By LUCILLE BALDWIN VAN SLYKE. Fred’k A. Stokes. 275 pp. Price $1.00;
by mail of THE SURVEY $1.10.
Mrs. Van Slyke has chosen as her special field of interest the Syrian
quarter of Brooklyn, and the result of her observations she has given us
in a short dozen of stories, grouped under the title, Eve’s Other
Children. With considerable skill and great charm, through the medium of
little Nazileh, she permits us to see into the mind of the Oriental
“within our gates.” Each tale illustrates some Syrian custom or legend
or characteristic, picturesquely trying to maintain itself in this
matter-of-fact “land of Brooklyn.”
Those looking for diversion will find it in these tales; those looking
for something deeper will find that also. While the association of the
Oriental with other immigrants is rather casually treated, the relation
between the Syrian population and the Americans with whom they come in
contact has been a matter of careful observation and thought on the part
of the writer. Between the lines, one feels her protest against the
current attitude toward this peculiarly sensitive alien. Teacher and
social worker, as well as the Tommy O’Brien’s and Geraldine Schmidt’s of
the neighborhood, constantly offend the little Syrians by referring to
them as “dagos.” Throughout these stories, like a plaintive refrain,
runs the explanation of little Nazileh: “Oxcuse—me, I ees not a dago—I
Syreean!”
To deal rightly with these children it is not enough to study only the
outward type. Not to blunder one must know the unique workings of their
minds, their superstitions, their strong racial traits. To illustrate:
Baby Antar has a new tooth, to Nazileh a most important event. A certain
native dish must be prepared to do the occasion justice. But she is so
poor and her mother works so hard! Suddenly Nazileh remembers that
“Teacher” has admired her Mashallah beads; she will give fifty cents for
them. Without them, the child is defenseless before the “evil eye,” but
a Syrian custom is at stake; she must not falter. The teacher buys them
gaily, without suspicion that she has taken from the frightened child
her most valued and valuable possession.
Nor is the philanthropist always understanding:
Nazileh’s most striking trait is her passionate love for her baby
brother. Two ladies stop her ramshackle perambulator in the street.
Antar has prickly heat. The ladies discuss ways and means; they talk of
“district tickets” and “transfer stubs.” Then the awful word
“Freshairfund” escapes them, and in a second two flying legs and four
wobbly wheels are all that are seen of Nazileh and her precious burden.
“That Freshairfun,” she gasps from a safe distance, “eet steal sweet
little babees from their homes. I weesh”—she stopped in delight at the
American oath she was about to utter—“I weesh a gosh on eet!”
It is a great pity to deal clumsily with the Oriental, for no one can
lay down this book without feeling that there are exquisite qualities
lurking in the Syrian quarter, qualities that we as a people need.
Nazileh, gay, sad, loving, poetic, mischievous little girl, always
courteous, never shrewd, seems to represent the best type of Syrian
child. We need her filial devotion, her deference to old age, her fine
hold on tradition in this rough and ready civilization of ours.
Evidently the high tide of immigration that washes in so many problems,
brings treasure also. How can we capture it?
With much that is beautiful and picturesque, the book leaves on our
minds also the impression of great hardship, of overwork and underpay,
of little children driven indoors out of the sunlight to ply a wearisome
trade; of young girls fighting for existence in the misery of the
sweat-shop.
But the author’s sympathetic understanding and charming interpretation
of Oriental ideas, scenes, and customs mitigate the somberness even of
the final tale, which gives the title to the book. The story is told by
Nazileh’s sad young mother arrayed in bright Oriental garb for the
Syrian Christmas, when the camel comes with gifts,—“And when Eve saw God
coming, she hid all her unsightly children in a dark cave and only her
pretty children were washed and dressed for God to see....” The lame,
the halt, the blind, and those pursued of poverty,—these are “Eve’s
Other Children.”