This Month ’s New Reading

(Conducted by the Assistant Editor)

They Come Now

In Pairs

WHEN you read two books within the month, one a first novel by a young American women about the passion of some middle-aged American females for a beautiful young man; and the other, a first novel by a young Britisher about the passion of “an ageing woman” (of thirty-eight!) for another beautiful young man, it probably proves only that life is the same on either side of the Atlantic.

The action of both novels takes place in that stratum of society where people have too little to do and too much money to do it with.

On the other hand, both young men In the stories come from the under privileged masses. Both stories are concerned in part with the antics of what in blunt Colonial circles are still referred to as Pansies, which is as polite an expression as any.

This yearning of women for men young enough to be their sons is not unusual —or so I am told. It is supposed to be a mother-complex.

Could be. But if these novels are a fair description of comtemporary life in the Alleghanies or London it could mean also that Western Civilisation is all our Russian friends ever said it was—commencing with •decadent.

First, The Love Eaters, by Mary Lee Settle: Centre stage, a crippled professional director of a group of amateur play-actors. Then enters the beautiful young man, Selby Dodd, long-lost son, by a former marriage, of coal baron Jim Dodd.

All the ladies of the Dodd circle, in cluding Dodd Snr.’s second wife, Marty, immediately begin to breathe heavily through their nostrils, paw the earth and manoeuvre Selby into corners and situations. Selby takes refuge in the society (we might even say arms) of the crippled drama ■director.

This far, clear enough; but beyond this, most of the book is a vague patchwork, more often than not seen through the hankerings of a middle-aged woman. The family doctor believes it nothing more than that she has reached that un fortunate period of female middle years when women are apt to hanker and haver. It could be that, although most of the other char acters are as witless.

Not that they are badly drawn so much as being an unsympathetic, unlovable lot —who leave a sour taste in the mouth.

The whole story hangs on so small a thread, and the characters have such small reason for cluttering up any book, you can wonder how it came to be written, and leave it at that. Or you can spare a moment wondering if this is a fair sample

of American life, and if so, shed a tear for the greatest champion of Western Democracy. Possibly it was on this last point that it found a publisher.

T .he Other Side of the Square (by Neil Macmillan) is a drawing-room drama of post-war London. One might have supposed, of course, that the Second World War would have ended that section of society which is devoted entirely to scandal and the dilettante. But evidently not.

They are no more attractive than their Yankee cousins in Miss Settle’s Alleghanies.

It is 38-years-old Veronica who falls in love with the gardener’s 20years-old son, Laurence. But un like Marty, who just sweated it out, Veronica gets her man and there are many passages of passion in the flat over the garage where Laurence lives.

The story might have been given some piquancy by the fact that her husband, Charles, unknown to the lovers, aided and abetted their affair (apparently on the grounds that young Laurence could supply what he could not and thereby keep his wife happy). Might have been, but is not: Macmillan is no Guy de Maupassant.

Veronica (who believes that she loves her husband as well as young Laurence) and Charles are well satisfied with the triangular arrange ment, but Laurence, as might be ex pected of a gardener’s son, is not. He feels obliged to confess to the hus band and then to bash the ageing Charles over the skull with a poker.

The troubles of these three are not lessened by the fourth character, the feline Geoffrey, who has a gift for meddling and for good-looking young manservants.

The final episode in the drama is about as ridiculous as Mr.

Macmillan can make it; but although, at times, the writing is technically crude, and the theme even more so, nonetheless the book is readable. One of these days, when the writer gets over the idea that an abnormal sex-life is life, we might even get something good from him. (The Love Eaters, published by Heine mann, Australian price, 13/3; The Other Side of the Square, published by Seeker and Warburg, Australian price, 15/6.)

Love Me, Love My

Jap Bride

THE old Maestro again—this time writing about Japan with pos sibly the best story he has done since Tales of the South Pacific.

You may not admire the theme, but James A. Michener is at his best writing about fighting men, and his characters (pruned of their

American ballyhoo, of course) ha the necessary relation to human t ings to make his stories good ente tainment value.

Sayonara will probably infuris some people, so put it aside if y cannot go quietly along wi Michener and see Japan through 1: eyes—a land of subtle beauty a] charm. Forget the horror poste of the war years (Remember the o called, “He’s Coming South”?) ai think of the Japanese as kind, ci tured and gentle folk.

This is a love story—of Gl’s f Japanese girls and the obstacl thrown in their path by an u: sympathetic military authority; pi justification of the Gl’s attituc For (according to Michener), t] Japanese girls have something th American girls have not. As one the characters in the book put i “Men with wives back in the Stat talk about the braces on Junioi teeth and what kind of car their wi bought. But men with Japane wives tell you one thing only—wh wonderful wives they have. They’ in love. It’s that simple.”

And so the stage is set for tl love of a US air ace for a beautif J apanese actress—and, brushii away the obstacles put in his pat by his father (a four-star general by the father of his girl-frier Eileen (a lesser general), Eileen he self and Eileen’s battle-axe mothe he dives in head first, to an affa that gives him more soul-soothir satisfaction than he has ever ha and which irons out the crinkL in his inhibitions.

What precisely is the charm of t!

Japanese girls is never specifical explained and one is left with t! inescapable conclusion that it cor sists mainly in boosting the ma ego—even so far as removing h shoes at the door and scrubbing h back in the bath.

But apart from the love passag« there are various excursions into Jaf anese life and customs which are c considerable interest. Unfortunate! one strikes a snag here, for in tk past James A. has carried out s much fact-and-fiction blending th£ one is now apt to take everythin he dishes up with a good sprinkle c salt. You remember, perhaps, th story he told in an article on Aug tralia in the US publication Holiday Australians, he said, mostly all hal false teeth. In the summer surfin season at Bondi they parked theg in long rows, with a beach-inspectc to stand guard over them. As th surfers returned there was usuallj some confusion as they tried th various dentures for size.

Apart from the obvious draw> backs and if read entirely for enter tainment, turning a cynical am blind eye to the past, you get valui for your money in Sayonara. (Published by Seeker and Warburg Australian price, 13/3.)

(Continued on Page 86)

A Bishop Speaks

Bishop fulton sheen has be come a world-wide figure. Ii America, his TV session, Life I Worth Living, has a viewing audi ence of millions. He has preache< in England; and, currently in Aus tralia, his talks are being broadcas regularly.

His oratorial powers are consider able, he has a simple philosophy ex pressed in everyday language whicl appeals to the people, and he tackle all contemporary problems, big an< small. He is one of the key mei of the Catholic Church’s campaigi against the evils of Communism.

Recently 26 of his talks have beer combined in a volume called—afte: his TV session —Life Is Worth Living More than a quarter million of tin American edition were sold befon publication.

Included in this selection is th( Bishop’s most famous talk—“Deatl of Stalin”—which was telecast nim days before the death was an nounced from Moscow on March 5 1953. This forecasts in uncanny de tail many of the events that hav( subsequently taken place.

The Bishop has a superb radic personality and as he is a person able man, is a valuable addition tc TV. Like most radio scripts, which prepared to be carried by the voice are reduced to the cold printed word, they lose something of their value; but this can be the onlj criticism, and the present volumt of selected talks will be none the less popular with Bishop Sheen fans who will want to have something of his work in permanent form; and with others who, because of location, are unable to hear a man who is recognised as an orator and as a leader of Western Democracy. (Published by Peter Davies, Ltd. Aus tralian price, 15/6.)