FROM Bookstall and Study.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18453, 2 May 1928, Page 6

FROM Bookstall and Study.

Dr Holdsworth, Professor in English Law at Oxford, and author of the “ History of the English Law,” is at present engaged on a book dealing with Charles Dickens and the Law. ?•; » Gene Tunney, the champion boxer, has written an introduction to “ Ten — and Out,” a book in which Alexander Johnston has collected the complete history of the Jn America. Mr H. G. Wells and Professor Julian Huxley have collaborated in a stupendous work dealing with the application of science to life. The advance on royalties is said a record. Those who enjoyed the Xai Lung books will be pleased to hear that Mr Ernest Brahmah has written • another volume dealing with that wise and philosophical Chinaman. The title is “ Kai Lung Unrolls His Mat.” The London “ Sunday Times ” reprints the following from its issue of March 2, 1828:—“It is said that Mr T. Moore is to receive 4000 guineas for his life of Lord Byron from Mr Murray.” Book-ends adorned with portraits of famous modern authors, including Theodore Dreiser, Willa Gather, and Sinclair Lewis, are the latest fashion -among wealthy American book-lovers. Hutchinson announces “ The Uncen* sored Dardanelles,” by Mr Ellis Ash-mead-Bartlett. The author, it is said, reveals facts relating to the occupation of Gallipoli which were withheld even from members of the Cabinet at one time. 1C X * The printers of the American “ Booki man ” refused to carry on the work when they learned that Upton Sinclair’s new novel, “ Boston,” which is based on the Sacco-Vanzetti case, was to be serialised in that journal. Z‘2 K Z-2 Sir James Barrie has accepted the invitation of the Incorporated Society of Authors to become their chairman, in succession to Mr Thomas Hardy. He has been a member for thirty-seven years. Sir James Barrie is the fourth chairman of the society, which was formed in 1884. The first chairman was Lord Tennyson, and the second George Meredith.

The first full-length and true-to-lifa portrait of Russia’s first Dictator is said to be contained in a biography by Valerin Marcu, which has just been published, and is causing a great deal of discussion, in Berlin. It is a serious study, in the modern manner, but the author has lost nothing of the drama behind that sinister figure.

It is said that some of the manuscripts of Thomas Hardy’s novels have gone astray. The M.S. of “Tess” is in the British Museum, and that of

“The Mayor of Casterbridge ” is ini Dorset, but some of the others were

“ borrowed ” from the author during! his lifetime and never returned.

Chatto and Windus, the publishers, are offering prizes of £3OO and £l5O for a historical novel of not less than 65,000 words. The novel may be concerned with any nationality and any period previous to 1850. The judges are Mr E. M. Foster, Mr R. H. Mottram, and Professor Gordon, and the closing date is May 31, 1929.

It is not generally known that Stevenson once paid a visit to Hardy at Max Gate, and that he obtained permission to dramatise “ The Mayor of Casterbridge.” Owing to ill-health, however, Stevenson was never able to carry out his project.

It may be interesting to recall also that according to Sir Edmund Gosse the only book Stevenson was anxious to take with him on the voyage when he left these shores for the last time in the Ludgate Hill was Thomas Hardy’s “ Woodlanders,” “ which we had to scour London that Sunday afternoon to get hold of.”

In reply to a question, “ Which great author of the past would you most like to meet in the flesh?” put by “John o’ London’s Weekly,” Mr Bernard Shaw replied:—“lt is a mistake to meet authors, living or dead. All that is tolerable in them is their books. However, if a resurrection of Shakespeare could be effected, I should call on him to clear up certain technical matters which are still doubtful concerning the Elizabethan stage.” Mr Pettridge said“ I am, I expect, scarcely alone in wanting to meet Charles Dickens. I should not bother him with questions about 4 Edwin Drood,’ but I would like to know all about the dinner given, with. Talfourd in the vice-chair, to celebrate the success of 4 Pickwick Papers.’ Dickens was then twenty-five years of age. A great occasion! ” The “Quarterly Review,” referring to well-known slips in Johnson’s Dictionary, remarked that “Other lexicographers have been no more free from the lapses which arise from inattention or the limitation which Johnson called ‘pure ignorance.’ A striking example was Webster’s original definition of a wicket-keeper as ‘the player at cricket who stands with a bat to protect the wicket from a ball.’ ”... Richardson, in his Dictionary, occasionally made the mistake of misplacing his quotations. Thus, after defining the word “Snail” as “any creeping, slow or sluggish thing,” he illustrated the word with a quotation (among others) from Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Wit at Several Weapons,” in which Pompev says: “Snails, I’m almost starved with love and cold.” But the word is really “ ’snails,” a euphemistic shortening of "God’s nails.” x An interesting link with Charles Lamb is afforded by the firm of R. F. White and Son, advertising agents, who are leaving their century-old home at 33, Fleet Street for more modem premises. The James White who founded the firm in 1800 was “My pleasant friend Jem White,” mentioned in the Essays of Elia, in “Chimney Sweeps” and “Old Actors.” The poor chimney sweeps of those days regarded Jem White with affection, for once a year he gave a rupper to the young sweeps of Smithfield, at which his old school-fellow, Lamb, assisted as a waiter. Lamb was a frequent caller at 33, and it is on record that he turned his hand to advertisement copy-writing in the form of State lottery puffs. Lamb’s friendship with White continued until the latter died in 1820. Lamb’s essay on the praise of chimney-sweeps ends as follows: “James White is extinct, and with him these suppers have long ceased. He carried with him half the fun of the world when he died—-of my world at least. His old clients look for him among the pens: and missing him, reproach the altered feast of St Bartholomew and the glories of Smithfield departed for ever.” M » From John o' London’s Weekly: Mr Stephen Leacock, economist and humorist, has been laying about him in fine

manufactured in the States, are giving the youth of Canada a quite absurd notion of the truth about the War. In some of these films the struggle is actually described as “the Great American War,” and it follows that the historical sense of Canadian children is being hopelessly perverted. This interest, of the Americans in the War is indeed remarkable. It must' interest many of my readers to know that the firm of Houghton, Mifflin, and Co., in conjunction with the “American Legion Monthly,” is offering a cash price of 25,000 dollars, in addition to the customary royalties on sales and cinema rights, for the most interesting, best written, and most memorable story with the War as its background. Any author, regardless of nationality, may compete, but the manuscript must be in English and should contain at least 70,000 words. The closing date for entries is May 1, 1929. :*• :: Meredith’s genius does not appear to have been for all time, but for his own age. I doubt very much whether he be read at all to-day. His' works appear in few libraries and the “bright young people” would laugh at him. After mature deliberation, he was not buried in Westminster Abbey, though many of his own generation thought that he should have been. The controversies which were waged about him in his lifetime followed him to the grave—but they are stilled now and the echo of them is heard only at long intervals in the pages of some erudite review which remembers suddenly that he existed and once was the master figure of his generation. Meredith did not write in the role of detached observer, but from the point of view of the characters themselves. Curiously enough his work was never dramatic, yet his was in effect, the method of the Stage. Just as the dramatist shows us out of the mouth of puppets what are their feelings, their motives and their dealing with circumstance, so did George Meredith deal with the people of his novels. We had their point of view—not that of the novelist.—Max Pemberton.

Mr Harry S. Keeler, an American writer of' detective stories, says that the recipe for writing mystery stories is to take two or three utterly dissociated and unconnected plot points and mentally jiggle them back and forth until they come together into a single harmonious relationship. He gives the following example of a “plot point”:— “A young reporter who loves his employer’s daughter is offered the father’s support in his suit, as well as reinstatement on the latter’s newspaper, if he can locate the girl, who is missing. The only clue is a Chinese girl-friend of the daughter, in a city a thousand miles away. After troublesome efforts to get to this city, he complicates his problem badly by falling in love with the Chinese girl!” Mr Keeler suggests that a writer should have no difficulty in satisfactorily handling such a plot as this. 3 X 3 It is proposed to make an O. Henry Memorial Library out of the gaol at Austin, Texas, in which Sydney Porter was confined for two months before he was taken to Ohio, where he served a term in the State prison at Columbus for defalcation. A gaol as a memorial is certainly a novelty. The nearest thing to that we know of is that Bedford, in England, treasures as a memorial to John Bunyan the door of the gaol in which he wrote “Pilgrim’s Progress.” It was in the Columbus prison, not that in Texas, that O. Henry wrote some of his early stories, and it was thence that he sent to the “Outlook” in the year 1000 his “Georgia’s Ruling,” said by his biographer to be the second of his magazine stories. There, also, he wrote those infinitely touching and cheerful letters to his young daughter, who was ignorant of the cause of his absence. It is generally believed that the case against Porter was greatly prejudiced by the fact that he forfeited bail and went to Tpxas; when he heard that his wife was ill, he gave himself up in Texas so that he could get back to Ohio for trial. His friends have always contended that the alleged shortage in the bank where he was an employee was due to a bad system of personal loans on memorandum, and not to any deliberate defalcation on the part of Porter. His biographer, C. A. Smith, asserts his innocence. The Austin gaol is described as looking more like an old mediaeval castle than a prison. If the memorial plan does not go through it will be demolished. Whether or not this is for lack of prisoners (a reason which has lately caused some English gaols to be sold at auction) we are not told.

“ The Kopper Kettle,” by Irene Stiles. Published by Cassell and Co., Ltd. Copy from Whitcombe and Tombs, Ltd., Cashel Street. At the sign of “ The Kopper Kettle ” were met the youthful exponents of art —of painting, of music, of the drama; youth full of aspirations, of endeavour to great things. It was evolved and founded by some of them—a little

coterie, who, desirous of better and wider means towards self-expression, hit iipon this idea of refreshment with sociability for furthering their ends. The three prime movers were Pauline March and her brother, Conrad, and Blaize Harvey, and it is round them that the story centres—Pauline and Blaize particularly. It is a story of youth. Pauline and Blaize are lovable creatures, and “ The Kopper Kettle ” a

fascinating rendezvous. It is a centre of warmth and light and love, and prospers exceedingly for a time. Then trouble begins. There are doubts and dissensions among the moving spirits of the institution; love is turned to dis-

cord, and at last tragedy, horrible and disintegrating, descends on the erstwhile joyous “ Kopper Kettle.” The story develops great surprises, but for Pauline and Blaize there is triumphant issue, .The fires of tribulation and doubt serve but to refine and: anneal their love—to show them, indeed,, tfcat nothing else but love reall3 r matters. The “Saturday Review” offered a prize for an imaginary conversation between Dr Johnson, James Boswell, and Oliver Goldsmith on the subject of crossword puzzles, the conversation .place in a Fleet Street tavern

the style of Boswell. The following “conversation” won the prize Du the 27th of February I supped with Johnson and Dr Goldsmith at the Mitre Tavern. - The "conversation turningon the subject of recent fashions, 1 rnentioned the great popularity enjoyed by that pastime known as the crossword puzzle. Johnson.—“ Why, yes, Sir, such distractions will always find favour with those who have neither the wit to write nor the diligence to read.” Upon this Goldsmith attempted to maintain, I suppose from an affectation of paradox, “that such puzzles were a worthier occupation than reading for the ingenious mind; for they induced a man to consider the meanings and formations of words more thoroughly than he could ever do from a perusal of works of Action and imagination.” Johnson.—“ This is as sensible as to say that a student of architecture may gain more proAt from the study of a single brick than from the contemplation of the perfected whole. It is of little use to ascertain the precise meaning of a host of individual words, if this is to preclude us from the enjoyment of those sentiments and ideas which by skilful ordering and expression they mfty convey to our imagination. Words, Sir, ate no more than the current medium of thought, without which they are but as bullets lacking powder.” Boswell.—“ But have not you, sir, yourself devoted a great portion of your talents and erudition to this same investigation of the meaning of words?” Johnson.—“ Yes, Sir, I did perform such an investigation, but I did so only that others might be spared the toil of my labours, and more easily appreciate the genius of our eminent writers. Such ari object could never be attained by a whole lifetime devoted to your reticular problems.” At this point I ventured to hint by way of a light pleasantry that the extension of the practice he thus deplored might exercise a favourable Influence, on the sale of his celebrated Dictionary. Johnson.—“ That, Sir, has nothing to do with the matter. I trust I shall never allow my Judgment to be impedted by considerations of Anancial advantage. And, wen were I so to play the Whig, it would be fruitless; the booksellers would draw the pro At.” Goldsmith (not willing to let the matter drop).—“But. Elr, have you never done such a puzzle?” Johnson.—“No, Sir, I never did a crossword puzzle, nor was I ever in Bedlam.”

I include this example of the conversation of my illustrious friend, to demonstrate how he could condescend to matters of the most trivial importance and illuminate by the light of his intellect, the diversions of lesser minds.

WAR FROM TWO ANGLES. Fighting at Passchendaele in October, 1917, alongside the New Zealanders and Australians, was the Ninth Division of the British Army. It included the 12th Royal Scots, one of whom, Lieutenant Hugh Quigley, has now, in “Passchendaele and the Somme,” told of the horror, misery, and ghastly, unforgettable impressiveness of that iilfated offensive, using language that, for its force and beauty, stamps the writer as a genius. While painting vividly the agonies of the salient, Lieutenant Quigley recalls scenes of poignant beauty, until he succeeds almost in making the war a gfeat and colourful adventure. Here is one short extract from a chapter describing the advance of the Royal Scots in the Battle for the Ridges:— I had seen a dark blotch, to the right, and was going towards it, thinking it a machine-gun post in our advanced line, when the enemy coun-ter-barrage surrounded it and spread in long lines’ behind us. . . From a pictorial point of view nothing could be Aner or more majestic; it had a unity of colour and composition all its own, the most delicate shades of green and grey and brown fused wonderfully in til's, opening light of morning. When the barrage lifted and the distant ridge gleamed dark against the horizon, tree stumps, pill-boxes-, shell-holes, mine-craters, trenches shone but faintly, fragmentary in the drifting smoke.

But the author does not forget to tell his readers what the fighting was really like, of the suffering it entailed and the soul-harrowing agonies undergone. After describing a visit to a mangled comrade in hospital, he says: “With that note of horror I shall close, for, if everyone could visualise this horror, war would absolutely cease, and our ruddy generals find a new occupation other than that of spreading an aureole round hell. There is only one thing real in life, and that is eternity. War remains at best a nauseous blasphenw.” Lieutenant Quigley’s book is a masterpiece. Compared with it, ordinary histories of the Great War are dull and vapid. Our copy comes from the publishers, Methuen and Co., Ltd., London.