FRANK SARGESON'S NOVEL

New Zealand Listener, Volume 13, Issue 335, 23 November 1945, Page 18

FRANK SARGESON'S NOVEL

WHEN THE WIND BLOWS. By Frank Sargeson. The Caxton Press, Christchurch.

(Reviewed by

M. H.

Holcroft

F Frank Sargeson had not written a word after the completion of A Man and His Wife he would still have had an assured place in New Zealand letters. To break through artificial traditions of the short story, in a country where the market for native writers is negligible, was in itself an achievement with a lasting value. An essential part of the process was the distillation of an idiom’ that, if not altogether indigenous, was nevertheless the beginning of a movement towards freedom-a movement that has since claimed other writers who find it possible to be at ease in their own environment. Much .has happened in New Zealand writing since the appearance of A Man and His Wife, although the inadequate facilities for publication (doubly severe while large editions of ephemeral English novels are being printed in the Dominion) make it hard for the public to keep in touch with recent trends. In a period of growing activity many have wondered what line of development was being followed by Mr. Sargeson. His short novel, When the Wind Blows, will therefore be read widely, and with a hopeful expectation.

~ bab bg R. SARGESON retains his mastery of style. There is the same individual flavour and rhythm, the same economy of phrase, the same.talent for an understatement that contrives to be rich in suggestion, and the same use of words taken from the diction of average New Zealanders. The casualness may be less noticeable; there are passages which seem to reveal, more often than in the past, a careful artistry. For instance: "Any boy caught in the saleyards would get the cuts for sure, but all together all talking and shouting together, all at once, they climbed the fence and went right through the saleyards, treading with boots and bare feet the muck from the sale that day." Sound and movement, the confused clamour and excitement of a schoolboy occasion, have been compressed’ skilfully in that single sentence. At other times, perhaps, the art descends into artifice. The parentheses in italics, used to reveal "Henry’s" thoughts, or to emphasise in retrospect his reactions to awkward situations, suggest too close a preoccupation with technical devices. It is in the structure and substance of the novel, however, that critics will find their difficulties. Although I do not subscribe to any narrow view of the novel, I cannot feel that When the Wind Blows is strong enough in conception and methods to be a significant departure from tradition. It is a study, autobiographical in’ tone, of a youth who grows up in a middle-class family, takes his first job, meets his first girl, is driven by a slightly morbid conscience to the edge of a breakdown, and enters a period of idleness that ends with the promise

of a new job, a new girl, and new ins terests. The phases of Henry’s development are uneven in quality, Mr. Sargeson has a gift for recovering the moods of childhood, and Henry’s earlier years are treated imaginatively, though his mother, father, and brother remain shadowy figures, From the time schooldays end, the vagueness of the environment becomes more noticeable, The impression of a waning force may come from the episodic nature of the story. There is no attempt’ to broaden the world around Henry as he grows older, no multiplication of interests, no presentation of character apart from intervals of dialogue that leave disconnected suggestions. Every episode could stand on its own, as a separate view of Henry in a particular time and place. There is no drawing together of the influences of character or situation ‘within a theme that has an inner necessity or continuity. * * ‘THE short story has much scope for experimentation. It is not necessary to devise a plot: a situation will serve, or a moment of experience, shown imaginatively. It may be equally true that-a novel can be lifted from orthodoxy, and that a writer who aims at poetry instead of plot, or at an internal reality taken from the mind of a character, may achieve a bold innovation. But a longer composition must have a flowing rhythm that is in ‘the theme as well as in the prose. Mr. Sargeson may have believed that in tracing the development of his character he was providing himself with a sufficient theme. Nevertheless, a human personality must be studied as part of its environment. It is not enough, I think, to select a few situations that only faintly explain a man’s mind, and to leave the rest in shadow. If this method is used, the character and the situations should be more than usually interesting. It is difficult to obtain any clear picture of Henry, either from the outside or internally; and although the situations could have been fitted naturally into a larger framework, they do not always justify the technical wits bestowed upon them. ok * HEN THE WIND BLOWS is obvi- ~ ously the work of a short story writer. If its chapters had been scattered through a collection of short stories, they would have left no feeling that something should be added to them. The publishers have hinted that the novel may later be resumed; but I am not sure that it can ,be brought to a satisfying completeness. Mr. Sargeson remains a master of episodes: in his own field he is outstanding among New Zealand writers. It is possible that he lacks ,the creative energy for a sustained effort in fiction-or, perhaps, more accurately, the exuberance of invention that requires ‘the spacious environment of a novel. I have never forgotten "Old Man’s Story," one of the finest pieces in A Man and his Wife. It seemed to me to have qualities of insight and compassion that, if developed in a novel, would make a memorable book. Those qualities (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) are not dominant in When the Wind Blows. The author has made his advance in technique rather than in thought and feeling; he turns for his materials to a Narrow area of experience which seems to be cut off from the vigorous life of the world around us. This is, of course, an individual judgment, and it is quite likely to be wrong. I find myself hoping that it is, for ir. Sargeson’s novel, fragment though it may be, could not have been written easily.