BOOKS REVIEWED

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 26, 22 April 1927, Page 10

BOOKS REVIEWED

LAWRENCE IN ARABIA HIGH on the roll of the world’s great adventurers stands the name of Thomas Edward Lawrence —Lawrence of Arabia. No one in modern times has captured the popular imagination more completely than the young archaeologist who, on the outbreak of the Great War, was rejected by a board of medical examiners as unfit for service, and who, within the next four years organised many independent Arab tribes and led them to success-

ful revolt against their Turkish overlords. It was fortunate for the British Empire that a panel of doctors did reject Lawrence and cause him to return to his pick-and-shovel work in Mesopotamia. The man and the place were together now and only the hour was to come. All the world knows the round outline of what happened when the hour struck. Yet, curiously enough, the world has had to wait a long time for all the picture to be filled in properly. One panegyrist has told a graphic story wanting in perspective and accuracy. Lawrence has told the story of the Arab revolt, in a rather expensive book; he has told us nothing of the events before October of 1916, or of his own work before then. So there is definitely a place for David Roseler’s “Lawrence, Prince of Mecca.” Here is a clear, well-propor-tioned and brisk narrative of Lawrence’s tremendous work in Arabia. Further, the tale is put against the historical, political and geographical background which is so necessary to true appreciation of a campaign that has gone into the great chronicles of both East and West. Mr. Roseler has given us a very able summary in a well-printed book published at a popular price.

“Lawrence, Prince of Mecca.” David Roseler. Cornstalk Publishing Co., Sydney. Our copy comes from Angus and Robertson, Ltd., Sydney. A QUESTION OF CAUTION

“Safety Last” is a series of rather entertaining character studies drawn against a background of middle-class provincial England. It is the story of a middle-aged (and married) novelist who falls in love with a young widow. They elect for safety last and live together for a time; but the episode of immoral bliss terminates when the widow realises that, despite his antipathy towards his wife, her lover’s personal associations and habits have been so closely interwoven with those of that good woman during their married years that he is not really happy with his charming mistress. Christine, the widow, will appeal to women, perhaps because of her unusual moral creed, which might best be described as an outlook of practical naughtiness. Sarah is a friendly soul, who helps in time of doubt. The man is very human, though the reader may find him a trifle dull. Humour is provided by Christine’s precocious child, Winifred. “Safety Last” is written about women, by a woman, for

women. It is lively in theme, but quiet in treatment. “Safety Last,” Rutherford Crockett. W. Collins, Sons and Co., Ltd. WALLACE; BUT WOBBLY The publishers are still convinced that “it is impossible not to be thrilled by Edgar Wallace.” No doubt there are thousands who support them in their faith. But Mr. Wallace will have to be careful. “The Traitor’s Gate” is Wallace, but wobbly Wallace. A mysterious heroine, Guardsmen and noblemen of the most elaborate kind, four chief villains, of whom only one escapes reform or redemption and gets himself decently killed, the Crown jewels the Tower and dear old Mrs. Ollerby, poking her nose in . . . All dreadfully incredible; and, if it were not heresy, we should say not very thrilling. Mrs. Ollerby is amusing . . . No, there were five villains. We forgot the Indian Potentate. He went back to India, unkicked, unhorsewhipped and unhung. Pity. “The Traitor’s Gate,” Edgar Wallace. Hodder and Stoughton. Our copy from the publishers’ Australian representative. A STUDENT’S WANDERINGS The holder of an Albert Kahn Travelling Fellowship, B. Ifor Evans, set out at the indiscreet age of 25 for a year of wandering through the world. His numerous and diverting experiences, thrown for the most part into fictionary form, are the substance of an entertaining volume of “Encounters” which expounds a student’s impressions of the world in 1924. Mr. Evans met with many curious creatures (luring his travels from Paris

and Geneva to Egypt, India, China, Japan and finally to the ever-curious United States. Although the book was intended to be solely a record of personal experiences, a gentle satire has crept in which is at once a pity and a blessing. In the final chapter, the deepest of all, Mr. Evans has an analytical encounter with himself, which is far from encouraging. “Encounters With All Sorts of People, Including Myself,” .B. Ifor Evans. Hodder and Stoughton. Our copy from the publishers. SHORT STORIES, 1926 Those who like short stories—and who does not? —have learned to look for the annual collections published by Jonathan Cape and edited by Mr. Edmund O’Brien. One is American and one English. The titles of both use the superlative “Best,” which claims for Mr. O’Brien perfect freedom of choice and perfect judgment in exercising it.” This is extravagant; but it does not matter much, for Mr. O’Brien does his duty by satisfying his readers, year after year, with a collection of very good stories. There are new names in the list for 1926, and old ones. Mr. Coppard’s “Field of Mustard” has been much praised; but it is too heavily muscled. If it had been trained and fined down, its effect would have been more powerful. There is a story by Mr. de la Mare, quite in his best manner, and one of Mr. Alan Monkhouse’s “Manchester Guardian” sketches goes almost uncomfortably deep. One or two things, like “Miss McCosli,” are so thin as to break under the strain of bearing that heavy superlative. But the collection as a whole is good and well worth buying. Why does Mr. O’Brien clutter it up with page after page of lists of articles on the short story, etc., etc., etc.?

“The Best Short Stories (English) of 1926.’ ’ Ed. by Edmund J. O’Brien, Jonathan Cape. SACK AND SUGAR What is it that makes M?s. Alfred Sidgwick so delightful a writer? Her wit is neat; her humour is pleasant; her sense of character is delightfully shrewd; she writes, she uses words as might a cultivated and satirical angel. Yet to describe her charm one has to borrow a metaphor from the kitchen, of which she herself knows so much. In a good cake it is not this ingredient or that which delights the taste, it is the complex and unique flavour which is baked right through it. The flavour of “Sack and Sugar” is baked right through it. To read the first page is to surrender to it and to remain its slave till Gerda marries Herr Professor Franz and Henri makes up his mind to Betty. There is no story worth bothering about; there are people. And what people! How delicious they are in Suzanne Colmar’s observation of them, these members of “the family of Watkins,” these extraordinary children of hers, these Catamarans, Miss Phipson and Miss Busby, these Sams and Mrs. Dalhams, and Thomases and Marys; and how delicious, from first to last, is Suzanne Colmar herself! But no more exclamations—just one word: read “Sack and Sugar.” “Sack and Sugar,” Mrs. Alfred Sidgwick. Collins.

THE DARK DAWN Martha Ostenso’s second novel, which tells of the emancipation of Luchin Torritt, has some of the vivid realism that made “The Passionate Flight,” a notable first effort; but it would be easier to read if the style were more fluent. There is an abruptness, a striving after dramatic effect, which is not achieved. Trivial incidents are made to seem mysterious, where there is obviously no mystery. But there is skill in the portrait of Lucian Torritt, whose idealism is tellingly contrasted with the evil nature of the woman who almost destroys him. On the whole, one is left with the impression of realism carried too far. “The Dark Dawn,” Martha Ostenso. Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd. Our copy from the publishers. EASY MONEY The Crewes are a rather ordinary family living on a quite ordinary income and finding things neither easy nor bright. Suddenly they become wealthy—a rich relative, who has admired their independence, has instructed his solicitors to pay them £40,000 a year. . . until further notice. He disappears. The Crewes then begin to enjoy their easy money. It does not take much guessing to hit on the final development; but the Crewes

can be followed, until they reach it, with some pleasure to the reader. It is all brightly shallow, readable stuff; and Mr. Sinclair Murray, if he, too, can make easy money out of such easy trifles, is quite entitled to do it. “Sands of Fortune,” Sinclair Murray. John Murray.