THE BOOKMAN

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1003, 20 June 1930, Page 16

THE BOOKMAN

r ßeviewsj Cc Notes[

A Rebel Novelist Posthumous Estimates Of D. H. Lawrence D. FI. Lawrence. the English novelist whose death was announced in March, died in a sanitortum at Vence, near Nice. The following are extracts from English critical estimates and personal reminiscences which appeared in various Journals. HE vaa intensely English, and had a passionate desire for the regeneration and development of England. He had the same kind of reforming and prophetic spirit as Shelley had; also perhays the old habits of his schoolmaster days never left him. This led him often to write with fervour About subjects which in personal intercourse one was not aware of. The war came like an avalanche, overturning all his hopes, and gradually more and more bewildered and horrified him to the extreme limit of his ultra-sensi-tive being. His wife, to whom he was devoted, was a German, and this naturally made his position very difficult. There were many places in England where they were not allowed to live —also he was very poor, for publishers were not then anxious to take his work. He was already too ill to serve in the army, and indeed he hated the

thought of killing, although at moments he said he would like to go “and fight and fight,” if he could stop the war, but would add, “You know I am a proverbial exaggerator.” O.M. in the “National and Athenaeum.” Lawrence was the most remarkable and most lovable man I have ever known. Contact with him was immediate, intimate and rich. A radiance of warm life streamed from him. When he was gay, and he was often gay—my dominant memory of him is of a blithe and joyful man —he seemed to spread a sensous enchantment about him. By a natural magic he unsealed the eyes of those in his company: birds, beasts and flowers became newminted as in Paradise; they stood revealed as what they were, and not the poor objects of our dull and common seeing. The most ordinary domestic act —the roasting of a joint of meat, the washing up of crockery, the painting of a cottage room —in his doing, became a gay sacrament. He surrendered himself completely to the thing he had in hand; he was utterly engrossed by it. And the things he took in hand were innumerable. As his happiness was radiant, so his gloom was a massive darkness in wbich his intimates were engulfed. I see him sitting crouched and collapsed on a wooden chair when the long horror of the war had begun to gnaw his vitals —forlorn, silent, dead. One could not speak against the sheer numbness of that desolation. But sometimes in those bitter days—out of which sprang his life-long passion of rebellion against European consciousness, and his unresting search for a land and a way of life to which he could surrender himself —sometimes, in those day 3, he would rise to the surface with a flickering smile. .—A correspondent to the “Times Literary Supplement.” * *■ * While the prophetic in I.awrence :s doomed at first to dismay and soon to weary the reader, the jnetvc in him is to some of us the finest most precious, most flamingly real thing In modern English fiction. One book, neglected rather, “The Trespasser,” had a little of the intense quality of Webster's plays: there is a similar spiritual quality in its terror, a similar unearthly dread in its suspense, and in subtlety and delicacy it far exceeds the Elizabethan dramatist. When he writes of the country, of trees, of the bleak landscape of his own north, of animals, he controls a range of colours that Is unequalled. In the mines which surrounded his boyhood, the thick gross darkness may suddenly be split by the light of the firedamp; so on Lawrence's gloomy soul and dark, obscure mind there will suddenly blaze some glorious light, so brilliant that one forgets its gloomy origin. —R. Ellis Roberts in the “New Statesman.” *• * * Mr Lawrence was a writer who has exercised a more potent influence, perhaps, over his generation than any of his contemporaries . . . Gifted with extraordinary powers of sensuous divination. few writers have so intimately realised in words the electric force in the form and movements of animal life or the burning beauty of Nature’s colours. In contact with such life his self-conscious mind found transient appeasement from its hysteria and tortured bitterness. But these were at best only moments of respite. For Lawrence’s writings are one long cry of agony and protest against a conflict in himself which can never be resolved. The cry is the cry of sex. For the sexual relation epitomised for him the mystery of life. —The "Manchester Guardian.”

tury statecraft of some of the Mogul rulers.” That is an arresting sentence plucked from its context to show the fearless manner in which Lieuten-ant-Colonel Arthur Osburn, D. 5.0., has approached his task in writing “Must England Lose India?” Here is a book by a medical man who was attached to the regular army in India and perhaps for that reason alone the courageousness of the book may agaiu be stressed, for many men who have dared ta utter criticism of the state of affairs as they have seen it in India have paid the penalty of ostracism. When Miss Katherine Mayo wrote “Mother India,” she created a sensation with her charges of gross immorality and sadistic brutality. Refutations were issued, notable among them being “Father India,” but these stated a case which might be discounted considerably by partisanship. Lieuten-ant-Colonel Osburn can be placed in a completely different category. Yet he takes the statements of Miss Mayo and analyses them in relation to his extensive knowledge of India and the Indians. He does not hold some Indian customs as above reproach, but he does try to see them in perspective. India, he claims, considering its population, ignorance and poverty, and the uncertain tenure of life which makes for a disregard of many accepted rul ings of the Western world, is no more immoral, in proportion to numbers, than any other land. He writes;

The population of India is as large, or larger, than the whole of Europe. Suppose all the vice, immorality and crime that occur between Constantinople and Killarney, Lapland and the Straits of Gibraltar were focused together, what an appalling impression of European wickedness would be conveyed to an Assembly in a Hindu Temple. Yet the audience in an English church or in the House of Commons listens with a sense of complacent superiority to the" figures of crime and immorality collected between Rangoon and Karachi, Colombo and Simla without having the faintest idea as to what the comparative figures would be if that huge tropical area were occupied, not by Hindus but by a mixed bag of 300 million poverty-stricken Greeks, Spaniards, Belgians, French and Welshmen. In a cool, detached manner the author outlines the grievances that the Indian may be claimed justly to hold against the British and suggests remedies that may be the means of creating better feeling; if ever it is possible to apply them. He does not hold the police, as a body, as being above reproach and stresses the amount of blackmail that is practised on the ignorant peasant and mentions one or two iniquities that are startling. For instance:

To be "budnamed” in India is to be ruined [A “budnam” is a register of bad characters on which a name may be placed without the calling of evidence] for it establishes a presumption of guilt in any future police court proceedings and with all this it must be remembered that any Indian may be thrown into prison and remain there indefinitely without trial and even without being informed of what he is accused! Eveij a Labour Government, to everyone’s amazement, permitted this unjust and iniquitous practice. Lieutenant-Colonel Osburn laments the schoolboy superiority manifested by many young officers in India today who hold the natives in the utmost contempt and make no effort —as the older type of soldier did —to understand the people or respect their ageold customs: If Englishmen could only be persuaded to behave toward the Indian and the Egyptian and the Chinaman with half the civility they would have to show toward a Greek or an Albanian, there would be no trouble in India. It is our futile and entirely unmaintainable sense of personal, ownership and dominion that leads to the brazen display of our super-iority-complex in Asia and Africa. This is a book that should be read by all who are interested in the vast problem that is India. It is stimulating in its frankness and although there will be many who will disagree with the book in its entirety—some “diehards” may expire of an apoplexy after its perusal!—there will not be many who will fail to realise the vein of sincerity running through it all. “Must England Lose India?” A Borzoi Book. Alfred A. Knopf, Ltd., London and New York. Our copy from the publishers.

“Sapper” Two majors emerged from the war with their reputations as popular novelists greatly enhanced. They were Major John Beith, better known as lan Hay and Major Cyril Macnelle, known to a million readers as “Sapper.” “Sapper's” works include the everpopular “Sergeant Michael Cassidy,” “Men, Women and Guns,” “No Man’s Land,” and it is to him that we owe our acquaintance with that delightful person, now known on stage and screen—Bulldog Drummond. “Sapper’s” light stories of the war appeared in a number of distinguished magazines and achieved a vast popularity. The best of these tales have now been collected in one volume which presents a decided and pleasant contrast to the gloomy productions that have flooded the market in recent years. Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton, the publishers, have produced a number of such comprehensive collections in recent years, but it is safe to say that none will enjoy a greater success than this comfortably fat tome, packed with good tales. The legion of “Sapper” admirers should gladly avail themselves of the opportunity of securing, in a compact volume, the stories that have delighted them in their less permanent form as magazine features. “Sapper’s War Stories.” Hodder and Stoughton Limited, London and Sydney. Our copy from the publishers’ Sydney representative, Mr. W. S. Smart.

Camera Art The editor of “Das Deutsche Liehtbild,” an annual review, published in Berlin, of the outstanding photographs of the year, must have a herculean task in making his selection. At all events, his annual is one of the most interesting of Continental productions. It is issued by Robert and Bruno Schultz, of Berlin, and in traversing the remarkable work of modern photographers holds one spellbound by the originality of conception, and the splendid execution apparent in almost every reproduction. Such photographs as “The Harvest,” by M. Curt Schmidt; “A Timber Stack,” by Erhard Dorner; “Macaroni,” by Heddenhausen; a nude diving boy by Gerhard Riebicke; and “A Study Of Hands,” by Reiss, can only be described by the much-abused adjective "magnificent.” Among the most striking reproductions are “A Conference” (with Sir Austen Chamberlain expounding his views to the late Herr Stresemann and M. Aristide Briand) by Dr. Erich Salomon, who specialises in this form of “reporting”; a symphony in factory chimneys by the doyen of English photographers, Mr. E. O. HoppS; a dragonfly by Bruno Schultz, and a simple set of washtubs by Boris Spahn which, for harmony of grouping and lighting, is almost as beautiful in its effect as a field of spring flowers! Here are portraits that are biographies . . . animals tense, bored, tragic, predatory . . . architecture that is indeed “frozen music,” with new lighting effects, from new angles . . . nature studies that are a delight . . . household articles and manufacturers’ requisites that gain in dignity rrom the flawless technique that has been brought to bear upon them. A remarkable collection, indeed, excellently printed and bound. “Das Deutsche Lichtbild.” Issue for 1930. Robert and Bruno Schultz, Berlin W 9. Schellingstrasse 12. Our copy from Herr Bruno Schultz. This annual is obtainable at Whitcombe and Tombs, Ltd., Auckland. “Giant’s Bread” We are informed in the opening chapters of "Giant’s Bread” that there were only three people of real importance in the life of Master Vernon Deyre—Nurse, God and Mr. Green (Mr. Green being an imaginary person who accompanied him in many thrilling tiger hunts on the front lawn). From this it will be seen that young Vernon Deyre was an unusual and lonely little boy. Mr. Green and Nurse did not reign very long, of course, but they probably played a greater part in the youngster’s life than Mr. Deyre, a philandering soul who was killed in the South African war, thus finding peace after a stormy matrimonial career, or Mrs. Deyre, emotional and insincere, who succeeded only in arousing tolerant com-

tempt in her son. The title of the book, by the way, has reference to the celebrated fee-fi-fo-fum nursery rhyme. And the “be he alive or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread” part of the jingle is the exclamation of that cruel giant Genius who had something to say in the moulding of Vernon Deyre’s career, so that he might become a dynamic figure in the world of music. There are three women cast in important roles in the drama of this young composer—a cousin who is a good companion and a stimulating soul, a fluffy blonde, who became bis wife, and a stately diva who was, at odd times, bis mistress. The war is in it, too, and there is an Enoch Arden touch about the tale here, for Vernon Deyre returns without memory of former days, and having been posted as killed, to find his fluffy wife remarried. There are other tragic episodes but there is no need to recount them here. Suffice it to say that Genius wins the day and Deyre goes forward at the Giant’s bidding. A successful first novel. Giant’s Bread,” Mary Westmacott. W. Collins and Company, Limited, London and Auckland. Our copy from the publishers. “Two-Gun” Journalism When Jim Campbell threw a barrel of salt into the river to lighten his wagon, he threw away his luck. And the same bad luck nearly crushed his son, Colly Campbell. A quarrel with an uncouth farm yokel drove Colly to try his luck in Medicine Grove, a gun-fighting border town. On his way to Medicine Grove he is held up by two "bad men,” who rob him of his money. As neither the sheriff nor the attorney will help him gain redress, he seeks it himself and gets his money back —with interest! Then he is interviewed by the editor of the Medicine Grove “Mirror” and offered the job of assistant-editor, which he takes. He gets both fun and fight in the position, the editor being a “go-getter ” who trounces the crooks of the county with a vitriolic pen. Colly soon learns that a quick gun is as necessary as a “nose for news.” At all events, the rough element of Medicine Grove is put out of action and the- curse of the wasted salt is lifted. Indeed, Mr. George W. Ogden goes further and weds the hero to the mayor’s beautiful daughter; heiress, it goes without saying, to a considerable fortune. Those who enjoy a lively “Western” will not be disappointed with “Wasted Salt.” “Wasted Salt.” Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd., London. Our copy from the publishers. Earning a Legacy Most of us, If offered a huge fortune in return for a year’s uncongenial work, would consider the money cheap at the price. Not so the attractive but idle Bell Stukeley whose wealthy and shrewd old Uncle Joshua had attached to his will a tag decreeing that, before inheriting his millions, she must work for a year in the unprepossessing industrial town where the money was made. However Bell keeps her part of the bargain and her adventures during “the secret year” form the substance of Pauline (Warwick’s attractive novel. A pleasant narrative style distinguishes the work of a young author who deserves success. “The Secret Year,” by Pauline Warwick. Mill and Boon Limited, London Our copy from the sole New Zealand agents of the publishers, Messrs. Sands and McDougall, Limited, London. Frank and Sincere There is sincerity and force in the writing of “Home is the Hunter,” by Henry Toke Munn and Elizabeth Sprigge. The theme is unusual and interesting—-the story of Alan Cameron, illegitimate son of a Scottish sailor and an Eskimo woman, his European upbringing and his inevitable return to his people in the polar regions. When Cameron brings his baby home from the Arctic his wife accepts the child with all the fervour of a woman to whom children have been denied. Alan develops into a competent engineer, succumbs to the charms of his employer’s daughter and is dismissed. His wanderings take him to the home of the Eskimo where he senses the fact that he is back among his own people. Thev accept him as their leader and present him with two wives. Alan returns to England to meet his old love. But the call of his own race is strong He goes to France with a mistress to escape the inevitable law, but the Eskimo “urge” rises and we leave him happy with his two wives and numerous children and the memory of the women who had tried to hold him where he did not belong. “Home is the Hunter” is frankly told, but there is nothing crude in this story of the mixture of races. -ji Home is the Hunter.” Our couv comes ?h re< R I £ om the Publishers, John Lane the Bodley Head, London. '■ BOOKS IN DEMAND AT THE AUCKLAND PUBLIC LIBRARY FICTION “KRISTIN LAVRANSDATTER,” by Sigrid TJndset. “MY BROTHER JONATHAN,” by F. Brett Young. THE ROCKLITZ” by George Preedy. “ALL OUR YESTERDAYS,” by H. M. Tomlinson. “THE CAVALRY WENT THROUGH,” by B. Neioman. “SHARD,” by Daphne Lambart. “LAUGHING BOY,” by O. La Farge. “MEDAL WITHOUT BAR,” by R. B laker. “ULTIMA THULE” by H. H. Richardson. “FORSYTE SAGA,” by J. Galsworthy. NON-FICTION “AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY,” by Bertrand Russell. “THE NEW DESPOTISM,” by Rt. Hon. Lord Hewart of Bury. “THE LIFE OF SIR EDWARD MARSHALL HALL” by E. Majoribanks. “THE SON OF MAN,” by E. Ludwig. “THE ART OF THINKING,” by E. Dimnet. “DISRAELI,” by A. Maurois. “SEA DEVILS FO’C'LE” by L. Thomas. “PRACTICAL CARTOONING FOR PROFIT,” by W. Farroio. “THROUGH LITERATURE TO LIFE” by E. Raymond. “TESTAMENT OF BEAUTY” by R. Bridges .