FICTION

By FORREST REID Gangway Down. By Dave Marlowe. (Harrap. 8s. 64.)

MR. DAVE MARLOWE'S first book, Coming, Sir ! was an

autobiography wherein he described his life as a waiter and steward. I have not read it, but I imagine that his second book, Gangway Down, though it is a novel, also contains a good deal of autobiographical material. That it is written at first hand, from direct observation, is clear. The autobio- graphy was a success ; the novel, too, I think should be successfuL It has several qualities to make it so. It tells a story that has plenty of variety and incident, while the characters are convincing and sympathetic. This is particu- larly true of the three most important persons—Ruby Carson, hard-working and hard-drinking ; Johnnie, her illegitimate grandson, whom she brings up from the hour of his birth ; and Deadloss, a seafarer, who takes an interest in the boy and helps Ruby to look after him. It cannot be denied that both Ruby and Deadloss are "tough." They were immoral in their youth, and in old age, when not at work, they haunt the bar of 'The Black Horse.' Their conversation—especially Ruby's —is " tough " also. But within each of them is a well of human kindliness that more than makes up for superficial deficiencies.

The tale opens in the dockland of East End London, and its subject is the career of Johnnie, an average small boy of his class. Thanks, however, to Ruby and Deadloss, he

emerges from the ordinary nick. The plan is Deadloss's ; by herself Ruby could have done .nothing. But when Johnnie is ten they combine to send him to a decent school in the country, and here he remains till he is sixteen. It means for them self-sacrifice ; it means on the part of Deadloss an

act of pure generosity, since the boy has no claim upon him whatever ; to Johnnie it means a chance of physical and mental development that will make all the difference in his life. On leaving school he is put into business, but he does not like it ; he runs away to sea, and his subsequent adventures occupy the remaining two-thirds of the book. He starts badly. He " jumps '' more than one ship ; he is persuaded to try " bootlegging " ; he is unemployed ; he falls in love with a girl he meets on board ship, but the girl knows nothing of Deadloss and Ruby and the home from which Johnnie has sprung, and when she finds out, Johnnie's character is severely tested, for she is shocked, while he himself longs to escape from his surroundings, yet feels bound by ancient loyalties.

Mr. Marlowe presents it all without idealisation. Gratitude, kindness, unselfishness, these people possess—but in the rough, as it were, ungraced by any charm. And! wish the youthful Johnnie had not looked on at the blowing-up of a frog, though the incident is dismissed in a line, and with what is equivalent to a smile at the barbarity of small boys in general. Mr. Marlowe's purpose, however, is to hide nothing, and he keeps determinedly to this method. Nevertheless, there does emerge, from the restraint and austerity with which the seamy side, and above all the sexual seamy side, is treated, an impression of wholesomeness and natural delicacy.

Mr. Kantor's novel is entirely different in subject, manner, and setting. The idea on which the book is bused is unusual, and the tale itself romantic, with a hint of strangeness. Nor is the title, The Noise of Their Wings, far-fetched, for actually this is a story about birds and bird-lovers,, and the human drama has its origin in E. D. Starke's ruling passion, which is to search for any survivors that may remain of the once numerous American passenger pigeons, and prevent, if possible, this beautiful race of birds from being exterminated. His obsession, for it amounts to that, can be traced to an episode of his boyhood ; but this is given only in retrospect, the story, as it is directly presented, beginning, and reaching its climax, all within seventy hours. Starke, when it opens, is a very rich old man who has devoted the latter years of his life to the quest of his beloved pigeons. Also he has offered a reward of one hundred thousand dollars to anybody who brings him a living pair. With his nephew, he is cruising

and investigating among the mangrove islands, when un- expectedly the reward is claimed by a native trapper. The birds themselves are not produced, for the trapper is cautious, but two or three sample feathers are offered as proof, and the proof seems sufficient Three people—Doctor Holm Hansen, the ornithologist ; Preston Caraway, a young scientist from Newark ; and Starkes own daughter, Marian—proceed by aeroplane to the yacht in immediate response to his summons ; and this constitutes the first act of the drama.

What follows, follows swiftly. Marian, from the beginning, has had forebodings ; but she knows her father, knows he will not listen to her, and she is right. It may seem strange that a tale commencing with a search fcir birds should develop into one in which life and death are involved; but so it is. The reward is too big ; envy and greed are aroused ; another trapper has claims which unfortunately are ignored ; the nephew acts stupidly; and Starke himself has reached a stage when he is prepared to sacrifice human beings to his mono- mania. The novel is fresh, vigorous, and written with a terseness of style that suits its content.

Correct, if necessary, the following sentences :

"It was a gulf between he and them."

"As between he and his wife."

"You're wrong in thinking that between your daughter and I there has been anything."

One can imagine such a question being set in an Examination Paper for not very advanced pupils, and one can even imagine that the pupils might all score full marks. The sentences themselves I have culled from Mr. Goodwin's novel, Come Michaelmas. In three out of the five quoted reviews of Mr. Goodwin's earlier books I find he has been compared with Thomas Hardy. Well, Hardy was no purist ; he did not mind splitting his infinitives, for instance ; but he was at least a master of construction ; Tess, Jude, The Return of the Native, and The Mayor of Casterbridge—in each of these the story progresses with the calm, unhurried march of Greek tragedy. Now Mr. Goodwin's method is the exact opposite to this ; he is careless of construction ; his tale is presented in a series of detached scenes, and though the time covered is compara- tively brief, the effect is fragmentary. Come Michaelmas, in fact; does not strike me as a good novel, though it contains one genuine achievement, the portrait of Harry. That amiable young giant, ne'er-do-well, poacher and boxer, cannot have

been easy to do, for he is almost a half-wit ; yet Harry lives. His relations with the elder daughter of old Jarman, a retired master-weaver, form part of the romantic material of the novel, while the younger daughter's love affair with a middle-aged and married archaeologist forms the other part. Actually, however, there is no major drama, but rather an attempt to interest us in the heterogeneous life of a small town on the Shropshire border.

The King Was in His Counting House is a story of renaissance Italy. I have read only one other book by its author, and I read that many years ago ; but Mr. Cabell has altered little since the days of Jurgen. There is ine same sophistication, the same preciosity of style, the same harping on improprieties. I confess that it all strikes me now as more

puerile than amusing. Fantasy to be effective must have its roots in reality and Mr. Cabell's fantasy has not. His characters commit innumerable murders s and adulteries, yet these things mean nothing, because the persons themselves are completely inhuman. For the same reason the irony falls flat. This kind of novel has been done better by Mr. Norman

Douglas, and its purple patches—the description of King Ferdinand's jewels, for example—are not so good as similar passages in Oscar Wilde. Of course, Mr. Cabell can write ; he has a sense for words and cadences ; but the lack of any breath of genuine feeling removes the whole thing into an icy world of artificiality. Even the style, in its conscious elaboration, seems to me second-rate ; though if this book

be admired, it will be on the strength of its style. For as a story it is thin, and the incidents are repetitive. Erotic encounters, betrayals, murders, torturings--I suppose a certain amount of comedy can be extracted from such things when presented with polite detachment But it is a comedy that quickly palls as the changes are rung upon it.