Evening star. [volume], May 08, 1937, Page B-2, Image 16

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

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SPAIN CALLED “INVERTEBRATE”
National Action Only Healthy State Condition, Philosopher
Says in Book on Current Civil War—Hamsun Calls
"The Ring Is Closed” His Best Work.
By Mary Carter Roberts.
INVERTEBRATE SPAIN. By Jose
Ortega y Gasset. Translated from
the Spanish by Mildred Adams.
New York: W. W. Norton & Co.
IN THIS book, the first which he
has published on the present sor
rows of his native land, the Span
ish philosopher offers the world
those findings which seem to him the
realties of the situation. The reviewer
confesses that at first she read the
work with impatience. She wished
to say: “Here is a war; this book is
language. Men and women and be
ing murdered; this book concerns
Itself with philosophic terminology.
Realties, indeed.”
But such impatience cannot well
stand up before the lucid and pro
found exposition which the philoso
pher presents. Men and women are
killed in any war. Prom heiroglyphlcs
on antique monuments down to ac
tion picture in the rotogravure sec
tions, there is plenty of evidence of
that. The physical horrors of the
Spanish trouble are not unique.
Moreover, much of the motivation of
war, no matter what the nation in
volved, is similarly subject to typical
classification. Is there, then, any
thing that is unique in this present
nightmare? Senor Ortega believes
that there is.
He views the struggle from the na
tionalist point of view. Its implica
tions as to the future of Europe do
not primarily concern him in this
book. He asks why it is that Spain
has found herself unable to progress,
as a nation, and answers that the
reason is that, as a nation, Spain
does not exist. It has no bond of
common national feeling, he declares;
It is, instead, an aggregation of
classes living within stated geographi
cal limits. All these classes, he
further declares, are self-absorbed
to the point of being actually ob
livious to each other. It is not hatred
that divides them, he says, but blind
ness to one another's existence.
He then proceeds to the statement
that national consciousness is alive
in a people only when that people
has ‘‘a community o£ intentions, of
desires, of common usefulness ” And
he continues, "They do not live to
gether in order merely to be together.
They live together in order to do
something together.’’ Spain, he says,
has long ceased to desire to do any
thing. Ceasing to have this desire,
tt has ceased to be, in any national
sense.
The next step in this reasoning,
of course, is the rather cynical one
that leads to the conclusion that the
currently frowned-on national pas
time of empire seeking is the only
healthy national condition. Senor
Ortega seems to say—or, indeed, does
say as much. He cites Rome as the
great historical example of national
spirit and quotes her conquests as his
evidence. He seems to point plainly
to the idea that those people who be
lieve in "manifest destiny,” or those
who "take up the white man's bur
den,’* if you prefer that, are the
only ones whose health is above
suspicion. He was, one remembers,
active in bringing about the Spanish
Republican revolution of 1931. But
his sentiment here has been heartily
concurred with by such anti-Repub
licans as Hitler and Mussolini. It
makes one smile a little, with the
safety of an ocean's width to render
the smiling unassailable.
Senor Ortega does not write here,
however, as a party man, nor does he
conform to any passing school of
political thought. He is interested in
stead in such aspects of the govern
ing art as history has shown to be
lasting. His conclusion is that the
law of nature is growth and that the
law of human nature is aggression.
Nations which cease to grow by the
process of aggression therefore cease
to live. They may hold together with
in their boundaries for a time, but
that is all. Disaster eventually will
overtake them. That is what is hap
pening in Spain today, is his opinion.
The book Is written with a somber
brilliance which even translation does
not dim. It is detached and yet full of
grief. Few works on political sub
jects have come to the reviewer’s
hand that are comparably free of
popularly accepted doctrines. This is,
indeed, a treatise on government—on
bad government—with the Spanish
situation offered as the demonstra
tion. That a work built up on hard
and bitter fact should have distinct
ly a revoltulonary sound among other
works on a like subject is, of course,
an ironical reflection on the realism
of that great welter of ink cur
rently being spilled for the purpose
of enlightening the public on the
subject of government and an even
more ironical reflection on the com
petence of those writers who name
themselves, with complacent secur
ity, “revolutionists.” No revolution
ist has ever been secure, It seems,
and none can be complacent. Senor
Ortega is himself in exile. One men
tions the fact in passing.
THE RING IS CLOSED, by Knut
Hamsun. Translated from the
Norwegian by Eugene Gay-Tifft.
New York: Coward McOann.
^ppIIS is one of those vast rumbling
powerful Scandinavian novels of
which it may be said that, without
exception, they are either the best
or the worst in the world. With the
venerable Knut Hamsun as author, it
hardly seems necessary to specify in
the case of the present one. It may
be of interest to readers, however, to
know that he himself rates the book
as his best. Of it he writes, “ ‘The
Ring Is Closed.’ as for both thought
and imagination, is the best thing
I have done. I rather believe the
reader will grant me some right to
an opinion.”
It is one of thoee novels which, by
its indefinable beauty, cleanses the
•oul. You may say that it is a story
of unremarkable people. It is. You
may say that it deals In human
meanness. It does. You may say
that its hero, while a free soul, is
still anything but an asset to his fel
lows, and that his life is profitless
to all save himself. That Is true.
But a book is a book. And that is
truer than anything between Sheol
and the firmament. That, indeed, is
the ultimate truth where writing is
concerned. And you absolutely can
not define it.
No, you cannot. You cannot define
a mountain either. You can only
tell what grows on it, and what soils
compose it and the like. Just so must
you deal with a work of literature. It
is only in rare cases, of course, that
criticism shrinks to such a propor
tion beside the work which Is being
criticised.
So one may write that the plot ot
“The Ring Is Closed” follows the
career of one Abel—a man whose life
GRANT LEWI,
Author of “The Gods Arrive,”
a novel of American life and
business. (Lippincott.)
illusion is to keep intact his private
uncommunicative being and that alone,
a man of no ambitions of no concern
for material well-being, of no thrift,
no Industry and* very casual morals.
One may also write that it tells of this
man’s life in his native town, a small
Norwegian port, and of how his track
crossed those of his neighbors in that
place. But that is mere reporting.
The essential thing which it presents
is its picture of incorruptible human
individuality—not, mind you, the in
dividuality of the great, the genius
of one kind or another but the in
dividuality of the obscure, the drifter,
the worldly failure.
Pursuing this aim, the author does
not, however, deal with his hero
primarily as a drifter, or as a failure.
Abel's aimlessness and his unsuc
cess are incidental. It is his intense,
silent ego that is the subject of the
portrait, the ego of the completely
uncivilizable male, the graceful, com
plete and anti-social ego of the human
tomcat, in plain words. That is about
what this hero is.
Yet, as the cat looks at the moon,
so does Abel have his dreams. One
is of a friend who went to prison for
him, and w’hom, in vague and incon
clusive fashion, he plans to succor.
Another is of his boyhood sweetheart,
whom, occasionally, in spasmodic
fashion, he seeks to please. But it
is neither the portrait of the individual
nor this vague pursuit of vaguer illu
sions which gives the book its excel
lence. It is the generosity of the con
cept and the splendor of the work
manship. There is no vagueness in
the execution. The novel unrolls
indeed in terms of utter con
creteness. To read it is to see,
visually, the life of the man and of
the little, curious town, as if one were
sitting on a bench in the public square,
day after day, making one's own
observations. Making them through
the always unobtrusive medium of
Knut Hamsun’s interpretation, one
comes into the pity, the terror, the
comedy, the warmth and the clatter
of life in its everyday aspect. But
there is something more than that
too. That “always unobtrusive med
ium” supplies it. It is the medium
of literary art, that very rare com
modity.
DEAR THEO. The autobiography of
Vincent Van Gogh. Edited by
Irving Stone. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin Co.
'T'HIS autobiography is nothing less
than the edited letters which
Van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo
during the last 10 years of his life.
The complete letters have already been
published. They appeared in an Eng
lish edition some years ago, but only
a limited number of copies was of
fered for sale in this country; more
over, the complete edition made a
three-volume work of over 1,600 pages,
it has seemed, therefore, desirable to
bring out an American edition which
will be of lesser length and available
at a popular price. To do this Irving
Stone, author of the novel on Van
Gogh, “Lust for Life,” has been em
ployed to edit the original letters. He
describes the undertaking as follows:
“It has been my purpose to keep
in every line Vincent wrote that has
retained its beauty, significance and
importance and to eliminate the
countless piages of repetition, unim
portant detail and comment which
have since lost both meaning and
value.
“My aim has been to edit the 1,670
pages of material down to a swiftly
flowing, continuous normal sized
book. * * *”
This aim seems to be well accom
plished, for the present volume brings
convincingly before the reader the
beautiful figure of the tragic painter,
its simplicity and its humanity.
That he was writing an “auto
biography” In the letters which he
sent to his brother of course never
occurred to Van Gogh. He was, as
Mr. Stone’s preface remarks, one of
the loneliest souls in the world, and,
like lonely souls both before and after
him, he had a vast deal to communi
cate. Lacking companions of com
parable fineness, he put this store of
thought in written pages which he
sent his brother. Set down thus, un
calculatingly, his inner life can be
seen in his writings with uncompli
cated directness. He stands before
the world naked. He used no artifice
whatsoever.
And how fortunate this was! No
one could ever explain him as he has
himself. The mo6t elaborate analyses
of the most eager psychologist* would
have fallen to the ground before the
wildly unfamiliar phenomenon which
he presented—a man in whom aimple
goodness was combined with an artist’s
understanding of his fellowmen. What
does than yield to the researcher who
is incapable at once of understanding
such a mind, or of believing in it? A
machine cannot interpret a man’s
soul, though it may record his knee
jerks with perfection.
But for those capable, here is Vin
cent Van Gogh’s profound, simple and
beautiful essence. It is a good thing
that it has been made more easily
available.
RETURN FROM THE U. S. S. R. By
Andre Gide. New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, Inc.
JN THIS book an ardent Communist,
who is also a man of letters, tells
of what he saw In a visit to Russia
last year. His work- has been hailed
as “shattering” by Miss Dorothy
Thompson and announced as stirring
up "a tempest” by the Nation. Yet
the present reviewer was able to read
It without any quickening of pulse
whatsoever. It sounded to her very
much like W’hat has already been
written, and that not once, but many
times, by many authors. One under
stands, of course, that the “shatter
ing” quality of M. Gide’s little book
lies, not in the fact that he has
brought any new thing out of Russia,
but instead in the unique circum
stance that he, as a Communist, has
dared to report adversely on certain
aspects of the great Communist state.
Heretofore, of course, such unkind
criticisms have come only from those
who were either opposed to com
munism or went to Russia without
convictions on any side, the ardent
adherents of the new political faith
having been unanimously unable to
discover anything that was unworthy
the highest praise in their Utopia.
Consequently M. Gide is, in a way,
something of an innovator. But not
in the quality of his news.
He found, in brief, that Russia had
done some admirable things for the
improvement of conditions among the
common people—it has made camps
for children, “culture parks,” clubs,
hospitals, vacation resorts and the
like available to the great many who
formerly did not dream of such
ameliorations to their living. And it
has given the body of the population
hope, another commodity which for
merly they were compelled to do with
out. But it has stifled Individual
liberty and killed freedom of thought.
Those who enjoy its material benefits
do so at the prioe of their spiritual
and mental liberty. Or thus, at least,
he writes.
x doubt,” he say*, “whether in any
other country in the world, even
Hitler’s Germany, thought be less
free, more bowed down, more fearful
(terrorized), more vassalized."
He doe* not report, however, that
the Russians suffer from this condi
tion, or that they are even aware of
it. They are happy, he says, with a
happiness that is made up “of hope,
confidence and ignorance.’’ Nor does
he say that ignorance is the greatest
of these virtues. It is simply the
safeguard. By it, he says, the Russian
is persuaded that he is better off than
people in other countries. Believing
this, he is grateful and loyal to his
own land. But naturally!
It sounds like a reasonable system,
and one wonders why it gives M. Gide
such pain, for he laments over it
with unmistakably sincere grief. But
there it is. He is too truthful to
deny it. All he can offer is that it
may lead to a new “revulsion,” one
“which will run the risk of becoming
as brutal as that which put an end
to the N. E. P.” But why, one won
ders, should it do that? If the people
are happy as they are, why should
they revolt? His reasoning on this
and other points is more than a little
theoretical.
WASHINGTON CALLING! By Mar
quis W. Childs. New York: Wil
liam Morrow & Co.
MR CHILDS is Washington Cor
respondent for & Midwestern
newspaper. Year before last, he
wrote a book about Sweden, and the
manner in which the consumers’ co
operatives of that land hold capital
ism in restraint. It was a highly
lucid piece of work and was non
fiction best seller for months. The
title was “Sweden: The Middle Way."
Last year Mr. Childs turned his
talents to magazine writing and pro
duced quite a different manner of
work, although one no less competent.
He contributed articles on the New
Deal to Harpers' Magazine, and one
of these (it was called “They Hate
Roosevelt!”) followed in the tracks
of his book in becoming an item of
popular reading. That was made
possible through the reprinting of
the piece in pamphlet form, of which
400.000 copies were distributed, we
are told, and of these no less than
100.000 by the Democratic National
Committee.
The article itself was the kind of
thing people like to read, and it Is
for that reason that the reviewer has
called it a competent piece of writing, j
It did not trouble any one's intelli
gence with dry facts, but was frankly
set in the realm of fancy. Like those
advertising copy writers who are in
terested in selling soap, Mr. Childs
used the device of the imaginary con
versation. He took his readers to the
opulent dens of the very, very rich,
and there allowed them to listen to
the manner in which the very, very
rich abuse the President in their
conversations. He was engagingly
open about the wholly imaginary
nature of these eavesdroppings, but
that troubled no one. He sold, as the
figures in the paragraph above will
show, quite a respectable lot of soap,
and so his piece must certainly be
called competent.
Now this versatile writer has pro
duced a novel. It, too, is competent.
It purports to deal with Washington
in New Deal days, and it has all the
properties. It has some wicked capi
talists who are lobbying — worse,
bribing!—to bring about the appoint
ment of a Federal Judge who will be
their puppet. It has a corrupt lawyer
who favors their nefarious design.
It has a grand old man of the Senate,
who kills himself filibustering to pro
tect the Constitution. It has a
beautiful young woman whose heart
gives her bittersweet trouble. It has
an upright Jewish lawyer who strives
to uncover corruption in high places.
It has a happy ending for the young
woman, with even some hopes held
out for the Constitution. It, too. Is a
competent piece of work.
Just what it is all about need not
trouble any one. There is absolutely
no story in it beyond the intrigue over
the Judgeship, and that is clear in
the second chapter, after which it
merely hangs in abeyance while the
young woman worries over her heart
and the old man over the Constitution.
But It gets to full length at last, and
then Mr. Childs gives it a competent
ending. It might be a best seller.
Stranger things than that have hap
pened.
ON JOURNEY. By Vida Scudder.
New York: E. P. Dutton & Co.
'T'HIS is one of those exhaustingly
sincere and uneventful books in
which a phenomenally energetic wom
an tells of her search for a cause to
which to devote herself. It is an auto
biography, and its author is suffici
ently well known to Americans to
need little introduction. She has been
active for many years in most of those
fields which are known as "welfare”—
she has taught in colleges, has taken
up socialism, has been occupied in
social service, in peace movements
and, of course, has written books. Her
present work tells of all these enter
prises in terms at her underlying
FRANCES WINWAR,
Winner of the Atlantic Monthly prize for “Poor Splendid Wings,”
is the author of a new historical novel about witchcraft persecu
tions in Salem, “Gallows Hill.” (Henry Holt.)
Brief Reviews of Books
World Affairs.
'T'HE EMPIRE IN THE WORLD.
By Sir Arthur Willert. B. K. Long
and H. V. Hodsom. Edited by E.
Thomas Cook. New York: The
Oxford University Press.
A work setting forth the need for
a planned development of the British
Empire and the world benefits which
would accrue from such an arrange
ment. Authoritative and scholarly.
UNHAPPY SPAIN. By Pierre Crabites.
Baton Rouge: The University of
Louisiana Press.
A rejection of the idea that the war
in Spain results from the setting of
fascism against communism and in
sistence that it comes rather from dis
organization within. (See review of
“Invertebrate Spain," this page.)
WE COVER THE WORLD. By 16
foreign correspondents. Edited by
Eugene Lyons. New York: Har
court Brace & Co
Sixteen leading journalists, In
cluding some of the mo6t eminent in
the world, tell of their work, their
methods and their big stories. An
interesting thing.
American Travel.
ADVENTURES IN GOOD EATING.
By Duncan Hines. New York: !
Adventures in Good Eating, Inc.
A State-by-State directory of good
eating places along the highways of
the land, with descriptions of the Inns,
their specialties and conveniences.
Fine for the motorist.
RAW UNCLE SAM. By Charles
Moody. Boston: Meador Publish
ing Co.
An imaginary motor trip with stops
in every State. Announced as being
possible to be made in 48 days for
less than $10 the day for two, pro
vided, of course, that you own your
own car.
Coronation.
THE HOUSE OF WINDSOR. A book
of portraits. With an Introduction
by the Marchioness of Aberdeen
and Temalr. New York: E. P. Dut
ton Co.
A book of pencil portraits of the
members of the English ruling family.
The Duke of Windsor comes last.
Social Conscience.
CHILD WORKERS IN AMERICA.
By Katharine Du Pre Lumpkin
and Dorothy Douglas. New York:
Robert M. McBride & Co.
A study and statement of tile child
labor situation in America.
THE PRIVATE MANUFACTURE OF
ARMAMENTS. By Philip Noel
Baker, M. P. With a prefatory
note by Viscount Cecil. New York:
Oxford University Press.
A detailed and authoritative history
of the private manufacture of arma
ments since the beginning of the cen
tury. Highly pertinent at this time.
DEATH RIDES WITH VENUS. By
Arthur C. Palm. New York: The
Greystone Press.
The director of the Social Hygiene
Foundation in Cleveland writes of
the menace of venereal disease and
how popular education would serve
as check on this evil.
Spiritualism.
THE BETTY BOOK. By Stewart
Edward White. New York: E. P.
Dutton St Co.
The findings of a medium for whose
integrity Mr. White vouches. Deals
with the technique of establishing
communication with another world.
(Thus Stewart Edward White is the
popular writer, author of "The Long
Rifle" and other books.)
Animals.
WHO'S WHO IN THE ZOO. By the
staff of the Federal Writers’
Project. General editor. Ralph
de Sola. New York: Halcyon
House.
Brief life histories of different types
of mammals now in captivity in the
New York Zoo. Prepared at taxpay
ers’ expense. Handsomely illustrated
with photographs.
Fiction.
THE FOREIGN DEVIL. By Carter
Hixson. New York: Robert Speller.
American girl in China threatened
by villains and saved by handsome
doctor from the U. S. A. Predictable.
LATE HARVEST. By Sibyl Croly
Hanchette. New York: Robert
Speller.
Woman deciding between husband
or lover—in serious manner, that is.
Psuedo problem stuff.
THE PADRE OF THE PLAINS. By
The Padre Alfonso. Atlanta: Wal
ter W. Brown Publishing Co.
Story of priest in plains parish.
Homely humor. Simple.
motive—the search for a completely
satisfying faith.
It is told in detail. It is occupied
more with the mental and spiritual
struggles which accompanied each of
the author's changes of Interest than
with the work which she did on that
interest. No one could escape being
impressed with its sincerity. It is
written, indeed, with such passionate
intensity that more than once it verges
on incoherence. But its chief value
would seem to be that of a document
illustrative of the pre-war spirit in
America, that spirit whicii took re
form, of almost any aind, to be sanc
tified, and which eliminated from its
scale of values any kind of thinking
which did not share this point of view.
There have been a number of such
books lately—autobiographies, for the
mo6t port. They seem naive, but,
seeming so. they illustrate better than
studied research, the period of our
history which they cover. It was not
such an unfruitful period either. It
brought us Mencken, and it irritated
into being the renaissance in litera
ture that immediately preceded the
war. As to the reforms themselves
why, some of them have died, some
linger on in fusty offices and some
have assumed the magnificence of
private capitalistic enterprises. And
some are to be found in the New Deal.
No, not quite unfruitful As good as
any, no doubt.
EARTHLY DISCOURSE. By Charles
Erskine Scott Wood. New York:
Vanguard Press.
'T'HIS book by the author of
‘‘Heavenly Discourse” is a col
lection of conversations between
prominent individuals (Hilter, Mrs.
Simpson, Hearst, etc.), on topics gen
erally esteemed to have current In
terest (oensorship, divorce, lynching,
the Supreme Court, etc.), and, one
gathers, the intent of the author is
to produce something devastatingiy
satirical. He does not do It. His lit
tle dramas axe devoid of wit, heavy
In presentation and obvious In con
clusion. They remind one of the
sublimer passages of ‘‘Sanford and
Merton,” wherein moral guldeposts
were pulled up and used as bludgeons.
More than this it hardly seems nec
essary to say. It Is ponderous stuff,
and that Is all there Is to it.
THE UNITED STATES ARMY IN
WAR AND PEACE. By Col. Oliver
Spaulding, U. S. A. New York:
G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
IN THIS work, expected to become
one of the standard texts on his
tory of the United States Army, Col.
Spaulding, now on duty in the his
torical section of the Army War
College here, deals with the history
of the Army as a thing apart from
the military history of the United
States.
Campaigns and battle* are dis
cussed only as they affected the or
ganization and development of the
Army. Nevertheless, the volume
stands as an extraordinarily clear
and concise summary of the Nation's
wars.
Col. Spaulding upsets many pop
ular beliefs, such as that of an out
raged Nation of fanners springing
from the plow to the battlefield in
the Revolution without any advan
tage of training. Actually, he shows,
the Continental Army was made up
of officers and men who had gained
much good, sound military training
in Colonial warfare. Of 13 general
officers appointed to the Continental
service in 1775, he shows, all but 2
had had war experience, 8 of them
in the grade of lieutenant colonel
or higher. Of the 73 general officers
commissioned during the entire pe
riod of the Revolution, only 21 had
not had military experience before
1775; 16 had held commissions in
European armies. Connecticut alone
had 30,000 men on Its military rolls
in 1775, New Jersey had 26 regi
ments of foot and 11 troops of horse
and Pennsylvania had 53 battalions
before the Revolution began. In fact,
he pointed out, "every Colony was
well organized.”
While the work is very complete,
it would seem that Col. Spaulding
might have given his service more
credit for the extraordinary part it
is playing in the Government of the
New Deal, a period during which a
majority of the officers of the Reg
ular Army have been called upon for
non-military duties of great impor
tance, ranging from organization of
the Civilian Conservation Corps to
handling of finances for many of
the alphabetical agencies. Despite
this drain upon its officer strength,
the Army has been able not only to
carry on but to go ahead with the
training of scores of thousands of
Citizens’ Military Training Camp
volunteers, members of the Organized
Reserves, students of the Reserve Of
ficers’ Training Corps and the Na
tional Guard. A solid tribute to the
present standard of military organiza
tion would seem in order.
This is a book which should be of
considerable interest to the histor
ically minded layman as well as to
the student of military science.
J. S. E.
BOY IN BLUE. By Royce Brier. New
York: D. Appleton-Oemtury Co.
pROM a San Francisco newspaper
man comes this reminder that
Miss Mitchell’s and Miss Gordon’s
heroes in gray had foes as human
as they were. Following closely the
publication of Miss Gordon’s "None
Shall Look Back” and covering the
same Western territory of the war,
“Boy in Blue” makes comparisons in
evitable. Here again are the battles
of the Army of the Cumberland at
Murfreesboro and Lookout Mountain.
Miss Gordon’s description of Forrest’s
gray raiders was one of the finest
things that have oome out of all the
recent novels about the war. Her
emphasis was equal on the sweep of
the battle and the individual aolder.
i Mr. Brier eonoeotrates upon the fight
BLITHE TYPE OF MAGAZINE
Re-Vue Is Periodical With Some Ideas About Happenings in
Various Circles—One Magazine Tells About Group
of Others—Editorializing in Fact Recording.
HE new periodical this week is
Re-Vue, a monthly, to be de
voted, as its cover says, to
‘‘news, information, comment.”
It is a blithe manner of magazine,
with its chief feature a double column
of running comment on all kinds of
public matters. In the first issue this
column weaves about until it has con
nected Mr. Roosevelt, Mile, de Cham
brun, Santa Claus, John L. Lewis, the
former King of England Edward VIII,
Mrs. Simpson and Mr. McPifl.
And who 1s Mr. McPifl? As Re-Vue
describes him:
"A well-known man was interviewed
the other day by an author who
wanted to Incorporate his opinions in
a book.
“ ‘Do you believe in capitalism, Mr.
Mftpiff?’ asked the author, hitching
his chair forward, eyes gleaming, pen
cil poised.
“ ‘Only in good capitalism,* replied
Mr. McPifl.
"Somewhat taken aback, pencil
lowered, the author rallied. ‘I mean,
do you prefer it to, say, communism
sr some form of socialism?’
" ‘I certainly don’t prefer bad capi
talism to good communism or good
socialism.’
“ ’But,’ persisted the author, ‘do you
think we have good capitalism?’
"Mr. McPifif shook his head. ‘Par
from it. But then I don’t think Rus
sia has good communism or Germany
a good dictatorship ’
“ 'And might I ask what you mean
by good?’
“Mr. McPifl thought for a moment.
’Why I suppose I mean what the ma
jority of people think is good. You
see. I’m a democrat.’
"Exit the author to mutter outside
the door that McPifl was certainly
an idiot. ‘Why the damned fool's a
skeptic!’"
OTHER interesting feature about
the first issue of Re-Vue is that
it devotes a considerable amount of
space to women. There is an article
on Secretory of Labor Perkins and
another on women in science through
out history. But a feature that is not
so good is the listing, for no reason
that the reviewer can see except sadis
tic appeal, of the most horrible crimes
of the last month. That takes a lot
off the credit of the rest of the maga
zine.
It Is. Incidentally, one of those
pocket-size things, and Is not particu
larly attractive in appearance, Inside
or out.
JN THE Nation of this week appears
the first of three articles to be
devoted to Time. Inc., or the pub
lishing outfit which furnishes the pub
lic with its Time, Its Fortune and its
Life. The author of the series is
Dwight Macdonald.
The Nation finds that the income
of Time, Inc., is such as to make
the Philistines weep; last year it was
$12,900,000. This undoubtedly has a
capitalistic sound. The Nation
promptly swings Into action.
It remarks that the ideal of edi
torial policy in the Time, Inc., maga
zines is one of complete objectivity,
without any kind of bias. But, with
pious regret, it observe that such an
ideal is hardly possible of achievement.
“• * • the devil,” says Mr. Mac
donald, “driven out of the door climbs
back down the chimney. Denied
any outlet for their normal urge to
express opinions, Luce's editors and
writers have developed certain indi
rect methods of editorializing, all the
I more effective because the reader—
i and often the author—doesn't realize
| what is going on. A fact Is a fact,
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
A pencil portrait from a
book of drawings collected in
“The House of Windsor.’’
(E. P. Dutton.)
but obviously much depends on just
which facts are selected to tell the
story."
And taking up this proposition, Mr.
Macdonald goes on to enumerate the
methods by which writers oan insidi
ously editorialize their stuff.
"Until one has tried it,” he says,
"one would not believe how different
the same story sounds, depending on
whether the hero is described as 'firm
jawed' or ‘horse-faced.’ ”
Oh, do you thing so? W^l, per
sonally, the reviewer would find very
little to choose between two heroes,
one of whom was firm-jawed and the
other out and out horse-faced. But the
question is, is it fair to give profes
sional writing secrets away like that?
Pair to all the rest of us who write,
that is.
when the reviewer, for example,
remarks of a book that it is the bunk,
readers know that in her opinion it is
no masterpiece. Simple objectivity
has been preserved, in other words.
But if she were to say sometime that
it is baloney (and lots of them are
baloney), then will not the public,
having been educated by Mr. Mac
donald and the good Nation, surmise
instantly that she is a reactionary
Democrat and suspect her of insidious
motives for influencing them away
from the progressivism of the pure '
Harvard accent?
Have a heart. Mr. Macdonald These
little subterfuges mean much in any
writer’s life. And remember, when
you are betraying one of us, you are
betraying us all. Where is your class
consciousness? Well, where is it,
anyway?
^ND herq is the origin of ‘'Toots."
It is quoted from the Pleasures
of Publishing, the bulletin of the
Columbia University Press.
‘‘Most people probably attribute the
origin of the term of address ‘toots’
or ’tuts’ to Broadway’s wisecrackers.
Actually, according to the latest issue
of American Speech, the term origin
ated far from Broadway and is a
product of the Victorian era In fact,
it is an indirect result of George Du
Maurier’s novel ‘Trilby’ of 1894. Du
Maurier's heroine, a Parisian girl, a
laundress and a model, is noted for
her beautiful feet When the novel
was made into a play, Trilby always
appeared barefoot, in simple garb.
People used to speak of her feet, then
j ing as it appeared to his hero—a view'
often no wider than the patch of
woods where he waited or the ditch
he lay in. But it has the sound of
authenticity and truth. It is written
realistically, but there is little that is
repulsively sordid. This was the
way men fought—privates, not gen
erals.
The boy in blue was an Indiana
youth who went into battle prepared
to die because his unworthy sweet
heart spumed him for his brother.
He found a Southern girl he loved,
was wounded, found the world of
knowledge in books, went back to
fighting, and, at 20, a broken, maimed
man, prepared to build a future. That
is almost all there is to the story,
but there are many dramatic and
amusing sidelights. By no means an
exciting novel, "Boy in Blue” is never
theless a competent one. E. T.
GALLOWS HILL. By Prances Win
war. New York: Henry Holt Sc Co.
'J'HIS is a well-done, though grim,
novel of Colonial New England,
set in that particular time when the
witchcraft fever ran riot. It is oc
cupied almost entirely with that sub
ject and ends with the hanging of
Bridget Bishop, an innocent woman,
for the dark crime which had so ter
rorized the mind of the Salem com
munity. While there is nothing pleas
ant in the theme itself, the book
commands admiration for its realism
and its good writing. The author was
the 1933 winner of the Atlantic
Monthly prize, with her book “Poor
Splendid Wings.”
RIO. By Hugh Gibson. Garden City:
Doubleday, Doran Sc Co.
'J'HIS is a work of enthusiastic
praise of a place—of the city
of Rio de Janeiro—by an American
Ambassador to Brazil. Rio clearly
fascinated Mr. Gibson, and he made
it a study, with results which must
commend themselves to readers who
want an up-to-date, detailed and
unguidebooklike picture of the
Southern capital. iRios markets,
cookery, architecture, sports, history
and population are all discussed here
in the manner of good things, while
the text is illustrated with extraor
dinarily fine photographs. Travel
ers, armchair or active, will like this
book.
THE GODS ARRIVE. By Grant Levi.
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippinoott Co.
The end of the story leaves with
the reader no very sure feeling that in
the case of Karl Horton the half gods
have really gone. Nor is the reader
sure that the god that has fully ar
rived in the life of the very emotional
young hero, either. “The Gods Ar
rive” professes to be a story of Amer
ican life and American business with
a little side excursion into the pur
lieus of Greenwich Village.
Karl Horton, son of a prominent
Albany family, starts independent life
as a science teacher in high school
with a promising avocation as an
artist. Mistaking boredom with his
wife and family for the artistic tem
perament, he engages in an affair or
two with other women until he re
ceives a legacy which enables him to
provide for his family and leave them
to devote “hie hfe to hie art." Of
course, he starts for the '‘village,"
where he soon becomes involved with
yet another woman. And where, also,
he meets Aaron, an artist who is sin
cere in his art and is motivated by
sincerely felt political Ideals. Karl
learns much from Aaron, and being a
real person at base, recognizes Aaron's
quality.
After many vicissitudes, Karl re
turns to his family, gets a job in a
department store where he makes a
phenomenal rise from floorwalker to
chief factotum, saves his money, and
in a last grand gesture, flings Job
and prestige to the wind, and takes
his wife and family back to the
farm—his wife’s father’s farm.
The book is interesting. The growth
of character in the case of Karl
Horton is clearly shown and is logical.
There are, also, real flashes of in
sight into the psychology of two or
three other people, but for the mo6t
part the characters are lay figures on
which the events are merely hung. As
an interesting story the book rates
high. As a bit of political propa
ganda it makes an intellectual ap
peal, not an emotional one. And
propaganda to be effective must ap
peal to the emotions. As a work of
art it is just another book. R. R. T.
of feet In general, as ‘trilbies.’ Next
they used the childish diminutive
‘tootsie* ’ In the next stage, people
spoke of Trilby a* ‘Toots,’ meaning a
beautiful girl of simple charm. Fin
ally the term extended to others and
the original reference to feet was
completely forgotten."
Or anyway, that’s how P. of P. and
American Speech have fixed it.
'J'HE second issue of Bachelor la
to' hand, and assuredly the maga
zine is living up to its name. On its
cover, to be sure, it the royal coun
tenance of George IV of England,*
who, if memory fails not, was a mar
ried man, and one who did not make
the most brilliant success of it either.
But within Bachelor’s pages is much
material of a kind evidently imagined
to be severely and excludingly mas
culine. (Some of it is pretty good).
One bit is an article by Lucius
Beebe on Crosby Gaige, who is de
scribed overwhelmingly as “Son of
the postmaster of Skunk Hollow, New
York, distiller of rare perfumes, hor
ticulturallst of skill, student of hu
manities, Broadway producer of note
for three decades, designer of fine
books and collector of manuscripts and
literary items of the first importance,
machinist and wood carving enthu
siast, cattle breeder, member of the
Bibliographical Society of London and
associate of l’Unlon de Sommeliers
de Paris, amateur of the good life in
all its variant aspects and America’s
Amateur Gourmet No. 1, Crosby Gaige
is a legend of Longacre Square a*nd
one of Manhattan’s authentically*
distinguished men about boule
vards. . .
And then Mr. Gaige allows Mr.
Beebe to quote him on women.
"The feminine idea of a salad, for
instance,” says this Gourmet No 1,
"is something dolled up for a May day
parade. My own idea—and I believe
I express the wholesome male pref
erence—is a salad with plenty of good
greens, and a lot of olive oil and tar
ragon vinegar. . .
In other words, if a salad is poor,
It is feminine and if it is good it is
"wholesomely male.” But this dis
tinguished man sounds, somehow a
good bit like Father Adam. The sex
life of the salad was first written in
the Book of Genesis.
pICTION PARADE announces that
something happened to its cover
for the May issue, and that it re
ceived so many letters about the
trouble that it now has to get out a
bulletin to explain it. The trouble
was that “one of the many horses
which form the amusing background -
for the title strip has a legless rider
astride him.”
Telling how it happened, the bulletin
says, “Mr. Bellamy, the editor, admits
that the omission was not intended
when the drawing was made ... by
the artist, Christina Malman. 'But.*
he says, ‘that one legless rider came
to hold a strange charm for the
editorial staff and we all decided to
leave it that way on the finished
cover.’ ” Just a touch of whimsy, in
other words, the weather being nice
that day. *
BEST SELLERS FOR THE
WEEK ENDING MAY 1, 1937
Fiction.
The Years. Woolf. Harcourt
Brace.
Theatre. MaughAm. Doubleday
Dor an.
The Laurels Are Cut Down.
Binns. Reynal Ac Hitchcock.
Buckskin Breeches. Stong. Far
rar Ac Rinehart.
Of Mice and Men. Steinbeck Co
vlci-Friede.
New Wine at Cock Crow. Ellis.
Morrow.
Non-Fiction.
How to Win Friends and In
fluence People. Carnegie. Si
mo* Ac Schuster.
The Woodrow Wilsons. McAdoo.
Macmillan.
Present Indicative. Coward. Dou
bleday-Doran.
Life and Death. Majocchi.
Knight.
Coronation Commentary. Dennis
Dodd-Mead.
American Doctor’s Odyssey. Hel
ser. Norton.
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The frank story
of the King who
abandoned his rule over half
the world for the fascina
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HERE at last is the book that Time Magazine calls: **Just
about the biggest biographic surprise Mayfair has had"-«
the book about which the eminent London Express wrote: **Ir
is one of the frankest royal biographies ever published.** Mr.
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An Intimate Biography by
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