Evening Star Newspaper, April 19, 1931, Page 96

20 P E— THE SUNDAY- STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, APRIL 19, 1931. REVIEWS OF THE NEW The Six Best Sellers The following books are reported as being most in demand through- out the country during the past week: FICTION. THE GOOD EARTH, by Pearl S. Buck (John Day). An epic of China and the Chinese. IMPATIENT VIRGIN, by Dorald Henderson Clarke (Vangard). A girl who believed that whatlever she wanted to do wos right. THE DAUGHTER OF FU MAN- CHU, by Saxr Rohmer. (Doubleday, Doran). Lurid Oriental mystery. THE SOPHISTICATES, by Ger- trude Atherton (Liveright). Did Julius Abbey die by the hand of his beautiful wife? THE BRIDGE OF DESIRE, by Warwick Deeping (McBride). A wife ;g:&ues her husband from a siren’s ABOVE THE DARK TUMULT, by . Hugh Walpole (Doubleday, Doran). fie murder which no one would be- ve. NON-FICTION. THE EDUCATION OF A PRIN- CESS, by the Grand Duchess Marie (Viking). Recollections of a Roman- off who escaped the Red Terror. MY STORY, by Mary Roberis Rinehart (Farrar & Rinehart). Memoirs of a full life, with a typi- cally American background. BONERS (Dutton). - Schoolboy blunders in onswering examination pers. THE STORY OF SAN MICHELE, by Azxel Muntie (Dutton). Mem- ories of a physician to the European aristocracy. CONTRACT BRIDGE AT SIGHT, by C. T. Adams (Bruce Roberts). Latest rules and principles. THE MEMOIRS OF MARSHAL __FOCH (Doubleday, Doran). The Ystory of the war as seen by the French commander in chief. HUNGER AND LOVE. By Lionel Brifton. In- troduction by Bertrand Russell. New York: Harper & Bros. Arthur Phelps, friends. He is, just now, on his way back over the long road whose first forward passage so overtzxed him for food and covering and shelter against bad weathers that, as matter of fact, he dropped the bulk of his real luggage, bit by bit along the way, not minding, not caring. If he thought about it at all he knew it would be quite safe, that he could at any time return and pick it up. People are unmindful of such drop- pings from a boy’s soul, of such sheddings of a boy’s mind. So here is Arthur Phelps come back*to pick himself up along the way of his boyhood and getting up toward being older. A bookshop lad, pack-boy carrying books to their destination, dodging down by-ways to rest a minute while he grabs things out of those books. Words, jumbles, odd figures that don’t mean much. But he has to have them. That is the boy, Arthur Phelps. A consuming passion for the inside of those books. No matter what this is about. It's about something and I'll worry the life out of it. But I'll know! 'Rithmetic. Everybody has to know that. “What two numbers are those whose sum is 58 and whose difference is 28?” Oh Lord! Nobody knows but the man who made the book.” There’s history. You must have history and poetry—"“That Racine chap and this Corneille fellow—you’s never heard of them in your life and who the dickens they are you don't really know now.” And so it goes almost from mile to mile through this journey of a London boy- hood. Exclamation and ejaculation—both to the effect that “I've just got to know.” Let it come helter skelter, this knowledge. It's mine and I must have it. Such is the effect of this record, one of the most plercing and terrible pictures of a human lost as a little boy in the overwhelming present of the world. Lost in & familiar street in London, lost in its hidden knowledge in its enormous withholdings from this demanding lad. 2 Here is something so radically different from the book we know that it simply steps aside from getting into any cless. No plot. No action, not in the proper sense of action. No sequence, except that of being alive day after day. Neither balance nor proportion. No pedigree whatever. Wholly without literary lineage. But—what a book! Wrong! What an extraor- dinary transfer of flesh and blood—not much of either—to print. Long! Long! 300,000 words. Near %00 pages. Squarely against our current preachment against the heavy vclumes for these hurried days. Hers, however, is the exception—the stu- pendous and blessed exception. A word of advice. Don’t mind what any one says about *“qunger and Love.” Not what Bernard Shaw says nor Bertrand Russell. Go to it, clean. Strip off a bit of it, like the countryman strip- ping his plug. Get it into your mouth and then go on to your job, Chew on that strip ali day. Fletcherize it to a fluid. Swallow it down into your innermost. The next day do it all over again. In the course of this 300,000-word journey you'll know more than you do now, more about boys and the wilderness, boys and the jungle, about young men coming into larger complexities which they still believe to be some supreme unity—if only they could get hold of it—proper like, I'm still biting this book off, day by day, and passing it around to needy folks like me for each a mouthful to snatch as he can. There A Different Sort of Novel From the Pen of a New Writer—More About the Borgias. Politics and Some of the Early Spring Fiction. will be more, a .ot more, to say later. The very print is swollen with promise. Overenthusias- tic? Well, let me alone. THE BORGIAS: Or, At the Feet of Venus. By Vicente Blasco Ibanez, author of “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” etc. From the Spanish by Arthur Livingston. New York: E. P. Dutton & Co. A CASE of special pleading for the Borgian Popes, Spanish in blood, like Ibanez him- self? Not at all. Not in any sense that. A quite splendid historical novel instead, whose controlling purpose is to hold its substance strictly to the time and the customs to which it belongs. We humans are meddlers and compound, be- sides, of enormous egotisms. Therefore, our own period is the one by which all others must be appraised and usually condemned. It is such myopic disability in our historic evaluations that Ibanez confronts and resists in “The Borgias.” Resists, not by declaration and pro- nouncement, not Vicente Blasco Ibanez. In place of such impotent procedure he spreads a gorgeous story, a love story in effect, though through it runs a thread of research by way of which the old canon, descendant and devotee of the Borgian Popes, revives in strict detail the history of these famous Spaniards. His nephew, in purpose a student, precedes Don Balthasar to Rome for the sake of these filial researches. But love is mightier than lore, and so, before Rome is reached, young Claudio is ensnared beyond any usefulness in behalf of the honor of his ancestry. To both of these lines, passion and piety, Ibanez devotes his own lavish eloquence and rich artistry. And to both he is equally faithful. Therefore one draws from this novel an authentic picture of Rome in the Borgian era, and an equally be- lievable account of the vagaries of a young man in love. Especially pleasing is the expert and unreserved psyshology exercised here upon the male in this trying and revealing period. The whole, however, is commanding in its interest whether one reads for authentic history or for the less stable manifestations of passionate human love. Of one thing we may be sure. The effort, quite praiseworthy, on the part of this writer to give pause to people in their swift and ig- norant judgments of other days and ways will fall away quite useless. We shall go on exe- crating Lucretia Borgia as a female monster though many times she has been proved a model to the day in which she lived. We like to be that way. u: most absorbing romance, a sumptuous pic- e. RELENTLESS. By Mpyrtle Johnston, author of “Hanging Johnny.” New York: D. Apple- ton & Co. . HE story gets its start by way of a man's revolt against the civilization into which he was born, A few years ago it was quite common, you know, for genius to betake itself to islands of the sea, there to “go native.” Well, this particular rebel went from London to Si- beria instead. But, manlike—or lifelike—he be- fore setting out achieved matrimony and twins. ‘The account has to do, therefore, with life for this family among wild Siberian tribes and the rigors of Siberian weathers. The wife died, of course. The man turned tail to his great ad- venture of simple living and ran back to Lon- don with his children, for succor and support. A little late for him. He died, too. It is the effect of these early years upon the children as they move along toward youth and its beckon- ings. Unhappy in the one, bewildered and un- happy in the other. A grim subject, you see. So was “Hanging Johnny.” Both of them, how- ever, bespeak openly a quality of workmanship so austerely honest, so undeviatingly faithful to the spirit of the theme and its development in circumstance and mental reaction to this, that the author of these two novels comes, it seems to me, as near to the rank of genius as any other writer of the present. Nearer than all, save a couple, maybe. So young, too. Whea Myrtle Johnston wrote “Hanging Johnny” she was only 18. That but a couple of years ago. Nothing savoring of the prodigy here. Fine and high work, instead, that is calculated to de- light readers who do like the touch of the artist now and then, even in the matter of current novels. Not fronted upon popularity, this ad- mirable work. It is too penetrating, too con- sclous of the terror of life, as well as of its beauty. Two novels to bring joy to exacting readers. The second one bigger than the first, but no more inspired, no more ccmpetently pursued as art in current literature. POLITICS. By Harold J. Laski, professor of political science in the University of Lon- don. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co. The Hour Library. THE excellent purpose of the Hour Librarvy is to establish a practical relationship be- tween the crowding hours of the present and the scant time for reading or study that can be snatched from these. Ponderous volumes, save for special research or professional pursuit, are as much out of step with the modern rush as would be the camel h’au% or the covered wagcn, Therr manifest effect upon the general reader is to scare him away from them, however desirable they might be if, only, they had been fitted to his leisure. The Hour Library is in its purpose a remedy "for exactly this misfit between the man and his book. Short studies, on important subjects, by recognized authorities. Such the law and gos- pel cf the good enterprise. A dozen issues, and more, give concrete evidence of an admirable purpose carried out in its own spirit. “Politics,” according to implied promise, can be' read in an hour—a little more, a minute less. A prolific subject, but here stripped to the skin. What is politics? What is it for? What is its natural relation to the state? To the people as a whole? How is the state itself or- ganized, and what is the part of politics in such organization? Then, later, how does the state, this political unit, relate itself to others of its kind in an international combination of recipro- cal powers and accommodations? That is about all, in so far as lines of research are concerned. Succinct, clear, plain-speaking, non-technical, these topics step readily into the understand- ing of readers who have become confused over the behaviors of political representatives. By this study it turns out that politics is an essen- tial part of the state, essential to its function- ing fully and beneficially—not, as we may have thought, a mere vote-getting machine for turning popular men into legislators and ad- ministrators. THE ASTONISHING ANT. By Julie Closson Kenly. Illustrated by Henry C. Kenly. New York: D. Appleton & Co. THOB! who read Julle Closson Kenly's “Green Magic” are ready for the delights, and surprises, of the ant people. We were told, long ago, to go to the ant for certain lessons in profitable human behaviors, but those early admonitions were destitute of promise and lure. Do not be lazy. Do not be foolish. These fail to register deeply unless they carry the very color and shape of the rewards to follow such reversal of human trends. Here it is different. Here is, first, the gift of the good story teller. Before this even there is, more than likely, a conviction that animals, within their own needs, know just about as much as we do. And then, fortifying herself with the special student's body of ant truth—this writer is ready for the work. Work for her. But play for us. “Aston- ishing” is the word that every unfolding page causes us to accept more and more heartily. Farmer ants, and ant armies, perform here each in its capacity of deploying for either harvest- ing or attack. Housekeepers, also, that would make the shirking kitchen lady of our acquaint- ance ashamed, were she not lost to such proper feeling. Architects among them, too, with the very patterns of the houses of their planning. Indeed, every item of the economy which we assume to be ours—social, domestic, industrial economy—is in full possession of these small citizens of the world. A fascinating book for anybody, regardless of years or other assumed disabilities. Lovely for the boys and girls. From the Book Room Table. UITE idly I picked it up—“The Golden Book.” Yet, not even the taking of a book is entirely outside the ken and direction of guidance. At any rate, this is what I found. Edwin Mim’s story of “Milton in the Modern World.” The story of the Poetry Festival which evey year takes place at Boar’s Hill, just out from Oxford. John Masefield, head and front of that annual revival. For it is a revival, a distinct move to bring into the present such old poets as are, in spirit and word, actually of the present and with a genuine significance for the current day. Edwin Mims last year went to the festival at Boar’s Hill, John Masefield the enthusiastic impresario of the production. He saw these, reproduced exactly, the second book of “Para- dise Lost.” You recall it—the Council in Hell, A solemn conclave. Belial, Mammon, Maloch, Beelzcsbub, Satan—all in deep concern over the audacity of man on earth. You remember that Satan himself offers to take the perilous voyage to earth, there to deal with recalcitrant mortal, “If one changed a word here or there”— Mr. Mims talking—"he might have thought he was listening to a debate in the League of Na- tions or in some nation’s Parliament.” These— Belial, Moloch, Mammon and the rest—"are universal types and the points of view they ex- pressed are always rising.” “Belial, whose tongue dropped manna and could make the worse appear the better reason, was the fore- runner of many a demagogue in legislative halls and on lecture platforms.” As a whole one was impressed “not only with the grand style of Milton, but with the vital and permanent significance of the words and characters.” The story opens as a friend of Mr. Mims said to him, “I read one night the description of Satan's journey from the gates of Hell through Chaos to earth, and the next morning in the newspaper I read the account of Lindbergh’s flight to Paris. And do you know Milton wrote the best account of it.” Important, even vital stuff, this—not to Mil- ton. Certainly not. Important to serious poetry lovers, to the more earnest class of read- ers and quite vital to the great body of insti- tutionalized education. If such alert, sane, enthusiastic voyages of discovery into the past of both near and re- mcte antiquity as John Masefield and his com- panions have ventured upon could be multi- plied, then the classics themselves would come alive again, to the joy of mankind and to the distinct relief of education. And it seems as simple as it is desirable. Nothing more than a change of direction would bring the happy possibility into a daily reality. Hitherto, students and readers have gone back into the classics, seating themselves therein, satisfied, save for very few exceptions, that they have arrived in the quiet of great thoughts and beautiful phrases, all static and fixed. Now, under this impulse the ancients are brcught forward, into the surging life of active men and women. Rather they come for- ward by the potency of the living stuff they bririg to contribute to the beauty and the wis- dom, to the terror and the danger of lifz today, this minute. Such a mcvement well on its way and there will be no lamentings over the present indif- ference toward great literature of the past. Not of the past at all. Of the urgent moment in- stead—Milton and Wordsworth both moderns, both rebels, bcth protesting and moving straight toward the future, which is our present, and the present of tomcrrow. Well, one does have to stop—but turn toward this festival at Roar’s Hill and John Masefield. Seek to multiply such avenues for the escape of genius from the inhibitions of professional classicists. Then, we shall go singing with genius, which is what we may do, if we will. - Books Recerved SEEING FRANCE. By E. M. Newman, author cf “Seeing Italy,” etc. New York: Funk & ‘Wagnalls Co. THE FRENCH AT HOME; In the Country and in Town. By Philip Carr, correspondent in Paris for “New York Times.” New York: The Dial Press. THE AMERICAN PUBLIC MIND. By Peter Odegard, professor of pclitical science, Ohio State University, New York: Columbia Uni- versity Press. YOUR COMPLETE LIFE. By Walter Joseph Bankes, dean of Teachers’ College, Akron, Ohjo. Bostcn: The Christopher Publishing House. IT'S WHAT YOU ARE. By Mark Lee Luthér, author of the “The Clean Up,” etc. In- dianapolis: The Bcbbs-Merrill Co. TWO PENNILESS PRINCESSES. By Char- lotte Yonge. Introduced and edited by Elizabeth McCracken. Illustrated by Staf- ford C. Good. New York: The Macmil- lan Co. THE MAGIC LOAVES; And Other Tales. Adopted From the Histories of Herodotus. By Hope Brister. Illustrated by Harold Min- ton. The Little Library. New York: The Macmillan Ccmpany. EMILY: A Novel Based on the Life and Char- acter of Emily Dickinson. By MacGregor Jenkins, author of “Shiner Watscn,” etc. Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co. ARIEL DANCES. By Ethel Cook Eliot. Bos- ton: Little, Brown & Co. MANY CAPTIVES. By John Owen, author of “Lark's Fate.” Philadelphia: J. B. Lip- pincott Co. r YESTERDAY MORNING. By Parker Fill- - mcre. New York: The Century Co. LADY FOR LOVE. By Alan Brener Schults, author of “Private Secretary.” New York: Horace Liveright. : i LILIES OF THE ALLEY. By Octavus Roy Cohen, author of ‘“Midnight,” etc. New . York: D. Apgplaton & Co. CONTRACT BRIDGE GUIDE; A Key to All Up-to-date Systems. By Shepard Barclay. . Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co. . SONSTRUCTIVE CONTRACT BRIDGE. By J. Y. Underwood. New Ycrk: Richard R. Smith, Inc. THORNE'S READY REFERENCE CONTRACT. , By Harold Thorne, author of “Contract in . 20 Minutes.” With the New Forcing Sys- . tem and 1931 Play. New York: E. P. Dut- ton & Co. . CONTRACT STEP BY STEP. By Robert M. Brannon: With the New Approach-Forcing System and 1931 Methods. A New Improved Index. New York: E. P. Dutton & Co. MYSTERY: THE SANDLING CASE. By Lcuis Tracy. New ° York: Edward J. Clode, Inc. JUROR NO. 17. By C. C. Waddell, author of “The Van Suyden Sapphire,” etc. New York: Alfred H. King. THE NIGHT OF FEAR. By Moray Dalton, author of “One by One They Disappeared.”. New York: Harper & Bros. DEATH ON THE MOUNTAIN. By Dorcthy L. Sayer, author of “Ra-Ta-Plan.” Boston: Little, Brown & Co. MURDER at the PAGEANT. By Victor L. Whitechurch, author of “Shot on the Dcwns,” etc. New York: Duffield & Co. THE GREEN JADE HAND. By Harry Stephens Keeler, author of “Sing Sing Nights,” ete. New York: E. P. Dutton & Co. J THE MYSTERY OF THE FOLDED PAPER. By Hulbert Footner. New York: Harper & Bros. THE THIRD DAY. By George Manning San- ders, author of “Drum and Monkey.” New York: Horace Liveright. I MET MURDER. By Selwyn Jepson. New York: Harper & Bros.