Books Reviewed

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 531, 7 December 1928, Page 14

Books Reviewed

SHORT STORiES. HE Best Short Stories of 1928” I —there are two volumes, Eng- "*■ lish and American; this is the English —is well worth ranging beside the excellent collections which have already gained their place on the shelf. There are familiar names here, and some new ones. Arnold Bennet’s easy skill in fashioning flimsy material is shown in “The Cornet-Player”; Ernest Bramah’s Kai Lung unrolls his mat and the leisurely tale of “Wan and the Remarkable Shrub”; A. E. Coppard. Louis Golding, Sheila Kaye-Smith—-these are the old hands; and their touch is as sure as ever. But there are some newer names. Henry Williamson, whose fame was made by “Tarka the Otter,” is represented by a fine piece of work, “The Heller”; and Mr H. A. Manhood’s story, “Brotherhood,” shows a most promising talent. Two creepily effective stories are Alex. Barber’s “Old Beetle’s Crime” and Ray Coryton Hutchinson's “Every Twenty Years.” Trifles, most deftly turned, are Dora Broome’s “Dick’s Hatband” and Charles Lee’s “Pascoe’s Song.” On the whole the volume exhibits the successful art of the modern story-writer rather in the deft handling of slight themes than in the grasp of powerful ones. Lists of stories, articles, and writers, with biographical notes, appear as usual. “The Best Short Stories of 1928.” Vol. I, English. Edited bv E. J. O’Brien. Jonathan Cape, Ltd. Our copy from the publishers. WHERE FAITH IS When mortals believe in fairies almost anything may happen. It is even possible to visit the Man in the Moon and watch him making dreams, the while he solemnly discusses Green Cheese and its fattening qualities that are always such a distress to him. Then one is permitted to peep in on Father Time, who sits in his curious office, writing on a long scroll and patiently teaching the little New Year his lessons, while in an ante-chamber the grave Old Years chat about the fall of Rome and such events that are

ancient history. Faith is an open sesame to the Garden of Babies, where every flower cradles a wondering, pink-cheeked baby-to-be, and Santa j Claus may still be glimpsed in his workshop, his snowy hair powdered { with shavings. The Earth Nurse, the Sea Mother, I shadow elves, breeze fairies, witches, ! gnomes and goblins become every- j day acquaintances if one really believes in fairies, and Patty was suffi-! ciently wise and sufficiently young not to be even a trifle sceptical. “Patty Who Believed in Fairies,” re- j eeutly issued by Dent, from the pen i of Dearmer MacCormac. a versatile I

New Zealand writer, and charmingly illustrated in black and white and colour by Olive Lloyd, is rich in imaginative work. Both of these talented young people are residents of Auckland. The book began when its author was still in her teens and weaving fairy stories for a younger sister, who,

strangely enough, found her duplicate in Patty. It is obtainable from booksellers throughout New Zealand, and already is having a wide sale. A delightful addition to any child’s library, “Patty Who Believed in Fairies” should be found in many a Christmas stocking this year. “Ratty Who Believed in Fairies,” by Dearmer MacCormac, published by J. M. Dent and Sons, Ltd., New York. Our copy comes from Messrs. Nash and Kissling, Auckland agents. Romance In History Subtly fusing romance into history, A. C. Bailey succeeds always in compounding agreeable novels. Fact and fiction ever run sweetly together if the blend is kept right, and Mr. Bailey is privy to the secret. With a setting in Kent during the Napoleonic War, “Judy Bovenden,” his latest tale, is concerned with a variety of folk. Smugglers and stock gamblers are placed in diverting association. Convincing period atmosphere is sustained throughout the book, and the story of Judy and her old character of a father, makes excellent reading. “Judy Bovenden,” by A. C. Bailey, Methuen and Co.. Our copy from the publishers.

I Wcc Edgar Wallace, The Kipling of crime. I buy him in batches Of ten at a time. I read all his stories Of squeakers and crooks, I like Edgar Wallace In spite of his books !

. Wild West Up-to-Date The latest developments in electricity and every-day life on a Western cattle ranch may seem a rather incongruous combination, but in his latest book, “The Rio Rustlers," James French Dorrance manages successfully to combine the two. He has written a story round a great cattle ranch and has added to the usual set of characters by introducing a clever electrician, who, by his knowledge of electrical science, succeeds in outwitting a band of Mexican cattle thieves and saving the pretty girlowner of the ranch. This same pretty girl has decidedly progressive ideas. She buys a fleet of electric cars for the rouud-ups and brings out a skilled electrician to install electric light and power at the ranch. Very soon, however the electrician becomes unpopular among the Mexicans at the place, who think that his electric lights are devil’s work. In self-defence he is forced to set to work to drive them away, and presently he finds himself in love with his fair employer, and in the middle of a plot to ruin her by | stealing her cattle. Of course, he defeats the plot and wins the girl. “The Rio Rustlers,” by James French Dorrance. Published by Hurst and Blackett, Ltd.. London. Our copy from Dymock’s Book Arcade, Sydney. Thrills From Nevada “Dust of Gold,” a real Western thriller, unlike many books of its class, rings true. Its author is obviously familiar with his characters and the country in which lie has placed them. Nor is this surprising, as j Charles H. Snow comes from true Californian pioneer stock. He has spent most of his life in the Western United States, with occasional visits to Mexico, Canada and Central America. The story is a romance of Nevada. A. fabulously rich gold mine, a treacherous half-breed, a young mining engineer, a rich squatter and bis charming daughter—all the potentialities of the thrilling “Western” are present and Mr. Snow has not failed to make the most of them. “Dust of Gold,” by Charles H. Snow. Methuen and Co.. Ltd., London. Our copy ! from the publishers. High-Hatted Cowboy As the train pulled » : of the depot, a young man wearing a silk hat, spats i and all that goes between them, | stepped from the platform to the ! street of the cow town. Bang! Drilled through the middle, the silk I

hat rolled in the dust, and a grinning bad man waved his smoking gun. Bang! That was a punch on the nose, not a shot. The l>ad man measured his length on Western America, and the immaculate one gazed at the ruined knukles of his kid glove. This little precis of the openipg chapter of “Ken of the Cow Country” gives some idea of the action that will take the reader bounding through its pages on , the trail of cattle men, rustlers, lovely ladies, and a really entertaining hero. Robert Ames Bennet, we believe, is one of the pioneer “Western” novel- ! ists. His latest mystery romance of I the ranges certainly inspires confiI deuce in his publishers’ slogan: “Bennet knows the West.” “Ken of the Cow Country.” Collins, London. Our copy from Dymocks Book ] Arcade, George Street, Sydney. One Laughs; and Yet— Mr Laurence Housman has a vein of mockery which can be almost cruel. Mr Lloyd George, possibly, read ‘Trimblerigg” with a smile twisted out of pain rather than wreathed by enjoyment. That as may be. “The Life of H.R.H. the Duke of Flamborough” is a not dissimilar book; but the mockery is less fixed in aim, and its sharpness comes and goes. It is often easy to laugh, so near is this “Life” of a Royal Duke of the old, heavy brigade to mere farce and foolery. Then real scorn straightens its aim and brings the target into clearer view at the same time. One ceases to laugh, one is struck by the deadly seriousness of the jest. The last pages—see p.p 281 and 256, for instance —help to fix that impression. The book begins slowly, so slowly that one thinks it cannot gain any impetus: but it does. There is brilliant writing in it; and there are daring parallels in it, too. Mr Housman can be very amusing, of course. The Duke hobbles into the War Office, gloating over the collapse of all true efficiency after his retirement from the Chief Command (at the age of 76). He has his evidence: “That,” he said, “is the hind button of a Life Guardsman’s trousers. Just now, as I went by, they were changing guard. I heard it fall off. Buttons didn't fall off the Army in my day. ... If you have one falling off you may have ’em all falling off. You can’t conduct a charge of cavalry if its buttons aren’t safe. This sort of thing didn’t happen in my day.” “The Life of H.R.H. the Duke of Flamborough.” Benjamin Bunny. A Footnote to History, Arranged, Expurgated, and Edited j by Laurence Housman. Jonathan Cape, Ltd. Our copy from the publishers. A Delightful Anthology. Good measure, pressed down and running over, “Traveller’s Joy” is a delightful anthology. It is not a travel anthology—Mr Jonathan Cape might think of providing one, by tlie way—but an anthology for the traveller, the stay-at-home traveller whose highways 1 and by-ways are books, and the “sum- J mer and autumn traveller —cycling or with a knapsack—who would fain bear with him some light store of literary , provender.” Happy the traveller, then. 1 in his armchair or resting on his way < in the shade, who opens Mr W. G. 1 Waters’s book and can turn from Haz- \ litt, “On Classical Education,” to Praed’s “The Red Fisherman,” and on to Lamb’s delicious recollections i of George Dyer or back to Robert Bridges’s “Elegy on a Lady.” This is ; a pocket library, in which the delight 1 of finding many things that one expects to find is increased by the delight of finding many more full of freshness and surprise, and all agreeing so well together. “Traveller’s Joy.” An anthology compiled by W. G. Waters. The Travellers* Library: Jonathan Cape. Our copy from the publishers.