BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVIII, Issue XXII, 31 May 1902, Page 1110

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

THE HOUND OF TILE BASKERVILLES. To say that Sherlock Holmes, Conan Doyle’s immortal Sherlock Holmes, is to the fore in this book is surely enough to send the British public a-buying it right away. He is not the hero, but the hero, though quite an admirable specimen of colonialbred British youth, sinks into insignificance whenever Sherlock walks upon the stage —as might reasonably be expected. A blood-curdling mystery, in which a hound of presumed supernatural origin plays a prominent part, runs its thrilling course through this Bother bulky volume, and Sherlock Holmes’ amazing powers of observation, of analysis and synthesis of facts of all sizes and kinds are taxed to their utmost before he runs the hound, the villain and the mystery to earth at one and the same time, with the assistance of his foil and fldus Achates, Dr. Watson. There! Have I not described one of the most appetising literary dishes that could be set before the general reader? MICHAEL FERRIER. A story written with much delicacy of touch and with considerable powers of characterisation. But though there runs through Michael Ferrier's love story something that is a little morbid, the tragedy that so painfully tangles it is, to the reader's mind, wholly unexpected and incongruous, and also quite unnecessary. Helen’s conduct, in the face of that tragedy, is perhaps unexpected, too, but it responds to what our sentiment demands and we applaud her true, courageous love. The subsidiary charac* ters are drawn with a good deal of realistic skill, and the book has no lack of interest, though it is of a delicate, subdued order. THE WEST COTES. Mr Quiller-Couch has never written anything better in its way than this quiet story, yet all it possesses in the shape of a heroine is a plain looking, middle-aged woman, quite unattractive, save for her goodness of heart. The picturesque element in the tale is mostly supplied by the French prisoners stationed at Axcester in 1810—place and time of the story. The tragic element is woven out of the middle-aged lady’s attachment to one of the prisoners on parole, a clever, attractive young Frenchman of noble birth. Yes, of course, I know it sounds ridiculous when thus stated baldly—an elderly spinster enamoured of a fascinating youth. But wlien the details are painted in the ridiculous disappears. Dorothea Westcote, the homely looking old maid, acts from first to last so as to win our esteem, our admiration, our heartfelt sympathy, while we reserve our condemnation and disgust for the young man of the versatile charm who played so despicable a part towards her. Without exception, the characters are defined with strong, skilful strokes, and are handled with an easy grace. Some who take no active part in the story are nevertheless made by a few adroit words to move before our eyes very living personalities. The book will certainly not deTract from Mr QuillerCouch’s reputation.