Mr. PrieStley's Apes and Angels (Methuen, 5s.) is rather puzzling.
He uses the simplest materials, and trusts to hold us by making us see what he reviews in memory and by his comments on this passing show. But he is showing us more than he seems to. At the end-of two or three of these descriptions you find that you have learnt a good deal about the author, anyhow. " The Port" (of London) gets its impression clear enough, but what stands out rather is the European landsman's craving for vivid tropical colour— and a fear in Mr. Priestley's heart that the romance of ships is passing out of the world. Again, " An Artist " shows you a man and his wife and their way of living, but it suggests still more what Mr. Priestley wishes to get from a picture. Or again, " At the Circus " describes the Cirque d'Hiver on
Mardi Gras, with all the children of the audience in fancy dress. It is a delightful essay ; but it leads up to a question why the clown—Charlie Chaplin or Grock—has such a vogue
with the intellectuals of a post-War world. Mr. Priestley is careful never to obtrude the fact that he is writing went
yet with a little attention you will find that there is a constant moving to the same measure, and even a trace of monotony in the falling cadence with which lie always ends. You may also find that he overdoes the avoidance of emphasis and so fails to make a lasting mark on the mind. Such a method is only justified completely when' the thought itself has a mordancy not to be found in these pleasant pages.
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