BOOK OF THE WEEK

Taranaki Daily News, 20 February 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

BOOK OF THE WEEK

ESSAYS IN SMARTNESS. (By C.E.) “Women and Children Last,” by Beverley Nichols: Jonathan London, through Thos. Avery and Sons, Ltd., New Plymouth. When I saw before me a few days ao-o a book with the name of Beverley Nichols on the jacket the occurrence seemed opportune, for here was a writer whose very recent book has caused . stir by reason of its revelations relating to the late Dame, Melba. That book has not come my way, and I am not gieat]y concerned on that account, for it seems to represent a type of morbid sensationalism which does not appeal to me, but I felt that I ought to take an opportunity of finding out something about Beverley Nichols. So I have made my first acquaintance with him through “Women and Children Last, a collection of essays, a few of which may be called short stories, published last year. The title is at once provocative, as the author clearly intends it to be, m spite of his ■ protestation . to the, contrary. “The title of this book, he states in his foreword, ‘‘has a certain significance not usually associated with such titles, and, strangely enough, the significance did not strike me until the collection was almost complete. I caked it ‘Women and Children Last’ merely because the book was divided into four parts, and the essays. about women, which are called, by journalists, sex stuff,’ and by writers, ‘feminine pieces, seemed to fall naturally at the end. Thus the title was’ at first purely expeditious.” 'Perhaps the fact that _ the essays were first published in periodicals explains Mr. Nichols’ disavowal of intent in the selection of the title, but at any rate he seems to have had no/ difficulty in making up his mind when the time came for a decision.

He goes on to explain the source of his inspiration —a letter received after the appearance of one or more of the essays. It'began with th© words: “Dear Mr. Nichols, Y'ou are crazier than a bed bug.” “After I had fondled it,” he savs, “and gazed out of the window on to” the tall trees of Park. Lane, over which there was hovering a purely personal mist, I lowered my eyes, and savoured it again, finding particular pleasure in the delicate tail-piece ‘. . .Any--way you are a bum, and would prob-ably-let a woman drown if you were on a ship and it was going down.’ ” Mr. Nichols regarded the ‘‘Six American School Girls” who signed the letter as a very invigorating sextette, and he n-oes on to indicate that he is immensely pleased with himself when he provokes such outbursts. That letter, he says, “reminded me poignantly that after every one of those essays I had received similar tokens of friendship. Indeed, there were once seven thousand in a week.” And he quite gloats over the idea that that is proof that “somebody must have been touched on the raw. At any rate, the challenge of the six American school -girls set him off on a tilt against women, with the result that the foreword raises expectations which the essays do not always justify. Mi. Nichols uses the sledge hammer in the foreword, 'but a more delicate weapon serves his later purposes.

I cannot take the- details of the book severally and dissect them, for that would be too long a task, and those who wish may do so for themselves. They will find it on the whole a pleasant and informative exercise. At page 71, for instance, they will come to a little story, “A Piece of Lace,” which Mr. Nichols - unblushingly announces is to be one of the “smartest” stories ever written—not, it turns out, by reason of the plot, but because the, persons concerned are.ultra-smart and ‘the properties with which they are surrounded are of the most elegant.” It is an extremely clever little story, its three characters drawn in striking relief, its incidents most delicately sketched, and the authors unerring sensibility exercising just the appropriate measure of restraint. He has the happiest knack of saying just enough to convey the subtlest of suggestions in a case where a IpLrd too much would be fatal.

Let me mention a couple of essays which happen to come together, “Some Obscure Heroes” and “A Word for the .Chorus.” With remarkable sympathy Mr. Nichols pictures for us the valet, the lift-man and the chauffeur as real heroes. “Every day,” he writes, “other young men are pushing diamond studs into somebody else’s. shirts, ironing somebody else’s trousers, and standing to attention while somebody else .goes out to spend the equivalent of a month’s wages on a single night’s entertainment. Every day, in various blocks of flats, young men with eager muscles and a longing to leap and run are sitting in deserted lifts, waiting for somebody to press a button, with, the bitter knowledge that they will sit in that lift for the rest of their lives, if they are lucky, and that they are really only living on charity, anyway. And they are heroes, too.” To these let me add the essays on the verging-on-middle-age woman who sits in any”hotel lounge in Europe—the woman who has no history and whose tragedy is that her only tense is the present'; the woman who is compelled by hard times to sell an old mirror; the tragedy of the gigolo, and so on. Here we find Mr. Nichols as a shrewd and sympathetic observer; indeed, his human kindness is remarkable. These little essays, another on “Flowers in Winter” and a few more breathe the philosophy which gave Robert Blatchford’s “As I lay a-thinking” its compelling charm. Whether Mr. Nichols will appreciate the comparison with the old Socialist may be doubted, but it certainly is meant as a compliment. Blatchford’s essays have been kept at my hand ever since they made their appearance. t Here is the end of my column, and I have really said little about the “Women and children last.” Well, people had better read for themselves. Many -will find Mr. Nichols at times the very superior modernist, quite capable, in his own estimation, of lecturing most people on mest things. His affectation is apt to be annoying,' especially when he talks of manners, which he seems to have outraged so successfully in his most recent book. His cynicism is sometimes overpowering, but he has real wit, he wields a facile pen, and he can be as brilliant as he can be boorish.

.During the next fortnight, readers of this column will have a unique opportunity for buying books at exceptionally low prices, as Thomas Aveiy and •Sons, Ltd.', Booksellers, New Plymouth, are holding a Great Stock .Reducing Sale, prices in some instances being less than half.*