FICTION
By FORREST REID 7s. 6d.)
I THINK novelists might be more careful when choosing titles for their books. Accidental duplication, of course, must now and then occur, but it would occur a great deal less frequently if a little trouble were taken : after all there are such things as catalogues. The Square Peg, by W. E. Norris, was published in 1907. It may be out of print ; I dare say it is ; but I read it a year or two ago and found -it, though not among the author's best things, a fresh and enjoyable tale. Thirty years later comes The Square Peg, by John Masefield —a longish interval admittedly, but, since Norris happens to be one of the writers who pleased me in my boyhood and still pleases me today, a sense of loyalty urges me to protest. Oddly enough, 'though the books are poles apart, there exists, too, just this faint resemblance between them, that where both square pegs fail to fit is into the round hole of Engli- h county society. Norris liked that society and showed it at its best : Mr. Masefield, in this book at any rate, shows it at its worst. Very rightly he detests such forms of sport as necessitate cruelty to animals ; but his fox-hunters are not only a brainless lot, even their appearance is unprepossessing, while their manners are snobbish and objectionable. Amongst them comes the plebeian Mansell, the square peg, inventor and manufacturer of the Mansell Gun, and immediately finds himself at logger- heads with everybody. For Mansell—whose gun is designed for the slaughter of humans—is not a sportsman ; the vast estate he buys is to be a refuge for all wild creatures ; and, like Beckford at Fonthill, he refuses to allow the Hunt to cross his grounds. The entire county—at first 'incredulous, then indignant—turns against him, the women being particu- larly venomous, egging their men on, planning insults and humiliations. But the campaign fails : Mansell, savagely determined, clever, energetic, and enormously rich, easily wins every battle.
This is the mere framework of the book, leaving out of account its love story and the details of the struggle. I found it disappointing, and the satire somewhat heavy. Mansell is the only figure who really comes to life, and it is surprising that a novelist of Mr. Masefield's experience should give his minor characters such names as Practice Method-Methodde, Colonel Annual-Tilter, the Reverend Mr. Holyport, Admiral Sir Topsle Cringle.
Miss Borden, writing of people of the same class, produces a far more convincing picture because, unlike Mr. Masefield, she has no axes to grind. She does not give us her opinion of her characters, pleads neither for nor against them, but allows them to reveal themselves in their emotions, thoughts, and words. Of these six novels, indeed, The Black Virgin alone possesses any interest as a technical performance. One might read it, I dare say, without realising that it was not a straightforward tale, but that is due to the artist's skill. Few of the scenes are presented directly. They come to us through the minds of the characters, creating a rich interplay of con- trasted colours, like light streaming through a stained-glass window. A group of people are spending Christmas in a country house—four schoolboys, three sets of parents, the grandmother of two of the boys, their uncle, an old friend of the family, and two strangers who never should have been invited, though they are present at the wish of the host and hostess. The drama has been brewing for a long time, but it is between Christmas Eve and .Boxing Day that the crisis is reached and passed. The house is Christian's Valiance, the host and hostess are Jock Barnaby, Under Secretary of State, and Sarah his wife. Tragedy is imminent from the beginning. Lord Farningham, Sarah's brother, who has been gambling on the Stock Exchange with both her money and his own, is there to try to worm secret information out of Barnaby concerning the Government's plans-in regard to a certain oil company. It he can get this information he will be saved, if not ruin is inevitable : meanwhile he is prepared to stick at nothing, and watches all that is 'going on With a kind of bored detachment. Peter Lippincott, the young American, is there because he is Sarah's lover ; Rose Daventry because she is Barnaby's mistress : the boys are there because it is the Christmas holidays. Three of these boys, however, have reached an age when observation leads to deduction, and deviations from the normal are not noticed merely to be forgotten. So the stage is set. Miss Borden has a perfect grasp of each of her characters, and their difference in age, as well as in temperament, enables her to present her theme now from one angle, now from another, so that the book has a constant variety in its unity. Nor can we guess how it will work out in the end. It works out naturally—without violence, without strain, without an improbable word or deed. The people—except the depraved and disillusioned Farningham- are perhaps a fairly average lot, possessing, like most human beings, not goodness, but their good points. Yet these good points are sufficient to see them through the worst places- ' there are things at which they draw the line. Not many, perhaps, but the betrayal of youth happens to be one of them.
The Black Virgin, both in form and substance, is an excep- tionally good novel. Mr. Collins' Flames Coming Out of the Top is a good novel also, after its very different kind. It is an adventure story, with an exotic setting, an excellent plot, a likeable hero, and an equally likeable villain. Dunnett, a young eerk, is stnt out to Amricante by a London firm of Wholesale and Export Merchants to inquire into the reasons why their South American agents, the Compania Muras, have for the last three quarters failed to settle their accounts. True, there is a war on between Bolivia and Paraguay, but that is not a satisfactory explanation, and the Compaffia Muras have received, and apparently still hold, a good many thousand pounds' worth of stock. It is the elderly Senor Muras7--fat, plausible, amiable, with a sense of humour and an absence of scruples—:who is the villain. A prolonged duel takes place between the two men. Durrett is intelligent, courageous, and loyal, but he is no match fin Senor Muras in cunning. On- the other hand, Seiior Muras too is handi- capped ; and by the very odd and inconvenient fact that he conceives an affection for his antagonist. It is a strange situation, obviously possessing great possibilities, and it is what makes Mr. Collins' book. For the subsidiary hap- penings—the volcanic eruption, the flight down the river— though exciting, are more or less what one expects. But this is not a conventional story ; it grips and holds one's interest from the first scene in London to the end.
Mr. Linklater's The Sailor's Holiday and Mr. Housman's The Royal Runaway are in a lighter vein. They are inventions—Mr. Linklater's tale being designed purely as an entertainment, Mr. Housman's as a satire on constitutional monarchy and politicians. The Sailor's Holiday is a series of episodes—the adventures of Henry Tippus during a period of three weeks on shore. Henry is a kindly soul, with a fertile imagination and a gift for spinning yarns. He has a story for everybody, and since these stories are more romantic than veracious, they sometimes land him in difficulties. The lady, for instance, to whom he tries to sell a dachshund he has picked up in the park, does not believe that Henry really found that dog on a raft in mid-ocean, where he was barking furiously, keeping a host of sharks at bay, while he mounted guard over the two infant survivors of a shipw'reck. On the con- trary, though Henry had cleverly removed the dog's collar, she recognises him as the property of her neighbour, Mrs. Chevril-Jones, and immediately communicates with the police. So it goes on, all very readable and gay, though Mr. Linklater was wise to make this a short book. And Mr. Housman would have been wise had he done the same with The Royal Runaway, an old story revived. The best chapters are those which have nothing to do with either the Court or politics, but simply describe, with a good deal of charni and humour, the King's flight and his life in lodgings.
Mr. Conner's Men Must Live is an Irish novel, dealing with the period between 1905 and 1922. Its hero is a village shopkeeper who gradually makes his 'way, becomes prosperous and influential, and ends up as a member of the Dail. The realistic picture of life in a small but rapidly growing country -town is 'well ciOiii-thciugVilie writing is somewhat crude.
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