided.

AN UNUSUAL NOVEL. “Pitiful Dust: A Study in Frustration.” By Vernon Knowles. (Cloth; 65.) London: John Lane (the Bodley Head, Ltd.). She closed her eyes and swayed at the crumbling edge where the turf ceased. Swayed, then was lost. . . . This book is well written. Its author is obviously a craftsman. Its construction is good, its characterisation better. The dialogue is more than satisfactory, and yet it leaves us less than satisfied. The reason is not easy to define. It appears to be in part the unreality of the people in it. Julia, the victim of a frustrated love for Christopher, is real enough, and her love more than convincing. That theme is, however, not new, and the expected happens on the edge of the cliff. Anne, her sister, is in some respects a more satisfying study. But Margaret posed as an unstable woman, and there is no clear reason for that trait in her character. Christopher has apparently always loved her, though of that even he was not always sure. The early love had obviously passed by, and only when he meets her in hospital is it rekindled. Margaret is not sure of anybody, least of all of herself. When Christopher asks her to marry him, and accepts the alternative of living together as an experiment, he is rather obviously looking for the disappointment which is certain. Christopher does not impress one as the sort of man who would accept such an arrangement, and Margaret was so obviously the sort of woman who could not make it a success, that improbability absorbs the mind of the reader. Much is made of the “new’ Margaret” (Christopher’s term), but the real Margaret should have been obvious to a man of Christopher’s keen perception. Perhaps this test of reasoning is too precise in application to a work of fiction, but we imagine that on similar ground to this would the author have his work judged. It is not, nor does it pretend to be, an ordinary novel—it is written to challenge a higher test than that. In part it successfully meets the test, but only in part. We are not familiar with the earlier work of Mr Knowles. Perhaps knowledge of that would have helped us. As it is we must simply say that while the literary work is above the ordinary the imaginative part is at times rather thin.