A Literary Log

Southland Times, Issue 22475, 10 November 1934, Page 11

A Literary Log

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Iota.

BOOKS ON THE TABLE

“Somebody Must” (Alice Grant Rosman) “Opening Meet” (Dorothy Laird) “Skippety Songs” (Kama Birmingham) “To Ride in a Coach” .... ~ .. (Annabel Lee)

THE FAMILY CHANGES Novel of Rare Charm A new star has appeared. I think I have read all of Alice Grant Rosman’s earlier works, but while they were enjoyable, they did not prepare me for “Somebody Must.” Looking back into one or two of them, however, one can detect flashes of that domestic humour which makes this novel of a family so amusing while it penetrates beyond the crust of reticence, revealing people and problems all of us know to exist in our own and other houses. There are no sensations in this book, no sudden climax to startle the action. Superf it ally everything proceeds as calmly as the Thames beside which lies Redgates, the home of the Fletes, but under this calm surface, behind the unemotional facade of the house in which they live, the life of the Fletes is changed, and new relationships are set up by a chain of small things. Miss Rosman, although her smile is ready to twitch the corners of her mouth, although she can see the comedy of a family as quick as the turn, of a frightened sparrow, has in this story a wistfulness which makes you listen for something behind the laugh, and a feel for humanity and Nature to put the world under a new light. “Somebody Must” is not a great novel, it is not ponderable in the “great novel” sense; but if there has been a more charming novel turned out this year I am still unaware of the fact. Here we have an English family living by the Thames, and James Flete, the father, immersed in business and utterly unable to understand, or to make contact with his family, part of it grown up, part represented by Pell, as fine a boy as there is to be found anywhere in English literature—a real boyish boy. The estrangement, the row over the visit to Scotland with Winifred, the rather managing and unsympathetic wife of James, leads to her going off to the Highlands to remain out of the story for a long time. For the sophisticated readerj her departure opens the door for the entry of the other woman; but there is no other woman, no triangle—just a chain of small circumstance to break down barriers, to reveal to James Flete that he really has a very interesting family and that this family will be interested in him and his affairs if he will permit them to know him. He had never troubled to tell his wife or his grown-up children anything, he never explained, not because he was naturally secretive, but because he did not feel they were interested, and he, therefore, shut himself in his own mental rooms. Kay, the daughter passing through the university, is the prime cause of the change—her return while the mother is in Scotland, is the mild surprise to give events an unexpected twist, and to permit James Flete to be introduced by degrees to his family. Kay is a glorious girl. Alice Grant Rosman has used these modem young things cleverly, and with sympathy. They are so fearful of being caught in their emotions that breezy, brassy brilliancies are gabbled to cover up everything. These are the defences of an age which is shutting itself out of a lot of fun, and taking something hectic as a substitute. Of course, some of them are brass through to the core; but Kay has merely the veneer of her time, underneath there is a beautiful girl and it is a joy to meet her. The story moves in pleasant leisure; but the real charm is in the scene and the people, and the humanity of it all. Winifred flies back, one realizes, although the author says nothing about it, that she flew back in the last pages because she was homesick, and she finds a change. The first indication of this is the presence of a newcomer. Kay broke the news:

“Mother, you have a grandson and here he is." “What,” exclaimed Winifred in a startled voice, and then saw James the Second, and perhaps in shear relief said “the perfect thing.” "Oh. but he’s an angel!” Under that touch Pell blossomed as nothing else could have made him, and even his mother was amazed.

"Pell I Why. come here and let me look at you. You are positively enormous. What have they done to you?” If In that moment Winifred realized that one son was lost to her, but here was another, she made the discovery too late, though very likely she would never know it. Pell, rosy and tanned with the summer sun, considered her question literally and answered with the justice of his years and out of his new love. "Kay gave me eggs,” he said. Pell is a fine boy (I said that before) and one can understand him when he remarks of James the Second, to whom he gives part of his own meals, “Isn’t it lucky dogs don’t like fruit salad?” These are the most prominent members of the family, but there are other people in the story—the dear Misses Peebles, Andrew Milton, the young man with his interest centred on himself, the dear old man who would think Winifred is his wife, Emily, the crocodile, Harold the boat, Elliott who found himself as gardener at Eedgates, John the eldest son, and a handful of others who fit naturally into the scene. The author is deft, but you never become aware of it while you are reading this romance—she has done her work so well. That, of course, because it is as authentic as if some living family had sat as the model. This is a delightful work—l forgot to mention the excellent fine line illustrations by Morton Sale, which, placed at the beginning, prepare you for the joy to come—they introduce you to the people you are to like. If you miss this story, you’re the loser, mark my words. “Somebody Must,” by Alice Grant Rosman (Messrs Hodder and Stoughton Ltd., London). THE CHASE GOES ON People have been collected for novelists in grand hotels, in squares, streets and on luxury liners, all variants of the shipwreck which gathered them on a lonely island. Now Dorothy Laird has used the hunt for the same purpose in “Opening Meet,” an entertaining novel owing more to its personalities than to its plot or its form. The hunt brings together a number of diverse characters, and the reader sees in the brief time occupied by the story, the ebb and flow of emotion, the tragedy of age which cannot accept the fiat of time, the suffering caused by ambition and the little things which can cause pain. Here are changes, too, There is a young girl, who is compelled to follow the hounds for social reasons. She ends the day an enthusiast. There is a charming woman fighting age who discovers that the losing battle cannot be waged any further, and she gives up the idea of divorce for the safer plan of settling down with a husband who loves her. There is the Master, Lord Crayfell, who is in his last season, and sees the end of his reign coming with a pain to which he cannot give expression. The most moving figure, however, is the old huntsman, Tom.

The years have stricken him, but his will overcomes weariness and fear sufficiently to keep him in the hunt. Behind him is the whip, a fearless, ambitious young man eager to rise to the higher post that he may marry. Tom’s pride keeps him at it, but the years have undone him. On this day he hesitates at a jump, reins in his mount, is thrown and is injured. That gives the whip his chance, but puts old Tom, a fine old character drawn with considerable skill, out of the running. There is plenty of incident, and though there is actually a wealth of detachment, actually the author through the opening meet of the season has secured a sense of unity with creditable ease. “Opening Meet” by Dorothy Laird (Messrs Mills and Boon Ltd., London). WHEN CHILDREN SING Kama Birmingham has the child’s voice when she sings her “Skippety Songs,” though all of them would not be sung while skipping. If they all were some changes of rhythm would be awkward hurdles for the youngsters. But I think the one or two which might not be skippety would be excellent in a chair with one’s legs swinging. I’ve got a bracelet bright and new— Seven blue beads on a piece of string, I’ve got a necklace, blue as blue That is a proper skippety song and so, too, is the delicious “Shopping” wherein one sees the disadvantages of being grown up. Having eaten cakes with cream in them the young one can observe: All that Mummy eats is a Little white scone. Then she puts my bonnet On, Pokes back a curl, And I play the lady like a Great big girL The author has; a feeling, too, for the childish interest in the abnormal, in the thrill of childish terror when imagination creates exciting danger and peoples the dark. Then I tried to sleep—but my eyes stayed wide: And Mummy kissed me, and took the light. And there was something that moved outside. And bumped and grumped in the big, black night. Something that rustled—something that creaked— Something that scratched at the window and squeaked. And I thought, "It’s the animals all together— The wolf, the elephant, ’normously big! And the big white dogl And the big white pig I ! I ’’ Mummy said it was only a feather But how did she know it was only a leather. There is something to go to the heart of you, too, in “Untasted Joys,” a wee bit mature though in the anticipation of Heaven where I’ll ride my scarlet scooter down the shining golden street. I’ll hear my bangle jingle with the joy I would at seven. And I’ll pipe my penny whistle to the little lambs of Heaven! That is the author Karna Birmingham speaking, not the child; but it is good stuff nevertheless. This collection of songs is assisted by many excellent child studies in line by the author of the verses—or, did the artist write the songs? “Skippety Songs” by Karna Birmingham (The Endeavour Press, Sydney). MONEY AND HAPPINESS Fenella Lome decided against poverty. She married the wealthy old Colonel Fenton, a kindly old soul who conveniently died so quickly that the ink hardly had time to dry on the record of their union. Fenella was thus entitled “To Ride in a Coach.” This is Annabel Lee’s story in the beginning. Fenella meets with Roger Fenton, the colonel’s actor son, who has a fiery temper, independence of spirit, and a beautiful, pleasure-loving wife. Fenella fell in love with the young man she had dispossessed and Roger’s wife saw in her something to hate. Thus a turbulent course is provided, and the story moves rapidly through these swirling waters until it reaches calm and happiness. Fenella is a natural woman, who has no desire to be a martyr, but who does want to secure happiness and this she does. It is a bright romance, one that will be popular. “To Ride in a Coach” by Annabel Lee (Messrs Mills and Boon Ltd., London). A TRAIL OF CHIPS Queen Marie of Rumania in “The Story of My Life” (Cassell) gives an amusing glimpse of Winston Churchill as a little boy, visiting Eastwell—his mother, Lady Randolph Churchill, and the Grand Duchess Marie were great friends. He was red-haired, freckled, and impudent, with a fine disdain for authority. He and I had a sneaking liking for each other. At first we did not dare to show It openly, but by degrees our red-haired guest threw away all pretence and brazenly admitted his preference for me, declaring before witnesses that when he was grown up he would marry me. I wonder what is the reaction to a childish discretion of that kind being revealed. * ♦ * Sir Basil Zaharoff’s birthplace, like Homer’s, has so far remained a mystery. No fewer than five towns and villages in Russia claim to have cradled him. Sir Basil has encouraged them all in the belief that they are right, hut the mystery will be cleared up by the young Austrian writer, Robert Neumann, in his biography of the financier. It will be published in German and French. An American version will follow, but it is stated that it is not likely to be published in England—at any rate, as it now stands. Dr. Neumann gives his book the sub-title “The Anglo-French Oil War,” and some of the “disclosures” he makes might give rise to libel actions in England. * * * THE PERIODICALS Dean Ingle going into retirement, but surely not to silence. That may or may not be so, but in the September issue of Nash’s there is a “retiring” statement of this scholar who insists that he has been made a public figure against his own inclinations. In this article he discusses modem times and doesn’t spare the past. This is only one item in the bill of contents. There is, as usual, a remarkable gathering of writers. Here are novels by Rafael Sabatini and Clarence Ribley, short stories by Aldous Huxley, John Van Druten, Thomas Wolfe (author of “Look Homeward, Angel”), F. Tennyson Jesse, Joseph Hergesheimer, and others; articles by V. Sackville West, Rosita Forbes, Louis Golding, R. D. Blumenfeld, Marguerite Steen and, of course, the modem Rake’s Progress Re-

becca West and David Low is carried another step. Film Fashionland combines screen interest with fashion interest, and carries the style notions of the screen stars to the home. Short stories fill in the waits, and there is a frock pattern, and you can see Joan Marsh in it. There is also an article to tell you what the film stars will wear.

My copies from Messrs Gordon and Gotchj Ltd.> Christchurch,