New-York tribune., 1920-02-22
ABOUT
no WOMEN talk as much about
themselves as male novelists

themselves as male novelists
would lead us to believe? Also,
do men like to hear women talk
about themselves as much as they seem
to in the male novelist's novels? These
questions have been suggested by
perusal Of three recent works Of fiction
by mon Of standing-"The Arrow of
Gold" by Conrad; "Sonia Married." by
McKenna, and LINDA Condon," by Her
gesheimers.
In each of these books the heroine
does seriously incline" to expatiate on
her adventures, her feelings, her
thoughts and her pecularities of tenn
perament The hero generally is chosen
as the object Of her condolences, and
appears to enjoy it, Linda Condor is
not much to say at the best of times,
but every now and then she breaks her
icy reserve and tells some onc--gen-
orally her husband, with the sloppy
clothes and the interminablc patience
some facts about her character, or the
way she feels, or the way she ought to
feel and doesn't. Concentration upon
her own ego appears to engage her
thoughts, and though she generally
keeps them fairly we'll bottled up, every
now and then the pressure is too great
and she gives out bulletin or dissects
her complicated state of mind with the
cold, dispassionate earnestness of
psychoanalyst on the trail.
Sonia is more forthcoming-no re-
pressive early training holds down her
natural buoyancy. Society and an am
bilious mother may have nodded her
in form Of triumphant vulgarity, but
there must have been strong basic
inclination to work on. She does not
keep her self-revelations for the be-
loved object; they bubble over to
every one. She opens the conversation
lusion to the centerpiece. but by tell
ing her partner she is person of
singular charm. It's a promising be-
ginning, and she does not decline from
its high pitch. She dspenses on all
sides interesting tidbits about how she
thinks, and feels, and acts Her ad-
mirers seem to like it, and the au-
thor's delight in this rending Of the
veil is obvious. He loves to make Sonia
talk about herself. If he has taken her
from real pcrson--and she sounds
! that way-we can imagine him. spend
ing golden hours listening while she
relishingly reveals what strange, rare,
exotic, unique creature she is.
Something of Dona Rita's discursive-
ness Is due to the form In which the
story Is told-Conrad's manner Of de-
velopment through different narratives,
exposition from varied standpoints.
But Dona Rita is almost inexhaustible
when it comes to general information
about herself. Did ever any heroine
talk so much and at such length over
the vicissitudes of her career and how
they affected her? She Is an incom-
parable charmer, a heroine with a
thrill, and her author-h here tofore so
chary Of touching on feminine mys-
! teries-is in love with her, and that
may be the reason he can't give over
making her talk. Her voice is music
in his ears, and every word that drops
from her lips worthy of note; but,
frankly, we find her little too tightly
imbedded in her egotism, little too
fond of dramatic brooding on her
rights and her wrongs.
1t makes one wonder if men like
the kind of women who are prone to
introspection and the study of their
own temperamental vagaries. Do they
delight in that moment when, hunching
herself up in the attitude of con-
fidences, and fixing somber eyes on
point in the distance, the lady begins
with 81 may be a peculiar person, l
often think I am, but I feel"-and she
is off. There have been people who
have called this kind of thing boring
Far be 1t from me to suggest that an,
of these beguiling sirens are bore
but imagining myself in the positio
of their listeners, I can feel stir
revolt. I can even feel that with Dona
Rita in the mysterious room, under the
spell of her magical eyes and melodi
Gus voice, might have grown restless
with much listening, sent glance row.
ing for clock, and finally remembered
an engagement at the club.
j. FLOYD BYNG.