BOOKS REVIEWED.

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 139, 2 September 1927, Page 12

BOOKS REVIEWED.

MEANWHiLINGS. ASQUITH called it “wait and see,” Balfour called it “laisser faire,” and Mr Wells calls it “meanwhiling.” The trouble is that like other and more accurate scientists he has inoculated himself with the disease he is studying. The virus holds him in its power until page 200 of “Meanwhile”; it weakens for the next 50 pages or so; and then a possible fresh injection enables him to drowse on again to the end. The pain of watching this once capital novelist in a twilight sleep is lessened only by the hope that in his next volume he will again give birth to an idea. Latterly Mr Wells has given his allegiance to the publishing house of Sir Ernest Benn. The curious coincidence is that Benn has written two books discussing the problems which have worried Wells for years past, and discussing them more capably than his doubtless expensive capture. Anyone wishing to discover what Mr Wells is really trying to say should read “The Confessions of a Capitalist” and “If I Were a Labour Leader,” both written by his new publisher.

Meanwhile Mr Wells has returned to his role of topical fictioneer. Now those dull dogs the critics have a boring habit of discussing the influence of older writers upon the younger generation. Here we have exemplified for us the effect of the younger generation on one who ought really to know better. Through one long section of 200 pages there flit the shades of those three musketeers of casual amour, les Messieurs Frankau, George and McKenna. The difference is merely that while these gentlemen carry it off debonairly, Mr Wells gets n nearer this (in)delicate grace than a man who eats spinach and trails a badly rolled umbrella. Again; “The low-brow contingent was excreted to the bridge-tables”; “His shoe reminded her of a cattle-boat adapted to passenger service”; and — let us timidly give a reference instead of quoting—a raddled sentehce on page 269. Mr Arlen speaking? No . . . . Mr Wells, the author of “Tono-Bungay,” “The Invisible ,\lan,” and “The Country of the iJßlind.” t However, there are those 50 pages of fairly Wellsian matter, with the Ulster nurse who is a militant “Frodestant,” and the lady in delicate health who smuggles across the frontier th e fleeing Italian ex-cabinet minister, pursued by the minions of Mussolini on a charge of encouraging the ideas of Marie Stopes. Once upon a time Mr Wells used the capacious swaddling clothes of “The New Machiavelli” to enwrap a promising young aphorism: “Art is selection.” Of his later application of it we are forced to say, as Mr Chesterton did of Christianity, not that it has been tried and found wanting, but that it has been found too hard and left untried. “Meanwhile.” H. G. Wells. Be»jo_ Our copy from the publisher. “James, Don’t Be a Fool!” And Janies wasn’t! He was the son of a millionaire, and his father desired him to marry the daughter of another millionaire, equally keen for the union. Not for James! And the girl shared his view. Later, however, the pair meet away from their fathers, and what parental persuasion failed to accomplish is brought about by mutual attraction. And so to church. . . .but not before going through some mad-headed adventures, in which James impersonates an American “crook” with complete success. An enjoyable tale. “James, Don’t Be a Fool”—Edward Vivian Timms; Cornstalk Publishing Co. Our copy comes from Angus and Robertson, Sydney. “The Feathered Serpent” Edgar Wallace’s 999th mystery story, “The Feathered Serpent,” presents for our delectation a secret society of one —a very rich man, wrongly imprisoned, who most ingeniously slays two of those responsible for his incarceration. The mystery is solved by a newspaper reporter after it has the police completely baffled, but the reader is rather relieved that the slayer gets away before the hand of the law falls heavily upon him. He really deserved

sympathy. Incidentally, in following the mystery, the reporter gains a bride.

‘ The Feathered Serpent. - ' —Hodder and Stoughton. Our copy direct from the publishers.