Books.

Radio Record, Volume II, Issue 26, 11 January 1929, Page 13

Books.

GALLIONS REACH.

H. M.

Tomlinson

HOSE who have read the essays of this writer, collected in a fascinating volume entitled "Old Junk," will not be surprised at the quality of his raid on romance, or to find that his novel "Gallions Reach," is packed full of adventure in lands of tropical forest, big game hunting, and strange and sinister people of the Hast. . A man accidentally commits a and thereafter wanders away from London and his former discreet and well-ordered surroundings of business and pleasure. Without his own volition he finds himself on a strange ship, . and then begins a narrative of thrilling power, dazzling imagination, and great literary beauty. The character drawing is good. Who, having met him, will forget Chief Officer Sinclair, or the Scottish Gillespie, and Captain Hale, that quiet, seemingly insignificant hero, whose death in mid-ocean we feel to be in the nature of tragedy, and feel personal, poignant regret when he goes down with the Altair. Those days and nights in the boats, such a triumph of word painting; the humour and gallantry of the seamen,. and wonderful description of the great storm; all these are etched on the memory. Mr. Tomlinson knows the sea in her moods of beauty, violence, and raging, insensate cruelty; and he makes us know her also, for he wields" a magician’s pen. Rangoon and Penang are familiar to him as Lambton ° Quay to the town clerk, and tropical nights of magic and terror, with big and little pouncers and killers that’ prowl and squirm in the jungle. A. touch now and again is reminiscent of Hudson; sometimes for a moment we think of Conrad’s spell; but Mr. Tomlinson stands entirely on his own merits, and can bear comparison with the giants of literature. He has written a wonderful book, its style impeceable, its understanding of men deep and intuitive. I quote at random :- "Knowledge of Sinclair and that bunch of men of his old ship, gave to an aimless and sprawling world the assurance: of anonymous courage and faith waiting in the sordid muddle for the signal, ready when it came. There were men like that. They’ were only the crowd. There was nothing to distinguish them. ‘They were nobodies. But when they were wanted, there they were; and when they had finished their task they disappeared, leaving no sign, except in the heart. Without the certainty of that artless and profitless fidelity of simple souls, the shining importance of august affairs of flourishing cities would be worth no more homage than the brickbats of Babylon." Just so. When they are-wanted there they are. We learned that in the war years, and are grateful to Mr. Tomlinsow for his reminder.-R.U.R, —