A New Zealand Novelist

Southland Times, Issue 24883, 24 October 1942, Page 4

A New Zealand Novelist

fIIHE death of William Satchell, re--I ported on Thursday in a message from Auckland, has a melancholy interest for those who await new developments in New Zealand literature. Novelists who turn bravely to this young country for their themes and backgrounds arc undertaking a difficult task. They must be prepared for creative problems, indifference and misunderstanding, and slender material rewards. The career of William Satchell could be said to epitomize these difficulties. He was the only novelist of real importance who worked in New Zealand before the last war. His name is usually linked to “The Greenstone Door,” an imaginative story of life among the Maoris published in 1914. But the critics are beginning to find his best work in the earlier books, “The Toll of the Bush” (1905) and “The Land of the Lost” (1902). These were stories of the gum fields and remote settlements north of Auckland. They were weakened, to a certain extent, by a Victorian insistence on black and white standards of morality. The heroes were very good, and the villains were very bad. There was no psychological interpretation of the kind that has deepened and enriched the work of later novelists. But this cannot be surprising when it is remembered that Butler’s “The Way of all Flesh,” which probably did more than any other novel to introduce the modern phase of English fiction, was not published until 1903, one year after the appearance of “The Land of the Lost.”

Satchell was the product of his time. His true achievement can be found in the pioneering effort to give the New Zealand scene a pervasive influence in the background of his stories. He allowed those northern landscapes to grow upon the reader, showing them through the eyes of his characters, and in the moments of illumination that come from an emotional tension. In this way he made easier the work of Jane Mandcr and of the handful of writers

who in later years have tried to acclimatize the novel in New Zealand. Inevitably, he suffered a chilling neglect. His creative work came to an end 28 years ago. He lived to see a revival of public interest when “The Greenstone Door” and “The Land of the Lost” were re-pub-lished before a second great war condemned the arts to a barren interlude. But he must have known that in more favourable circumstances he might have added a complete achievement to his life’s work. His place in New Zealand literature is undoubtedly secure, and although he may be known chiefly as an influence it can be claimed for him that his books are still being read, 40 years after the publication of “The Land of the Lost.” How many present-day writers can hope for a similar distinction? And how many novelists are left, fit to be compared with him, now that he is gone?