The San Francisco call., 1899-07-16

~ UMMER is a pacific season in the
~ book world, and material for re-
r ] view comes slowly. This indul-
~ gence to the temperature on the
part of publishers turns our
thoughts back upon book that has
been some weeks available and yet is
not with us either by invitation
or suffrance. I speak Of r. V. Risley's
MEMS Tragedies" AS l write no
bookshop of prominence has the work
for sale, and none seem anxious to op-
tain 1t. Now, why is this? Trash ga
lore grins at US from the book shelVes'
yawns at us from the tables, ana yet
q work that proves its author, very
young man, too, to be possessed OF po-
tential greatness, glides unnot1ceo INTO
gloom. Gloom, perhaps that IS II. 1t
is summer and we would laugh. The
tragedy Of bread winning is enough
We will choose our summer literary
diet Of lighter stuff, and we will nave
1t spread where green hills are the
outlook and the wind stirs the trees
to let the sunlight through. The book
has q preface, and a remarkable one.
To some It would be warning to keep
out; to others an invitation to enter.
After having read the tragedies one
might slightly change the words or
jacques In LAS You Like IT. and make
q preface equally explanatory. 1t IS
q melancholy of mine own. compound
ed of many complexes, extracted from
nine morbid objects, and indeed the
sundry contemplation of my travels, In
which my often rumination wraps me
in a most inharmonious sadness. Al!
reviewers, I take it, are armed with full
permission to speak their minds, and
a
why one should condemn book as
praise it. If we so desire we can find
In Risley's nine fictional essays every
manner of doubt as to future great
ness or present originality. He is re-
niniscent Of Goethe in that his field
of study is nature and the human af-
fections; of Schiller, when he touches
upon the human aspirations. In con-
fused sort of way he even suggests
Crawford. There is a passage some
where that warns us against becom-
ing human buzzards, who fly over
Gods great, green, beautiful earth
looking for carrion and missing more
sights than they see. MEMS Trage-
dies" recalls it. 1t would be Impossible
to traverse the experience OF acqualnt-
ance with these nine men, live over
their tragedies and come out Of their
society just as we were when we en-
tered it, And yet one should read the
book 1t would be well, perhaps, II Mr..
Risley chose for his summer wander
ings a quiet spot where he could
gather bluebells and acorn-cups and
find his way to happiness" He might
then come back to us with wider
literary horizon ready to take hold Of
a big world with many hands" But,
in the meantime, are we to sit back
and demand always as an antecedent
condition that a man shall be famous
before we read his books? II SO. we
n
author and build our literature but
slowly. He is not yet "in partnership
with things that help the world on,
but, nevertheless he merits our con-
sideration. He strikes no Introductory
chords in his stories, but plungeS OF
once to the business in hand, somewhat
clumsily at times, but giving US the
picture without varniSh. Only in the
first essay does he follow the beaten
track of a scenery Introduction, and
this puts us in touch with the charac-
ter of the landscape that is to anect
the human character OF those who
come within it's influence. In this es-
say he makes character say, L sink
further and further into the gloom OF
nv mood" and the metaphor is the key
to the morbidness that follows. But
q powerful hand is at work, and If we
read between the lines we will see It's
power.
In 1.-THE Man Who Hated" we read:
There was no peace in this book-bred
mind used to the long distances of his
tory and philosophy, and a deep ex-
asperation against littleness made him
willful and impatient at the every
days. He was weary that he had no
Iears and had not yet awakened to
great hopes." Mr. Risley's seems a
book-bred mind, but it's well equipped
to meet the world and see what others
have perchance passed by. He tells us
things that we do not understand and
hence do not like, but as one OF his
women has said Perhaps we will by
and by when we remember them and
don't laugh at them any more" He
uses some very ugly English and queer
verbal contortions, but many we'll
turned phrase as well. He speaks OF
'.the bravery of a well-slept night,
tells us "the pity of autumn was in the
air" that Paris is afraid she is in the