(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
I rather wish that the publishers of _Invincible Minnie_ (HODDER AND
STOUGHTON) had not permitted themselves to print upon the wrapper either
their own comments or those of Miss ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING, the author.
Because for my part, reading these, I formed the idea (entirely wrong) that
the book would be in some way pretentious and affected; whereas it is the
simple truth to call it the most mercilessly impersonal piece of fiction
that I think I ever read. There is far too much plot for me to give you any
but a suggestion of it. The story is of the lives of two sisters, _Frances_
and _Minnie_; mostly (as the title implies) of _Minnie_. To say that no one
but a woman would have dared to imagine such a heroine, much less to follow
her, through every phase of increasing hatefulness, to her horrid
conclusion is to state an obvious truism. It is incidentally also to give
you some idea of the kind of person _Minnie_ is, that female Moloch,
devastating, all-sacrificing, beyond restraint.... As for Miss HOLDING, the
publishers turned out to be within the mark in claiming for her "a new
voice." I don't, indeed, for the moment recall any voice in the least like
it, or any such method; too honest for irony, too detached for sentiment
and, as I said above, entirely merciless. Towards the end I found myself
falling back on the old frightened protest, "People don't do these things."
I still cling to this belief, but the fact remains that Miss HOLDING has a
haunting trick of persuading one that they might. Minor faults, such as an
irritating idiom and some carelessness of form, she will no doubt correct;
meanwhile you have certainly got to read--"to suffer" would be the apter
word--this remarkable book, whose reception I await with curiosity.
* * * * *
A much misunderstood man is Count BERNSTORFF, formerly German Ambassador at
Washington. While we were all supposing him to be a bomb-laden conspirator,
pulling secret strings in Mexico or Canada or Japan from the safe
protection afforded to his embassy, really he was the most innocent of men,
anxious for nothing but to keep unsophisticated America from being trapped
by the wiles of the villain Britisher. One has it all on the best of
authority--his own--in _My Three Years in America_ (SKEFFINGTON). Of course
awkward incidents did occur, which have to be explained away or placidly
ignored, but really, if the warlords at home had not been so invincibly
tactless in the matter of drowning citizens of the United States, this
simple and ingenuous diplomat might very well have succeeded, he would have
us believe, in persuading President WILSON to declare in favour of a
peace-loving All-Highest. As an essay in special pleading the book does not
lack ingenuity, and as an example of the familiar belief that other peoples
will shut their eyes and swallow whatever opinions the Teuton thinks good
to offer them, it may have interest for the psychologist. For the rest it
is a very prosy piece of literature, only saved occasionally in its dulness
by the unconscious crudity of the hatreds lurking beneath its mask of
plausibility. One of these hatreds is clearly directed against Ambassador
GERARD, to whose well-known book this volume is in some sort a counter-
blast. Neither a historian seeking truth nor a plain reader seeking
recreation will have any difficulty in choosing between them.
* * * * *
Mr. D.A. BARKER, in _The Great Leviathan_ (LANE), doesn't merely leave you
to make the obvious remark about his having taken Mr. H.G. WELL'S loose,
tangential and, for a beginner, extraordinarily dangerous method as a
model, but rubs it in (stout fellow!) by transplanting his hero to India,
seemingly in order to have excuse for writing a passage which one would say
was obviously inspired by that gorgeous description of the jungle in _The
Research Magnificent_. Mr. BARKER has enough matter for two (or three)
novels and enough skill in portraiture to make them more coherent and
plausible than this. The theme is old but freshly seen. _Tom Seton_,
resolved to avoid risking for his beloved the unhappiness which his mother
had found in the bondage of marriage, offers her--indeed imposes on her--a
free union. How the pressure of _The Great Leviathan_ (_Mrs. Grundy_--well,
that's not perhaps quite the whole of the idea, but it will serve) drove
her into the shelter of a formal marriage with a devoted don, I leave you
to gather. I don't think the author quite succeeds in making _Mary's_
defection inevitable, nor do I see the significance of the apparently quite
irrelevant background of Indian philosophy and intrigue. But here's a
well-written book, with sound positive qualities outweighing the defects of
inexperience.
* * * * *
Captain ALAN BOTT ("Contact") has a literary gift of a high order, the gift
of getting the very last thrill out of his experiences while telling his
tale in the simplest and most straightforward way. In _Eastern Nights_
(BLACKWOOD) he describes his adventures as a prisoner of the Turks, first
in Damascus and Asia Minor and finally in Constantinople. The narrative,
which is purely one of action, the action being supplied by the efforts,
finally successful, of the author and various brother-officers to escape
from their most unattractive captivity, nevertheless offers a most vivid
picture of the social fabric of the Near East and in particular of the
attitude of the _mélange_ of Oriental peoples that comprised the Turkish
Empire towards the War in which they found themselves taking part, most of
them with reluctance and all inefficiently. Apathy rather than calculated
brutality was chiefly responsible for the hardships suffered by the
prisoners of war of all nations who were unfortunate enough to fall into
Turkish hands. From the point of view of an officer determined to escape,
however, the prevalence of this quality was not without its advantage. Most
of the officials (Turks and Germans excepted) with whom Captain BOTT and
his fellow-officers had to do were pro-Ally at heart and ready enough to
assist an escaping prisoner if they did not happen to be too timid. And
even the Turk was amenable on occasion to baksheesh. Altogether a most
fascinating book, _Eastern Nights_ is likely to win wide appreciation not
alone for its literary merit but as a stirring record of the courage and
resource, under desperate and trying conditions, of the Empire's soldiers.
* * * * *
Miss HENRIETTA LESLIE belongs to the school of novelists who believe in
telling you all about their characters and leaving you to pass judgment on
them yourself, without expert assistance. It is a fine impartial method
which succeeds in representing life and the indecisiveness of human nature
very well; but such books somehow lack the glow of more partisan writings.
In _A Mouse with Wings_ (COLLINS) she tells the story of a woman's life
from the time of her engagement until her son is a young man and she
herself married again. _Olga_ is a splendid creature, but, as Miss LESLIE
cleverly lets you see for yourself, the belief in her own principles and
their application, which is the essence of her character, alienates her
husband and makes something like a ninny of _Arnold_, her son. _A Mouse
with Wings_ is not only the sobriquet of _Beryl_, the cheerful young
Suffragette whom he loves, but has its application also to poor _Arnold_,
who finds the courage to face life and a way out of it fighting in France.
It is a nicely-written book with a little air of distinction, but, in case
anyone should blame me for hushing it up, I ought to mention that both
_Olga_ and _Beryl_ would probably have admired _Arnold_ a great deal more
had he "found himself" by way of Conscientious Objection.
* * * * *
I can testify that Mr. ZANE GREY'S _The Man of the Forest_ (HODDER AND
STOUGHTON) is a yarn told with considerable zest and with just that
undercurrent of sentiment which sweeps large portions of the British public
completely off its feet. In this book the heroine, _Helen Rayner_, and her
sister, _Bo_, leave Missouri for their uncle's ranch in New Mexico; but
before they reach their destination many and wonderful adventures befall
them. To escape from being kidnapped by some superb scoundrels they were
hustled off to _Milt Dale's_ home in the forest, and there they had for a
long time to remain. _Milt_ was one of nature's gentlemen, but as his boon
companion was a cougar (whose uninviting picture is to be seen upon the
paper cover), this forest home had its slight inconveniences. Mr. GREY,
however, writes of it so admirably that he almost persuades me to be a
camper-out, provided always that I may live in a cavern and not in a
caravan. Cowboys, bandits, Mormons and other vigorous characters keep
things moving at a terrific pace. But stirringly full of incident as this
tale is, Mr. GREY never forgets that it is love that really makes the world
go round. He is in short a born storyteller, with a style by no means to be
despised, and I see no reason why his popularity should not continue to wax
here, and ultimately to rival its American magnitude.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ATMOSPHERE IN OUR RIVER BUNGALOWS.
_Hostess_ (_to her husband, just arrived from Town_). "YOU'VE FORGOTTEN THE
CHOP-STICKS, JOHN. YOU'VE SPOILT THE PARTY!"]
* * * * *