Books Reviewed

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1051, 15 August 1930, Page 14

Books Reviewed

SUNSHINE AND MUSIC VX/HEN Miss Dorothy Cottrell passed ’’ through Auckland a year or so ago, she spoke of her novel, “The Singing Gold,” which had been accepted for publication in America. Since then, this novel has enjoyed a tremendous success in the United States, and has now been issued in England. It is a delightful story of Australian life set in sun-drenched Western Queensland, in Toowoomba. Brisbane and Sydney. The author, who has a refreshingly humorous style and a good sense of dramatic values, gives us a rich picture of Australian farm life, of tropical existence on a luxuriant island off the Queensland coast, and of the metropolis of Sydney. The book carries with it something of the warmth of the great Australian continent. Here is the romance of two young things who set out, mere children, on a matrimonial adventure with scarcely two pennies to jingle together, and of bravo sacrifices that ended only in tragedy. Joan, a girlwidow, returns to her old home to find, later, that the rose of romance may bloom a second time and that the companion of her earlier years was waiting to take her to the Singing Gold and with her. her small twin son and daughter. The Singing Gold was a place near the great Gulf where the larks in their thousands sang to greet the gold rising of the sun. And in that golden warmth of music and sunshine Joan found that all her life she had loved this second husband of hers; and theirs was a great happiness. It Is a story steeped in beauty, with many fine portraits, and is a really remarkable first novel. “The Singing Gold.” Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd., London and Sydney. Our' copy from the publishers’ Sydney representative, Mr. W. S. Smart. Collaborators in Mystery The publishing house known as Pedlar’s Pack was managed by Miss Horrie Pedlar with the assistance of a competent staff which included a bright young publicity man answering to the name of Koko Fry. Marmion Poole, rou6, poet, Byronic person, had been an ornament to the Pedlar’s Pack for many years, and his return from an exile, necessitated by his starring engagement in a cause cffiSbre, was celebrated by one of Miss Pedlar’s most exclusive luncheons at which an artist chef, on this occasion, dedicated a bombe glacee a la Poole and laid it, metaphorically speaking, at the feet of the poet. It was another kind of bomb that was to be laid there, however, before many days had passed. Miss Clemence Dame and Miss Helen Simpson, in “Printer’s

Devil,” have collaborated to excellent purpose in the good cause of presenting a thirsting world with still another worthy mystery story. When Horrie Pedlar is found dead, having fallen over a balcony outside her flat, and the manuscript of a chronique scandaleuse that Poole had submitted to her is found destroyed—its charred remains being discovered in the grate of the Pedlar fireplace—one realises that one is in the higher flights of mystery. There are no police whistles and confused detective-sergeants. An inquest only, and a verdict of accidental death. But the re-enactment of the tragedy by the murderer, at a later date and before a hand-picked audience, proved the fallacy of the coroner’s verdict. The murderer’s own death (he was none other than the poet Poole, but readers are here placed under a bond of secrecy!) was carried out with a final theatrical gesture that rounded off a full life with r. commendable degree of aplomb. There is a pleasant romance, also,

which helps the tale along and through it, and the energy of Mr. Koko Pry, the publishing house of Pedlar’s Pack is able to keep the colours flying as its gallant founder would have wished. ‘‘Printer’s Devil.” Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd., London and Sydney. Our copy from the publishers' Sydney representative, Mr. W. S. Smart.

A Miracle Worker Here is a story of great faith and its reward, told with superb simplicity and charm. “The Miracle of Peille” is the life story of Thfir&se Ursule, born of a gipsy mother and a shepherd father in the South of France. Victim of a double persecution resulting in the loss of both her parents, the crippled ThSrfese was taken from the ruined church abbey, in which her father had made his home, to dwell in the adjacent village of Peille. Her saintlike demeanour, and the remarkable and most mysterious happenings associated with her presence in the village and at the moss-covered old abbey convinced one half of the little community that she was indeed a saint, and the other that she had leagued herself with the devil. But gradually the good that she did so unobtrusively and her magnificent self-abnegation won for her a following and at least one devoted friend, a woman, whose companionship brought comfort into the rigorous life of the young miracle worker. The story of the disastrous appearance of Thgrese Ursule in a music hall where she had been taken, in her innocence, to exhibit the stigmata that she bore and to effect cures in public, is infinitely moving; the tragic story of her death, equally so. There is dignity in every line of this splendid book, which is steeped in rare spiritual beauty. Mr J. L. Campbell. its author, has achieved the coveted distinction of producing a work that remains in memory as a clear-cut cameo of superlative grace. Any of the great writers of our time would assuredly have taken pride in creating such e magnificent piece of literature.

“The Miracle of Peille.” Collins. Kealy’s, Ltd.. Shortland Street, from whom copies may be obtained. Thirteeft Secrets

There is no bad luck In giving 12 short stories to a book of fiction by Mr. Valentine Williams, whose latest, collection of thrills is among the best work he has done. Indeed, it is good luck for readers that the author made his tally of tales a baker’s dozen. In every narrative there is not only the thrill of adventure, but there also is a lavish admixture of mystery and romance. Interest never flags because the action of every story is brisk and competent, traversing a wide field of secret service and crime. Mr. Williams, who is a working journalist in Paris, knows the capitals of Europe as well as he knows his own mind, and those who follow the adventures of the men and women in his stories are given vivid glimpses of alluring places. And there is nothing overdone. It would be difficult to find a more absorbing chain of spy storieu all providing pleasant excitement and really excellent entertainment. Those who are a bit tired of detective fiction should turn for a satisfying change to . . . “The Knife Behind the Curtain,” by Valentine Williams. Published by Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd. Our copy from the publishers’ Sydney representative, Mr. W. S. Smart. Life On the Veld The title of M<ss F. E. Mills Young’s novel “Penny Rose” would lead one to expect a Devonshire heroine with a milk and rose complexion, wooed by the squire’s gallant young son, greatly to the chagrin of a bold baronet with a dark moustache and a sinister laugh. But in this case the title gives one little indication of the fare within. Penny Rose had the complexion indicated, and was born in Devonshire, but she went to Africa . . . and thereby hangs the grim tale. Her husband, Patrick Driscoll, took her into the wild Karroo country where her nearest neighbours were Boers. The daughter of this family had previously entertained thoughts of marriage with Driscoll, and the welcome given to the newcomer from England was scarcely warm-hearted. The natural cheerfulness of Penny Rose stood her in good stead, and she was able to fight her loneliness and the hostility of the Dutch, to a certain degree, but five years’ experience of the veld had not succeeded in teaching her the white man’s attitude to the black. She was kind to her kaffirs —with disastrous results. One night, when her husband had been called away, she was overpowered by a giant black from the nearby kraal. The shock to her nervous system, culminating in her appearance in court at the trial of the kaffir, was so great that she languished and failed to take any further interest in the daily life on the farm. She developed a nostalgia for Devonshire, and Driscoll, a rather unsympathetic character, ultimately paid for a single, second-class fare to take her home: rather a brutal way of indicating that her presence was no longer necessary. Those who like happy endings will be pleased to know that Penny Rose found solace

and a return to health under the protection of a former swain, a yeoman farmer of old England. There are some vivid pictures of South Africa in the book. “Penny Rose.” John Lane, the Bodley Head, Ltd., London. Our copy from the publishers. In Cromwell’s Day Here is that rara avis of fiction — an historical novel that captures and retains the atmosphere of its period, yet is light and free from clumsy blunderlngs after historical effect. “Mistress Spitfire” shows clearly that Mr. J. S. Fletcher has a mastery of the phrasing and idiom of Cromwellian times. He employs it with charming effect in this romantic, mythical autobiography of a gallant young squiro with distinctly Parliamentary leanings. The narrative and dialogue style is never forced, never overdone. It “runs” with delightful smoothness and effect, leaving one with the impression that the English tongue has lost much of its colour and euphony in 200 odd years of modernisation. "Mistress Spitfire” is the simple tale of a young gallant’s adventures and love affairs, but the title-character stands out as a fascinating and un usual little portrait. In short, here is a wholesome, delightful novel that should not be missed. “Mistress Spitfire,’* by J. S. Fletcher. W. Collins and Sons, London. Our copy from the publisher's Auckland representative. Climbing in the Alps. Up to 150 years ago, men Ignored the high alps of Switzerland, Italy and Austria, keeping to the valleys and passes. The whole of the work of exploration and conquest of the peaks by man is the work of three generations. “They Climbed the Alps” tells the stirring tale of the deeds of the chief of the armies of subjugation, most of them were men with minds delicately attuned to the beauty and grandeur of heights, who lived perilously in quest of moments of ecstasy. The English artist, Edward Whymper, Professor John Tyndall, the parson, Leslie Stephen, A. F. Mummery and the poet, Geoffrey Winthrop Young—all were gripped by a passion that shook their very souls. Edwin Muller, jun., who ’so graphically tells of their accomplishments, has done, a very wise thing in so often quoting the written words of these mighty men of the mountains. For their personality and minds are thus clearly revealed. The dignified restraint of the scientist Tyndall, trained in the faculty of exact observation, falls to mask a stream of deep emotion. Of another type is Young, his thoughts, described by a graceful pen, shot through with a delicate skein of fancy. Climbers will find the book not only lnspirational f but very Informative in Its description of the development and changes in climbing technique. "They Climbed the Alps.” Fxlwin Muller, Jun. Jonathan Cape. Our copy from the publlsheriOut West Western life, in a somewhat modified form, is once again enjoying popularity on the screen and in books. “Spooky Riders,” a tale of intrigue in the arid wastes of Texas by W. C. Tuttle, if not exactly a classic of Western literature, is certainly a breezy portrayal of virile manhood. The plot centres round Clare, a charming girl, who befriended Million Dollar Cleland. whom she believed to be a lonely old man without money or friends. Cleland is subsequently murdered, but not. before he has made a will deeding his ranch to Clare, which fact provides the complication. Clare’s life would have been gravely jeopardised had she not had the good fortune to form a friendship with Sad Sontag, a bush detective. The train In which Clare is travelling to her newly-inherited ranch is robbed, and Million Dollar’s body and coffin disappear. Clare, unaware of his identity, forms a friendship with young Chuck Gavin, the son of CTeland’s old enemy. A mystery is evolved, and Sad Sontag sets himself the task of solving it. He does, of course. The book is written in a racy style, and the dialogue in parts is really good. “Spooky Riders,” W. C. Tuttle. W. Collins Sons and Co., Ltd. Our copy from the publishers. Norway And Paris. The latest Travellers' Library reprint to come to hand is Kathleen Coyle’s searching novel “Liv,” an addition of that literary excellence which it has become habitual to expect in this series. Probably the most mature product of Miss Coyle's creative art, this story of lovely Liv Evensen’s pathetic pilgrimage to Farls is moving because of the beauty and simplicity of the telling. It is a. subtly evolved study of contrasting temperaments. Liv has the moral conservatism of her native Norway, and her brief and wounding experience of the blatant sophistication of the Strangers’ Quarter convinces her of the impossibility of transplantation. Her Aunt Sonja expresses it: “Here we preserve our pride. When "Nve go south, into warmer lands, we lose something of ourselves. We thaw, we flood over. We are not to blame . . It is better, I think, to stay where we belong . . . where even the trees.know us . .v.” "Liv.” Kathleen Coyle. Jonathan Cape, in the Travellers’ Library, with an introduction by Rebecca West. Our copy from the publishers.