Stray Leaves from Book World

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLV, Issue 21180, 29 October 1938, Page 12

Stray Leaves from Book World

INTERESTING NEWS AND NOTES

It has been stated that the- revised edition of Frank Harris’s "Oscar Wilde,” which Constable have just published, is to be re-issued with still further emendations. But so far there is no confirmation of this. On inquiry Constable's replied they had nothing to say.

Street nomenclature can be a clue to the degree of veneration which a people feel towards its literary men. London comes out fairly well, better than might be expected when one considers how niggard is the State recognition given in this country to artists. A correspondent of "The Poetry Review” has compiled the following list of poets’ names used in naming streets, roads, etc., in the London postal area: Milton 26, Byron 8, Ruskin 7, Lamb 6, Chaucer 5, Gray 4, Blake 4, Spenser 3, Browning 3, Swinburne 2, Herrick 2, Keats 1, Hood 1. This was not intended to be a complete list, and it would be easy to make addition. Shakespeare, for example, scores 5.

Mr Henry Hall, whose novel “Our Backyard,” has just been published, is a pastoralist from western New South Wales, who has made a thorough examination of the Northern Territory, visited its stations, studied its possibilities and problems, and reached certain definite conclusions. In this book he describes the country, and advances a number of practical suggestions for its development. The author is no stylist, but readers undaunted by awkward construction and disjointed presentation will find a great deal of information and interest in his work. He considers that the only way the Northern Territory can be converted into an asset is by the removal of taxation and duties, a liberal land policy, the provision of good roads to the nearest export outlet, and a changeover from cattle to sheep in certain areas. “Just as soon as a land policy that will attract and make young Australia sit up and take notice is formulated,” he says in conclusion, “and becomes the law of the land, more than half the battle will be won.”

Writing witli more than a suspicion of strong feeling for the underdog to inspire him, Nevil Shute, in “Ruined City,” has succeeded in producing a novel in which first-class entertainment and a few ideas above the level of the usual cliches are excellently combined. The central character of the story is Henry Warren, a well-to-do banker, who, in his early forties, finds himself rich, deserted by his wife, and with nothing for him in the future but the cheerless amassing of yet more wealth. How he becomes interested in the moribund shipbuilding town of Sharpies, how the tragedy of its unemployed men affects him, and how he restores the town life and its people to self-respect, even at the expense cf sacrificing his principles as a banker—these things made up Mr Shute’s tale. "Ruined City” has colour, speed, and action. The first test of a novel is its readability—its power to make the reader want to push on to see what is going to happen. Mr Shute’s book has that quality, plus a certain humanity which will added to its popularity.

The Librarian of St. Pancras (London) does not waste words (or spare reputations) in writing about the nuisance of duplicated titles. It is particularly aggravating, he says, in cases where entirely different novels and plays are concerned. For instance, three novelists—Mrs Elinor Mordaunt, Miss Naomi Royde-Smlth, and Miss Claire Spencer—have written novels with the somewhat unimaginative title of “The Island.” To add to the resulting confusion, Dr „ Merton Hodge has contributed a play of the same name, which has recently been produced in the West End. It is within my personal knowledge that numbers of readers, having enjoyed the play, have borrowed one or other of the novels under the Impression that it was a re-telling of the story of the play.” “Not so many years ago, he continues, he was receiving complaints from readers who had mistaken Justus Miles Forman’s novel, “Journey’s End,” for Mr R. C. Sheriff’s war play. This was a trifle hard on Justus Miles Forman! Here is a sample of the Librarian's down-rightness:—“lt says little for the originality or imagination of even ordinary populai- novelists when such titles as "The Brothers” (L. A. G. Strong, H. A. Vachell, and H. G. Wells) and “The Mother” (Sholem Asch, Pearl Buck, Eden Phillpots, and Naomi Royde-Smith) are employed so many times. . . Mr James Hanley, a novelist of some distinction, has actually resurrected the title “Boy”—appropriated many years ago as a best-seller title by the late Marie Corelli. Imagination boggles at the thought of a Marie Corelli fan taking home Mr Hanley's “Boy” in error!

This latest collection of Major P. C. Wren's shorter work is labelled: "Rough Shooting: True Tales and Strange Stories.” It would be interesting to learn which are the true tales; quite a number of the offerings are, from a literary point of view, strange stories. There are three groups in the book: the first, stories of a supernatural nature; the second, yams spun by soldiers of the Foreign Legion who are facing certain death; the third, a miscellany with a preponderating Foreign Legion flavour. Of the three groups, the first is the best, the second the worst; in all three, there is no story of really first-class quality, although in all there are many which fall below the level of mediocrity. Miss Maxwell Fraser threatens to develop into a confirmed tourist-lurer, for she has already sung the praises of Manxland and the glories of the English lakes. In “Beautiful Sweden” she makes another beautiful contribution. If one must cavil at a conscientious and effective piece of writing that embraces folklore, history, art, architecture, drama, poetry, literature, military strategy, sport of all sorts, enterprises of various brands, scenic descriptions and what not, it is that Miss Fraser is too liberal a user of adjectives beloved of rapturous young trippers, that her sheer enthusiasm for the country for which she writes takes her pen in thrall, and that she is often hard put to it to ring changes on her epithets. But she has skilfully made her travel book a blend of many ingredients, and she shows us a living country, with timbers floating down the great rivers, factories working at top speed, farms like gardens—a land of varied activities, and yet in Infinite peace.

Many folk in New Zealand who remember the visit of Dr. Karl Kumm some 25 years ago in the Interests of the Sudan United Mission have desired a full account of his remarkable career. “Pools on the Glowing Sand: The Story of Karl Kumm,” by Irene V. Cleverdon, partly meets that demand. It is largely a family chronicle rather than a full-dress biography. But,it sketches a virile personality, a noble character, a philanthropist of the finest type, an enthusiast for the highest welfare of the child races of Africa. Dr. Kumm became keenly aware of the danger which threatened the pagan tribes of Northern Nigeria if they can's under the influence of Mohammedanism. He therefore urged that a chain of Christian mission stations be established across Africa. His scheme founu favour, and led to the founding of the Sudan United (Mission. When tne Great War broke out Dr. Kumm, although a naturalised Briton, was made to feel that he was an alien, and spent the last years of his life in America. But he was a true cosmopolitan, broad in his sympathies, generous in his outlook upon humanity, and entitled by the splendour of his achievements to grateful remembrance.

A distinguished woman novelist has been telling readers of a Sunday newspaper what she looks for in a novel. The most important requirements, she says, are: (1) The story must, hold her attention; (2) the people must be lifelike; (3) the dialogue must be natural; (4) the setting in tune and place must make a picture in her mind. As a rough-and-ready standard of measurement for assessing the value (especially the entertainment value) of a novel this will do well enough, (writes Colophon in John O’London’s Weekly”), but it is loosely phrased and open to serious objections, which she would probably be the first to admit. Let us apply it to a classic novel and see how it works. No one will deny the greatness of “The Pickwick Papers." Very well then. Does the story hold attention? No. Are the people lifelike? No—if verisimilitude means photographic resemblance to the people we come in contact with every day. Is the dialogue natural? No again—what Cockney ever talked like Sam Weller? The last requisite only is fulfilled. Clearly there must be some kind of story—characters, dialogue and the rest must be supported by a framework of narrative if the work which introduces them is to be called a novel; but the story need not hold the attention. What our novelist means by her second requirement is that the people should live convincingly hi their own world, which is the world of their creator’s imagination. It is necessarily different from the real world; thanks to his creative power it may be infinitely richer and more exciting. And so with dialogue. The people round us do not talk like Shakespeare’s heroes or, for that matter, like Mr Aldous Huxley’s: how mudh more thrilling life would be if they did! It is the artist’s privilege to create this Intenser world. All the truth-to-life writer can do is to give us a picture of the world as we see it. And we now have machines —cameras, microphones which are capable of doing that equally well or better.