Fun and Games With a Spanish Touch

F 1 sex alone made a book tabu with the Australian Customs, then Manasco Road (by Victor Canning), would probably be out, also. It is likely that A Sort of Beauty got what was coming to it because the publishers were suf ficiently misguided to use the word brothel amongst the blurb on the dust-jacket.

There is, of course, no similarity between the novels. Manasco Road is a brisk adventure story, with counterpoint of some lusty sex.

Victor Canning does it very well.

This is by far the best of the

month’s crop designed for the avert age reader who likes competeir writing, fast-moving plots am slightly larger than life characters.; The man of action in this piece i Nick Thorne —surprisingly enougM an Englishman and not an Amerii' can. Perhaps the fact that he has been brought up in Spain account! for his untraditional role.

The only piece of English unden statement about the whole thing i the amount of money involved in thri adventure—£2,ooo. If the hero wen trans Atlantic in origin, the figuit.

at stake would be not less than a quarter-million dollars.

However, for the outlay of £2,000, Thorne and readers get their full $250,000 worth.

Nick and his shady Spanish partner buy the salvage rights to an. old coastal tub wrecked off the Majorca coast. The trouble starts when Nick finds that the only way to remove the cargo is over the road which runs through the property of Senor Casares Manasco, who com bines the offices of local squire and business tycoon with sinister effici ency. Unfortunately, the Senor feels that he has been thwarted in. that the wreck has gone to Thorne and partner.

The efforts of Thorne to salvage the cargo from the wreck and to circumvent the tricks in the very considerable repertoire of the wily Spaniard are complicated by the women in his (Thorne’s) life: His beautiful blonde wife, Kate; and the young savage, Juana, niece of Manasco, who knew what she wanted and went right out and got it.

Unlike our former hero, there was no vicarage garden in Thorne’s background; he smoked, drank (im moderation) and if he had ever had any inhibitions that had to be eased-off in a brothel, it was long before he entered this story. The only basic research the reader is; asked to do is to ponder whether what he did with Juana would have happened anyway; or whether it was; subconscious retaliation for Kate’s; one transgression. (Published by Hodder and Stoughton. Aus-• tralian price, 15/6.)

It Isn't Done

With Mirrors

VISITORS to Australasia in the*: post-war years who have been, entertained by Franquin, “transforms hypnotism into first- ■ class entertainment,” will likewise: be amused by the book he has; written about it —appropriately 1 called, The Eyes Have It.

Francis Quinn was born into aj show family and when only a small i boy induced a Sydney fruit-barrow-man to part with some wares. Noth- ■ ing more in the way of a testimonial J to his talents as a hypnotist need! be said—if you know anything about: Sydney barrowmen.

Francis subsequently practised om family and neighbours and tucked! away in his mind was the thought : that one day he would put the gift: to commercial use. He started a a Hypnotic Fund but at the outbreak: of War II he was managing a pic ture-theatre in Auckland for £3 per: week and the Fund stood at only £20..

Discharged from the NZ Army: (with the rank of Captain), he again i turned to show business but after: an attempt at legitimate theatres

Droduction which lost his father nuch money, he took to the roving ife of the side-show; Globes of Death. Half-Ladies, Smallest Horse, Jtc.

The Hypnotic Fund did not grow mt the Smallest Horse did, so Quinn iecided at last to put his talent to )üblic test.

The rest of his story covers what md whom you may encounter in his sort of show business. The inished product does not come into my known class of sophisticated re torting, but it is a bright and breezy iccount that probably expresses r ranquin’s personality very well. (Published by Angus and Robertson, Ltd., ydney. Australian price, 17/6.)

Y\en Make Moons

fN spite of the publicity it has re- L ceived, the International Geo physical Year, its aims and its >urpose, are still something of a nystery to the layman.

If you wish to know what it is bout, and to follow more adequately he scientific experiments that are urrently being undertaken, you annot do better than use Once I round the Sun, by Ronald Fraser, s a guidebook.

Dr. Fraser is the Administrative Secretary of the International Coun il of Scientific Unions, the organ sation which is sponsoring the ;orld-wide operations of the IGY. It

is a pretty good indication of the true internationahty of the author that we were unable to find out from the narrative his nationality, although we guess it is American. in the first part of the book, Fraser describes something of man’s environment and what has already been learned about it. The earth, the seasons, climate, weather, the tides and the currents, the sun, the atmosphere are all dealt with as a preliminary to the second half of the book which outlines what it is hoped to achieve by the concerted 18 months’ assault by scient-

ists of 54 countries.

The IGY was the conception of two scientists in America in 1950.

They were Sydney Chapman and Lloyd Berkner, and they were agreed that the vast undertaking should occur in the 1957-58 period, when there would be maximum activity on the sun.

With three months of the “year” already gone, all appears to be going to plan, but whether the 53 countries can complete the next 15 months without nationalism raising its ugly head is something else again. (Over)

The most spectacular items on the IGY agenda are the launching of the earth satellites by both America and Russia. The idea was originally America’s, but Russia soon followed suit.

Whoever does it— if it is done at all—will have reached another mile stone in scientific discovery. Accord ing to the ideal of the IGY, it should not matter much which country at tains the distinction —although we fear that the politicians of neither are likely to take that altruistic view of the business.

NOTE: After the above was written Russia successfully launched a satellite as all the world now knows. As predicted, Russia is .alleged to be gloating, while the US tears its Itair. The fact that it is a scientific achieve ment in any language is taking a minor role. (Published by Hodder and Stoughton. Aus tralian price, 24/3.)

Roulette and

Sun Tan Lotion

ALTHOUGH more suitable, per haps, for an article in a Sunday newspaper than a full length book, the story of the French Riviera, as told by Charles Graves, is more or less entertaining: more for those who have been there or contem plate going there. Less for those whose interest is purely academic.

He calls it Royal Riviera—appro priately enough in view of the fact that the 140 miles of the south coast of France that stretch from Menton to almost Marseilles, were put upon the map by people whose blood flowed in shades of varying purple.

The English discovered it reason ably early in the 18th century— driven thither either by a spirit of adventure that in an earlier age produced Drake; or more probably by the vile winter climate of Olde England.

The journey in those times took three weeks of coaching through Europe, plus a week in bed at journey’s end to recover from the ordeal.

But the Riviera did not really come into its own for another century, when transportation having improved somewhat, it became the playground of British Royalty, Ger man princlings and the Russian nobility. American millionaires, the press and political barons, the best selling novelists and painters came later.

Queen Victoria, in her widowhood, was a yearly visitor: and her son Edward was also an habituee from 1872 until his Coronation —but not as part of Mama’s menage.

In those days—in fact until well after the First War —the Riviera en joyed only the northern winter season. To be seen there, except be

tween November and April, was to commit a social faux pas. Now, of course, the “season” spreads over the whole year. The wealthy still may try to escape the worst rigors of the winter, but the profits there from are no more valuable than the

profits from the family men, French provincial typists and Paris shop assistants who crowd the resorts in July and August. Provision is now made also for people to bring tents and camp —a fact that must cause the royal personages of the past to flap their ghostly arms in horror.

Graves brings us up to date with a complete history of Monaco and the Hollywood romance of its pre sent Prince—and, perhaps more im portant, the stories of the gilded Greeks who operate with the Riviera as a base. (Published by Heinemann. Australian price, 26/-.)

The Return of

Mr. Moto

IT is a pretty good indication of Japanese-American relations that writer John P. Marquand has re surrected Mr. Moto after having quietly buried him 20 years ago at a time when a Japanese character was no longer acceptable in light American fiction.

Because of the long gap in time, Mr. Moto will be brand new to a new generation of readers: and so will be Marquand as a writer of ad venture fiction. He is much better known these days for more socio logical novels—such as the Late George Apley. However, he comes back into the adventure field with

a bounce, proving that his hand has not lost its cunning since 1938, when Mr. Moto Is So Sorry first saw the light.

The assignment of US Intelligence Officer Jack Rhyce and his associ ate, Ruth Bogart, is to break the Red ring in Tokyo, which is known to be planning a political assassin ation that will trigger anti-American

riots. Mr. Moto comes into the-; story when he makes contact with, them at Tokyo airport but whether he is to be friend or foe is not; immediately clear.

As a straight-out thriller, the-! story is excellent —but Mr. MarquandJ has other talents which he does not; waste —including the talent of see ing his compatriots’ little foibles.

The cover Rhyce and Bogart as sume is to pose as Do-Gooders, nsiting Tokyo to inspect and report m the Asia Friendship League. In :his role their conversation con ists of long strings of the platitudin ms uplift interspersed by frequent ise of Christian names, and a miversal Sunbeam outlook. As seme me in the book remarks, they sound ike greeting-card salesmen.

Marquand typifies the globe rotting post-War II Do-Gooder to uch effect that one is continually ixpecting the characters to burst mt with something about cushion ng the impact of civilisation on the lew Guinea Highlanders; or the de sirability of providing aluminium aucepans or travelling scholarships o the Dyaks of Borneo in order o enlist them against Communism According to Stopover Tokyo, there :ould be something more realistic lehind that American Christmas ard philosophy—something that wouldn’t stick so hard in the gullets if the USA’s more barbaric Western fiends. (Published by Collins. Australian price, 5/6.)

,ove and Hate

)n the Loose

rHERE was material for a thousand novels in the war in New Guinea—but surprisingly ew have emerged. The Americans iave left this field strictly alone, nd Australian authors —such as Jon Cleary and Hungerford have libbled only around the edges of :. Another Australian, V. H. Lloyd, ias now had a late bite at it, with ’he Hidden Enemy.

This quite competent novel has ome to us without publicity— aunched on an over-booked sea to ink or swim by its own merits. A ity. First books need more of a boost ban that; Cleary and Hungerford ot early publicity by winning terary competitions.

Lloyd bases his story on a real icident; a party of civilians cut off y the Japs in the Wewak area of lew Guinea, who walked overland d be eventually picked up and flown ut from the Highlands.

The writer’s theme is that even a the midst of war, a man may iave within him a hidden conflict hich can flare out with more deadly onsequences than enemy action.

Captain John Grant was given the Db of escorting to safety through nemy territory, a group of women tranded at a Mission station in orthern New Guinea. Climate, sick iess, terrain, the Japanese, combine o make it a difficult enough task, ut added was the fact that Grant tad once been deeply in love with ne of the women; and as well, had fundamental hate for Roman Catholicism —embodied, in this in

stance, in the person of Father Kessick.

During the journey, Grant gives way to both passions and finally succeeds in murdering the priest.

The rest of the story is devoted to tidying off the chain-reaction that resulted from that latter act, and how Mr. Lloyd works it all out is possible rather than terribly con vincing. (Published by Angus and Robertson. Aus tralian price, 17/-.)

Reviewed Briefly . . .

Scandals Of Sydney Town:

This latest opus again finds Mr.

Frank Clune in the role of historian —his alternate role to that of world traveller. However, he has temporarily deserted the Australian bush-rangers, and, skipping a gen eration or two, brings us to the 1880’s and onwards.

What he has to say about Sydney’s

id-period history is interesting lough—even if for nothing more an to show that child delinquency, aft, political scandals and sensa mal journalism are not inventions post-World War 11, as we are one to think. (Published by Angus and Robertson, Ltd. stralian price, 22/6.)

The Wide Horizon, By Loula

race Erdman: We think that this meant for teen-agers. It has a ivour of Gene Stratton Porter tout it, and deals with around the me period as Laddie, although set the Texas Panhandle. It is a good lolesome story of family life, set a time when America was just lerging from its pioneering days id before juke-boxes and petting- Tties. [Published by Hodder and Stoughton. Aus lian price, 15/6.)

The Secret Of Serenity, By

Drdon Powell. If the mere writing reading of books on the subjects question were the remedy, this neration should be the happiest, renest, busiest, unfrustrated, etc., neration ever. This uplift comes every Christian Denomination, id what problems are left over are alt with by laymen through urnals like Readers’ Digest. What er your particular problem, you can t your sweet life that there are

several authoritive books on the sub ject.

Presumably all this wordage does someone some good, although judg ing by the number of maladjusted people still at large in the com munity, it is doubtful if personal emotional problems can ever be solved by read.ng books about it.

Mr. Powell is minister of St.

Stephen’s Presbyterian Church, Syd ney, and is one of Australia’s best known parsons, and what he says on the subject of acquiring serenity he says adequately enough. (Published by Hodder and Stoughton. Aus tralian price, 11/3.)

Tales Of The Little

QUARTER, the most famous collec tion of stories by the Czechoslavakian writer, the late Jan Neruda, translated by Edith Pargeter. Neruda died in 1891, but his stories and verses about Prague have lived on although little known because of the language barrier to English-speaking people. His tales are of the poor amongst whom he spent his earlier life before he became a journalist.

He died many years before Czecho slavakia became a nation in its own right after the First World War, but he was identified with many of his countrymen who early worked for political freedom. (Published by Wm. Heinemann. Australian price, 18/9.) (Over)

Trollers Holiday, By

Margaret Sharcott, is designed for collectors of stories about people who go down to the sea in small ships.

Professionally, Stan Sharcott was a troller in British Colombia waters — that is, he employed this method of fishing for large species called cohoe.

But this story is not, about fishing.

It happens in mid-winter when the fishermen lay up for the season but when the Sharcotts conceive the idea of taking a holiday with their 13-months-old son by sailing round Vancouver Island visiting relatives.

It isn’t everyone’s idea of a holiday —and certainly different to the more usual stories of sunny voyages to South Sea isles —but interesting. (Published by Peter Davies. Australian price, 22/6.)

War In The Blood, By

Salvador de Madariaga, is a sequel to the author’s previous effort, Heart Of Jade. The events take place be tween 1537 and 1541 in Mexico, .shortly after that country had been -conquered by the Spaniards and it continues the story of Don Alonso Manrique, Conquistador hero of the first novel.

Although removed from us by four centuries in time, the problems with which the story attempts to deal are still fresh enough—and mainly un solved-to-day. But Fire In the Blood concerns mostly Don Alonso’s

son, Roderigo, who looks like his mother, an Indian princess, when he would have preferred to be blue eyed and blond, like his sister.

Because of his physical appear ance and his thwarted desires, Roderigo is something of a probem child. His inner conflict leads him into intrigue and he finds himself

on the other side of the fence, plot ting against his father’s people.

The story is of considerable in terest, particularly to those who are attracted to the old Aztec civilisation, but this Spanish writer’s style can be irritating. (Published by Collins. Australian price, 18/9.)