Evening Star Newspaper, June 28, 1931, Page 89

- m——wm~ o ———— 0»«-”“0_—-’.— —.‘-m»--.——...-q—}.‘rr- - BTALIN. By Isaac Don Levine. New York: Cosmopolitan Book Corporation. OSEPH DJUGASHVIL, by birth name. Joseph, softened in boyhood to the af- fectionate “Soso.” As man grown, trained and tempered and hardened to complete identity with Bolshevism and its founder, Lenin, Joseph 'Djugashvil became Stalin—*“steel.” Here Isaac Don Levine tclls the story of Stalin, foremost man of Russia today. Tells by way of this man of mastery, for the moment at least, the story of revolutionary Russia. A great story. Pitched to th> key and timed to the rhythm, and unrhyth n, of the most stupendous political movement that governments have en- countered so far in the world's history. The epic drama of 150,000,000 people risen, together, out of bitter serfdom to the august role of inaugurating and conducting a vast state of socialized effort and control. Lenin began it. Took the positive step from words to action, from theories of socialism to a communism whose single impe:ative was the rise of the people in a proletarian revolution. Lenin gone, many sought to scize his mantle of inspiration, stimulation, conmand. Among these Trotsky is bast known to average readers. And they doé say that the measures used by Stalin to supersede Trotsky and the others were born of a devouring ambition and bred by machinations unbscoming the high role of a country’'s d:liverer, of a people’s emancipa- tor. But, long ago, we found out that observers and reporters have a perfect genius for read- ing themselves into the motives and actions of others. Freedom from this so common beset- ment is one of the piime virtues of Don Levine in his study of Stalin. He resists himself ncbly. He absents himself so competently that readers come into intimate contact with this man Stalin in a really pure version of himself, undiluted by ready-made judgments of the author, and other common devices for.getting into the picture that so afflict expository writers. In a word Mr. Levine d2votes himself to showing to what extent Stalin is repre- sentative of Russia at the moment and by what powers of character and training and career he has reached this commanding point. So under the highly discriminating intelli- gence and good artistry of Don Levine a reader slips back into the early home of “Soso,” down near Tiflis. The father a shoemaker. The mother of different strain is devoted to “Soso” and his future. The priesthood is an outlet— oh, much better than cobbling! So shifts are made for “Soso's” schooling. The schools of Russia, such as they were, proved hotbeds for the growing of discontents for th: propagating of political conspiracies. And here young Joseph flourished. Silent, apt in seizure of ideas, an adept in carrying them out, stolid under suspicion and arrest and banishment, a wizard at making escapes. And, all the time, dumb and immovable. More than a little hard and uncompromising. It is around Stalin that Don Levine builds the youth of Russia in its ferment of discontent and secret resistance. It is around Stalin, to increasing measure, that he gathers the elements of Lenin's plan and settles it more firmly to open outbreak. It is around Stalin that he collects the many- sided activity of Russia today, the socialized state working out toward—?—by way of its staggering “five-year plan.” Where others may stress the quarrels and disagreements among the Jeaders, Don Levine, rightly, it seems to me, skims them easily as of relatively little moment and moves on into the economic and political avalanche that is g:inding Russia toward a futur> hardly outlined, as yet, under the crunching grind of its advance. A wide outlook upon all important aspects of the Russian present. An intelligent survey of the great event by a man of experience, both actual and literary. A rcadable book—conspic= uously that. Its first chapters settle the ques- tion of readers, ot merely willing, but ardent as well. Here is a book pe:sonality—warm, out- reaching, intaking. And behind it is a store of vital and pertinent fact concerning this great matter of 150,000,000 people trying them- selves out through a new plan of government, one for which the onlooker considers them rather dangerously unprepared. However, the point is that Isaac Don Levine has provided a comprehensive and co-ordinated survey of Russia by way of a masterly study of Stalin, today its key man. THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. By Robert Foucher, Washington: Doyle Printing Service. 'O th: measure of its acceptance and pursuit, this study is of revolutionary effect. For 10 years its author, a scientist, has given himself over to research which here provides the two prime factors of “the problem of life.” Ons is the cellular basis of living organisms. ‘The other is the bacterial source of disease. ‘The outcome, daring and pessibly audacious, is a clean reversal of the domains of life and death. Life is inherent to man. Death is ex- ternal, an outsider. The essence and genius of cellular existence—in this case ‘the human body—is persistent and continued life. Bac- terial admissions to the body are accidents, catastrophes, direct agents of decay, disinte- gration, disease, death. From this accounting, man is not the natural field of the Grim Reaper. Rather is he, from the essential nature of his elements, the seat of a practically inex- tinguishable life. The germs of disease, wholly the product of external conditions, make en- trance to the body by innumerable daily habits and other agencies of ignorance and uncare for " the destruction of that which possesses an amazing, an almost unr:alizable power of lon- gevity, unimpaired and resilient. The answer to the problem is, then, that life—not death—is within man. That death is on the outside. Naturally, under this assump- tion, the prime object is to keep death on the outside of his own domain, while men, abundant in the vitality that is his nature, expands and THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. €, JUNE 28 1931.:~ The Story of Stalin, Russian Leader —“The Problem of Life”—.A Book for Boys, and Some Short Stories. deepens and perfects himself, unhampered by lifelong fears of death in its paralyzing and perpetual menace. The agency of this deliverance is the new science of preventicn, “which is inevitably destined to supersede and to render obsolete the previous science of medicine,” whose office is to cure rather than to forestall sickness by rigid exclusion of bacteria from the human system. Already within the past few years many virulent diseas:s have been dismissed for good and all by the high practices of pre- vention—sanitation, hygiene and the other in- struments of such great purpose and achieve- ment, Sounds like a dreamer intoning his Vislon. Like the Utopian painting impossible things. Yet, reading here, you will ccunt this man of the tribe of practical workers in the world. Much of what he says we already know, since much of the form:r abacadabera of science has now become the plain primer of every day’s doings. The work c¢f Mr. Foucher is, broadly, that of simple description, of fundamental interpreta- tion and application of now current facts to the business in hand—that of holding to vigor- ously productive and happy life by way of avoidance of the outer sources of destruction. In this spirit of simplicity he re-examines the cells, the great life source, in their nature, their method of reproduction, their practically indestructible character, their adaptations and accommodations to produce the gigantic cell- corporation of which every living body is com- posed, each of its communities self-shaped to its own uses-—all contributing to a perfectly co-ordinated functioning of the whole. And beyond this point—so sketchily given here— the work has to do with the new gospel of dis- ease prevention. Matter, this, of community intelligence and spirit as well as of individual fidelity to the laws of bodily cleanliness. And here, in proof of his practical intent, and clear ardor of fulfillment, Mr. Foucher gives certain specifics of daily practice and growing habit in ways of water and fcod, of work and rest, for the sake of the potentially immortal Some One inside each of us that needs eternal vigilance against the enemy on the outside. A curiously self-absorbed sclentist this. That is, serfously absorbed in his theme and its issue. Nothing here to scare the timid, nor to perturb the conventional mind. Instead a scientist, of large interpretations, putting before us the findings of research as these may affect each of us in our daily reach for getting along with life in some measure of competency and good gratification. THE BOYS' BOOK OF HONOR. By James E. West and Peter O. Lamb. Introduction by John H. Finley. New York: Fleming H. Revell Co. HEN he was a little boy here in Washing- ton we used to call him “Jimmie West.” An unusual lad from the start. By circum- stances and temperament much given over to thinking about other boys, feeling for other boys, and himself. A needy lot they came to be in his way of looking at them. Now I don't Jjust know what act of Providence turned James West toward the Boy Scout inspiration. That it was, however, nothing less than that is cer- tain. Working with all that is in him for the Scout plan and the boys within it, Jimmie West is, unquestionably, that rare creature—the man who has found his own vocation. There is no end to this story—so let us take up a book of adventure made for boy readérs (for girl read- ers, too, men and women besides) by James West, “Chief Scout Executive,” and Peter Lamb. I'll admit that, from the outside, these chapter headings do look a shade—well, a little Sunday schoolish. Not a bit of-it. Here is ad- venture from start to finish—man size adven- ture. But these are now and then turned in- side out so that the daring, the courage, the quick turn of heroism, the triumphant glow of truth-telling over lying—so that all these feel- ings that set the fine actions on their way may be seen. A sort of silver lining so to speak, to the deeds that day by day come to the surface where, now and then, the “silver” doesn't show up as it really ought to do. Here are stories, dozens of them, picked off from the present. Tales for stir and pleasure beat ancient hero tales a mile, though these are by no means to be despised. But, naturally, we like the near things, those that we ourselves may copy, or better, when the chance comes. ‘There is good fun here. Hard work here. A few tears here, but not too many. And a run of boy adventures bound to delight all the boys roundabout. Given out in the right spirit, the partaking spirit, the going along friendliness. Two good scouts, these writers. Two fine fel- lows, these men. It is pleasure, really of the thrilling kind, to wish them upon you—all you boys—for some reading now and then in the between whiles of your cwn ‘“scouting.” THE CLIMBING wPA'I‘!-I. By Louis C. Whiton and Corinne Harris Markey, New York: Alfred H. King. N other words, it is an uphill road for old New York, or has been, even if, at the mo- ment, this gallant metropolis appears to be sit- ting on top of the world. “The Climbing Path” by this pair of natives comes in the nature of a tribute to the un- conquerable spirit of Manhaitan. A good gesture of sincere affection that is bound to meet with welcome. ‘The story—it is in purpose a story, of sorts— begins with the Civil War and the draft riots about which American history books talk so dully and unconvincingly. If the book end- ed right with the record of that event, it would have justified itself. Fcr here is a realism of action imbedded in a sound motive, here is a vividness of picture that one does not often come upon. An admirable bit of work, that. Then the story goes on with the influx of the fcr- eigners, with their compliant part in making the city government something for reformers to lament and good citizens to turn away from. A character, Irish naturally, bears most ¢f the burden of b:ing hero to this tale of civic vicis- situde, to this story of more or less unconvinc- ing romance. A game of cross-purpose takes away frcm the clear quality of the story as such. This game includes both literal fact and colorful fancy. Reading a romance, one is a bit daunted at the appearance of Theodore Roosevelt and Elihu Root and James Blzine. One wants to know what they are doing there. Not so much of a slip that, since these are agents of righteousness against the ever-pres- ent and swiftly self-magnifying monster, Tam- many, with its bosses and its political vandals. The pleasure of this reminiscent hour lies, al- most wholly, in the familiar touch of a writer who, obviously, knows his New York. And so it turns out, for Louis Whiton has lived there the most of his life. And here he sits, just remembering, reliving bits of that older town and setting these down in a hundred pictures of lifelike interest and sound historic substance. THE TWENTY-FIVE FINEST SHORT STO- RIES. Edited by Edward J. O'Brien. New York: Richard R. Smith, Inc. DWARD J. O'BRIEN is an old hand at gath- ering “best” stories for the use of those who are not entirely capable of deciding be- tween the “best” and those grades of storiese that descend so sharply and so abundantly from this high level. So, taking up a collec- tion of his, one feels assured of being in good company. Let us see— yesterday's company, this. And that does not please an impatient reading public that wants its cakes right hot off the griddle. However, again, let us see. Some stories, you know, even those written long ago, are as current in effect as the ones gath- ered this morning off the streets or fished out of the sunrise tide. So it is here. All contemporaneous in spirit and effect, certainly, these writers. And the stories they have brought, as if each had selected his own with today in mind, with this hour’s readers in his heart, are without ques- tion partakingly of the present. The French and the Russians are, in this collection, giving the home folks a hard run. Balzac, Daudet, Maupassant, Merimee, Chekhov, Komroff—but genuis is not shut within any country. Here, at home, are Hawthorne and Harte. Melville and Poe and Twain and Drieser and O. Henry, with Hardy and Scott and Kipling from across the way. There are others. All together they serve the good purpose of comparison and con- trast in addition to the real design of giving to readers in most convenient form a substantial budget of entertainment. To the student of the short story, to one interested in its purpose and in the best plans to meet such purpose, this book is of distinct value. To one interested in cur- rents and trcnds of literature from time to time, In the changing fashions of short story writing, it is, again, of a promising usefulness. To meet the great average who want ‘“cork- ing stories,” this selection by Edward J. O'Brien steps out in complete and justified self-con- fidence. e e W i, 17 MALICE AFORETHOUGHT: The Story of a Commonplace Crime, By Francis fles. New Ycrk: Harper & Bros. ERE, the opening sentence: “It was not until several weeks after he decided to murder his wife that Dr. Bickleigh took any active steps in the matter.” What could be fairer statement than that? What more artful either? For, at once, the reader gives up the sleuth idea, since here is no mystery whatever to be solved. Not even is he the collaborator going along to check up the plausibilities of the adventure. He knows the end of it. Thus, with so little for him to do, he quite naturally becomes an accomplice, to the measure in which he seeks the doctor’'s rea- son for so mad and dangerous an act. A’ reader has to have something to do besides picking familiar words off the page. The doctor's wife is a good weman. Ske admits it in a manner implying that she is about the only one of that kind roundabout. She is a masterful woman, exercising her powers in this line chiefly upon her husband, as master- ful women who are lucky enough to possess such an outlet are likely to do. She is a use- ful woman in the community. Why expand that topic! Men of certain professions are unfortunate —unless, perchance, they are adamant in the St. Anthony manner. Men surrcunded by women, mostly, not in rough-and-tumble con- tact with men—in a word, men of the “polite professions” run great risks and meet great dangers. Dr. Bickleigh did. An errant eye, a heart of high pressure, opportunity crowding his pathway—well, the doctor was in imminent danger, quite apart from the driving ferocity of his good wife toward the destruction of both of them. A novel plan for the crime stroy. A very ef- fective one, for—between us—a reader grows to feel that the doctor—why, of course not! Vio= lence is never justifiable! Well, fate took its course, primarily in the form of that “scorned woman” who has been acting up harmfully ever tince the world began. No, not the wife, Anocther one. Good plan, good writing, for a story of the kind. And, actually, it seemed a shame, the outcome. Yet, it was plain justice, whateven that may be. Books Received For the young ones: FOUR GYPSY CHILDREN. By Ccra Morris, Illustrated by Dorathea Fouse. New York: The Macmillan Co. LITTLE YUSUF; The Story of a Syrian Boy. By Idella Purnell, author of “The Wishing Owl: A Maya Story Book.” New York: The Macmillan Co. A DOG OF FLANDERS. By Louise de la Ra- mee. Illustrated (mcst charmingly) by Ludwig and Regins. Chicago: Beckley-Cardy Co. ROBIN AND ANGUS. By Mabel L. Robinson. Illustrated by Eloise Burns Wilkin. New York: The Macmillan Co. 7 PADDLEWINGS; The Penguin of Galapagos. By Wilfred S. Bronson. Pictures by the author (talking pictures). New York: The Macmillan Co. SEA LEGS. By Oliver Herford, author of “The Jingle Jungle Book,” etc. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co. FLOWER AND WEED. By Edith Mirick. - lustrated by John C. Rcgers. New York: James T. White & Co. LITTLE MISS APRIL. By Anne Robinson, Georgia: Oglethorpe University Press. SANTA’S COTTON DOLL FARM. By Gustine Courson Weaver. St. Louis: The Bethany Press. 0000000000000 0000000000¢ Felix Mahony’s National Art School Interior Decoration, Costume Design, Commercial Art, Color. 1747R. 1. Ave. North1114 BROOKS G Street, bet. 11th and 12th READ THE NEW BOOKS while they’re new! oThe Road Back Erich Maria Remarque oGrand Hotel Vicki Baum oStorm Drift Ethel M. 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