BOOKS REVIEWED

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 169, 7 October 1927, Page 12

BOOKS REVIEWED

THE PALADIN OF THE. AIR TT falls to the lot of few men to be thrust at a moment’s notice into the pitiless floodlight of world publicity and it calls for superhuman qualities to emerge from such an ordeal unspoilt. Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh has done it. This young Swedish-American whose solitary flight across the Atlantic captured the imagination of the entire world, in just so much time as it takes a

cabled message to girdle the earth, appears to be as modest about his achievement as a 19-year-old presenting his first fiancee to the old folk at home. Phlegmatic citizens of Seoul, dusky belles in Nukualofa and frozen denizens of Invercargill have alike thrilled at the magnificent exploit of Youth Triumphant, but the triumphant youth himself appears to regard it as nothing more than an incident in his day’s work. It was to be expected that Lindbergh’s book “We”—the “we” is the aviator’s pleasant tribute to the part played in the flight by his machine, The Spirit of St. Louis —would be a record-smashing affair. It was obviously dashed off to meet the assured demand and it has been reprinted (possibly with the same dash) by that enterprising Australian firm, the Cornstalk Publishing Company. Lindbergh writes a simple narrative of his early flying experiences: rather boring to the reader who is anxious to come to the great moment when the slim young paladin of the air rose from his homeland and set forth on a quest that was to make his name a familiar one in every country of the world. Here, again, we have the simple story, with no attempt at wordpainting; the plain statement of an ingenuous lad who is too modest to make much of his achievement and unable, or unwilling, to describe his triumphal receptions in France, Belgium and London, or his soul-stirring return to America—a spectacle that surely must rank as the most extraordinary mass meeting in the history of man. He leaves all that to Fitzhugh Green, who writes the second section of the book, and Mr. Green provides the adequate description of receptions in which kings, princes, presidents, prime ministers and men of lesser degree delighted to participate. As a record of an epoch-mark-ing event. “We” should find a place in every library. “We.” The story of Lindbergh’s transatlantic flight. Our copy from Angus and Robertson, Ltd., Sydney. Thu ABeraeen jew. A book of funny stories: the title explains their nature. One sample at random: “Isaac, mine son,” asked Moses, “Vy do you take two steps at a time going upstairs?” “To save the carpet. Fadder,” replied Isaac. “Very goot,” replied Moses, “but see that you do not burst your trousers.” "The Aberdeen Jew.” Allan Junior. Valentine and Sons. Dundee and London. Our copy from Whitcom'be and Tombs, Ltd. Love on Foreign Service. It is pleasant to meet, in the new and neat uniform edition of the novels and stories of A. E. W. Mason, the soldierly genius and noble boyhood ambition of Paul Ravenel. The story of the boy who, dedicating his

life to restore the tarnished military reputation of his family, finds love stronger than duty, and himself fails much as his father did—then rallies, as his father did not, to wipe out the disgrace—is one well deserving the dignity which the handsome blue cloth binding confers. “The Winding Stair.” A. E. W. Mason. H odder and Stoughton: uniform edition. Our copy from the publishers' Australian representative. - The Land of the Tiare Loti, Melville, Becke, Bougainville, Gaiigui, Captain Cooke and a host of others have painted the delights of Tahiti and the Marquesas and their pictures of tropical paradises drew Frederick O’Brien like a magnet. He set forth to gather amaranth and moly for himself iji these elysiaa fields

and, in his turn, painted word-pic-tures that act like a magnet upon his readers. And what pictures he conjures up; what merry tales he has to spin, albeit benea.th it all there is a tristesse —like a gentle native song In a minor key—that these delights must some day fade with the march of civilisation and, possibly for personal reasons, that man must age and lose his zest for tropical deligHts. There is a charm about “Mystic Isles of the South Seas” that is as indefinable as the charm of Tahiti itself.- Here he who reads may learn of the amazing Louvaina, mountainous chatelaine of the Tiare Hotel. Louvaina is now, unfortunately, dead, and is lamented in 80 languages. Here, too. we read of strange drinks, glorious woodland excursions, unhampered bathing in Tahitian streams, lazy days on the waterfront spent gossiping with beachcombers and ex-royalty (Tahitian pattern) and, of course, of ravishingly beautiful dusky belles clad chiefly in a garland of hibiscus blossoms. O’Brien’s books were originally priced beyond the reach of the average reader. This reprint, excellently produced, is offered at a most reasonable figure. “Mystic Isles of the South Seas.” Our copy comes from the publishers, Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd., Sydney. A Well-proved Comedy Who hasn’t heard of “The Man From Blankley’s” which ranks with “What Happened to Jones” and “Charley’s Aunt” as an evergreen? It is an amusing comedy of the early nineties in which an earl, blissfully unconscious of his error, and thanks to a London fog, strolls into‘a parvenu’s home and is mistaken for a “hired guest” sent along by an obliging agency. There is always something diverting in the discomfiture of a nouveau-riche dame and Mr. Anstey extracts the cream of the humour which lies in such a situation. In this year of grace, of course, there might be a slight change in atmosphere; we are not quite so sycophantic as we were. Still, it has to be admitted, we still love a lord; almost as much as the Americans, in fact. And Mr. Anstey’s lord is a very pleasant young man. As an amusing piece of nonsense "The Man From Blankley’s” holds Its own with the best of ’em, and is well worth the reprinting. “The Man From Blankley's.” Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd. Our copy from the Sydney representative of the publishers. Quayle on Toast. tVe have received from the pub-n-'hers, The New Century Press, Sydney, a copy of "Quayle on Toast,” hu morous drawings (humorously titled) by the well-known artist, Jack Quayle Mr Pat Lawlor, who writes a short but very enthusiastic preface, says he fs a little afraid about the public’s ability to stand up against this “cataclysm of laughter” and suggests a pru dent one page a day. Useless caution! Nobody who sees the first drawing or any drawing will put the collection down till he has looked at the lot. But "cataclysm of laughter” la a alight exaggeration.