THE OFFICE

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 3, 25 March 1927, Page 8

THE OFFICE

(Written for THE SUN.) AN English reviewer of an Eng lish book (already written) and a Dominion critic of a New Zealand book (not yet published) : these two would appear to have little in common. And yet there is a connection. The Englishman, speaking of a volume of essays, says that its author assumes “the office” to be “the place where most people pass their lives.” Incidentally, he leaves it there, not venturing to assent, to deny, or even to excuse. The New Zealander talks, as many more have done, at large, of “that great New Zealand novel.” He is, however, unlike the others in that he offers, if only a crumb, yet something approaching a constructive suggestion. He asserts that a necessary portion of the (so far undiscovered) author’s equipment must be the ability to treat adequately the urban side of this country’s life. Hitherto, he hints, too much territory in the Dominion’s field of fiction has been allotted to country life. Now, the “drift to the towns” is an accomplished fact. .It is also deplored, but we are not here concerned with its social causes nor its prophesied economic and political consequences. Sufficient that it is accomplished, and that therefore a generation is in being, here in New Zealand, to whom “the office” is a factor looming largely in their lives. “The office" takes a man (and many girls) out of the best kind of fresh air du-ing the best hours of the day. And this is true, modern hygienic conditions, methods and theories notwithstanding. So, as man (and some girls) is an outdoor animal, the office is irksome. Our reviewer—the English one—comes into the light more when he claims for his author’s work that it makes one “more ready to face the office.” He admits, though he does not specify, that there is something to be said against office life. All sedentary workers will agree with him. And if this look too sweeping, it will be granted that to nearly every man “the other fellow’s job” is a better one. On a rainy day the worker on the

telegraph pole peeps into the cheer ul office and envies the sheltered me. When the sun is shining, the rtter wish the shelter away, and i not too willing to change with is man on the post, will yet think >f the first mate on a launch, or a ,-ltarf ornament, preferably with a niform. Most office workers, again, from lark to manager, contrast their own ot, unfavourably, with that of an irtist or literary man. It is to these last that we should perhaps apply for an estimate of the office” and its worth. The cleri cal men are too close, and the rural workers too remote for a just assesment. Two of our own acquaintance may supply the points of view. The man of letters is employed mainly in the writing of fiction, moderately good, with occasional rises and less frequent lapses, or so the critics say. Over a number of years, his income has approached the annual sum of nearly a thousand pounds. His friend has an executive post in a company which has seen good, better and worse days, but has so far contrived to pay his salary. In the last decade, the two men’s earnings have been approximately equal Yet they would change places, each with the conviction that “the other fellow’s job” is a better one. The man in “the office” thinks of his friend’s long, scattered holidays, his ‘journeys in search of local colour” which he is certain are also holidays, his leisurely, unplanned days, and his (apparent) readiness at all times for unlimited relaxation. Above all, the writer’s “easy money.” The other side of the tapestry is the author’s vision of ordered life, so much work, so much play, in easily-anticipated sequence; The absence of mental worry, torment of composition, spurring of unwilling imagination. And chiefly, his friend’s security—the “certain money.” The people who are airing their impatience at the non-appearance of “the great New Zealand novel” will not be easily pleased. The critic we have mentioned must have both sides, the farm and the city. And the latter, we are convinced, cannot but take “the office” into account. So the essential ingredients will appear and be mixed. Two men and one woman. This three-cornered, triangular composition is usu’al in fiction to-day; has been so any time this last forty years. Being usual, it is accepted as essential, by those who ignore a work like “Treasure Island,” which succeeded in spite of a total absence of the love motif. The farm and “t? e office" will fight it out for the possession of the lady who will be torn this way and that for a couple of hundred pages before she is allowed to assert her preference for —what? Well, that is the concern of the man who is going to write “the great New Zealand novel.” So long as he gives due consideration to the position and status of “the office,” does it much matter whether his heroine decides for Queen Street or the selection? ALFRED OAKES. Auckland.