Books

Radio Record, Volume II, Issue 10, 21 September 1928, Page 13

Books

BROTHER SAUL

Donn

Byrne

NTBREST in the novels of Donn Byrne, since the news came of his lamentable death in a motor accident, has received that impetus which seems inseparably connected with the work of man whose life on earth has come to an untimely close. The brilliant, glancing mind of the Irish author is shown perhaps at its greatest in "Hangman’s House’; but in the book under review the literary style is beyond cavil and the interest unflagging. Many strange peoples throng the crowded stage, there is magnificent word-painting, the amours aud conflicts of ancient pagan races are set forth with verisimilitude and consummate art. The story centres around the life of Saul of Tarsus, that towering protagonist who did not suffer fools gladly, but through great tribulation came to a knowledge and tolerance of the erring human heart of the world. With biographical forcefulness and truth are depicted the selflessness of the Apostle, his unflinching heroism and martyred progress; and there is much noble writing concerning the gentle Galilean for whom His disciples sufferedi and were strong. Humanity, it would appear, in some broad aspects does not vary greatly down the centuries: in its loves and hates, warring and tumult, thrusting for place and power; which is arrestingly illustrated in this tale of a by-gone civilisation. which vies in thrill and zest with the most modern novel of them all. "Where the great conquerors or the great conquered pass, there will always be women's hearts and bodies to pave the road." And many women helped 2

and hindered in the’ great crusade. Anne, daughter of Caiaphas, in her steely loveliness and inhumanity; Nossis, tenderly pathetic girl-wife; slim, virginal Thekla, the Greek; noblehearted Lydia. Allied with the enthralling interest © of the Biblical story from the human and historical points of view, the majestic visualisation of a pagan era and slow dawning of Christianity, there are passages of literary beauty which haunt ear and memory; bearing one along, as in Swinburne’s loveliest lines, on a wave of exquisite rhythm: Open the book at random- os " ... the islands that had names sharp and clean as spearheads. Isles past which he would one day adventure. Red-hearted Crete; Samothrace, prowed like a ship; the rock-like Sparta; Samos; Chios, of the resinflavoured wine; Paros, the pearl-string of the Cyclades; Budoia, alive with violets: Attica, its golden army of flower-conquering bees; Andros, white with narcissus; Impros, Tinos, Delos, their harsh cleanliness a background for red-hulked, great-beaked ships that slid past them, quiet as gulls. Salt air, white hyacinth, good coarse sand. Ah, Samothrace! Ah, Euboia!"’ Only words, it may be; but who willingly would miss that rhapsody of vision? Alas, that such a writer of English prose so early should leave

the world.-

R.U.

R.