Evening star., 1929-12-01

uLIlC III Al1S BlhucJOKlo Odks ~ IVA 1As
A ROOM OF ONES OWN. BY vir-
ginia Woolf, author Of Orlando"
etc. New York: Harcourt, Brace q
Co.
IF, having started. you are bent upon
arriving, don't set out with Virginia
easily seduced, happily led of by this
inviting glance or that beckoning hand
| flutter, then 60 with her by all means.
No. this is not q me-owing inSinua-
| ton that Mrs. Woolf Is possessed OF
vagrant mind. had hoped she was.
For true vagabondage must be very
beautiful age" No, none knows better
what she is after, just exactly what she
is after, than does this distinguished
writer.
Yet, on thai morning, we seemed to
be merely lettering all around London
upon no definite errand, or so for the
moment thought. Mrs. Woolf, both
hands waving in some inclusive de-
cision, spoke rather to herself than to
me. Men, men, they did all Of this.
They built cathedral and chapel, palace
and dwelling. streets and parks and
the list was growing to take in the city
itself and, by implication, the wide
world too. mo wonder that women
are SO far behind. They have had no
great things to do" "Oh, I don't know"
II ventured-"they have borne all the
children, every one of them, and have
wived all the husbands. wived them too
until lately at leaSt-in SUBMISSION
and obedience and in absolute pecuniary
dependence. That is quite a job to
| turn of, if you ask me-" you are
| irrelevant, quite beside the question"
almost snapped my gifted companion.
| And I, panied, fell silent. After miles
| of walking and volumes of self-com-
munion on the part of Mrs. Woolf, the
| point of the expedition came out, came
out as we drifted into the library. Mrs.
| Woolf was hunting for the women who
have. so far, made a dent in the field
of authorship where men have already
achieved so markedly. AS I have al
! ready told you. this lady knew where
she was going from the minute of her
setting out. Let me give you that OBJ
| jective now. Here it is. Before women
can succeed in literature they must
possess independence and freedom.
Translated into practical terms these
are money and a room of ones own.
Support and solitude for the full play
| ot-mental gifts and powers. A COM
plete liberation from the communal life
| that women, bringing up their children,
placating their husbands, and running
the full domestic machinery, lead in so
! large a measure even now.
BY this time we are fronting the
book shelves and the long business
begins. Understand this is not an
adventure in acquiring knowledge. 1t
| is, instead, an undertaking to support
Mrs. 'Woolf'S contention concerning
woman writers. And so the journey
opeES. From Jane Austen to Rebecca
West it takes its course in a deeply
intelligent grasp OF the essentials of
the writing art, in an acutely way
wise manner Of probing for excellence
and ferreting for weakness. Around
each Mrs. Woolf spreads the manner OF
existence at the time of the writing
under consideration, the preoccupation
Of the author with alien duties, with
uninspiring tasks with her lack Of
solitude for thought and its ripening,
for the mediocre, relatively, mediocre
character Of the output. Now If only
Jane Austen had had room of her
own" as it is whimsically put here
very cogently put, too-what other
heights she might have scaled than
those which have given her the fame
that she yet commands. 1t is here that
! the journey Is even more than q Joy.
1t Is a stir to the mind-sometimeS in
agreement, now and then in negation-
! but a stir every minute along the way.
BY means of the adventure a new in
look is afforded upon literature as this
has been affected by the women who
are writing today and have written in
the somewhat near past Of their activ-
ity along this line. The appraisals OF
present writers, woman writers, the
| contrast of these with men similarly
engaged--it Is all profitable to one. Not
at its best profit in either acceptance
or denial as such but in the originality
of the writer herself, in the stirring Of
the readers mind along the subject IN
| hand. Much of this charm lies in the
of illustration and persuasion set up
every other minute by this versatile and
rather bewildering woman. A
| n X III
THE MAN WHO PRETENDED. BY
w. B. Maxwell. author Of "Spinster
of This Parish" etc. New York:
l. Doubleday, Doran g. Co.
ONLY children are allowed to make
~ believe" In peace. AS soon as an
elder is caught, even once, pretending"
his downward courSe-or herS-is swift
and sure. Liar, deceiver. dissembler,
hypocrite, charlatan, mountebank-are
| her, by the lily-white folks roundabout.
1t Is upon deliberate program Of
pretending" that Mr.. Maxwell works
out one Of his best and most original
stories.
1t is the funeral of Oswald Raikes'
father. The boy is not sorry that his
| father died, not sorry at all But be-
reaved sons weep at the graves OF their
fathers. A settled custom OF filial and
pious implications. SO Oswald weepS-
not roisily, yet no one can miss the
fact Poor fellow!" "A good ladl"-
ard women pat his sleeve. and the men
look upon him with kindly eyes. That
is the beginning. Nobody would spoil
this good story for you by second
rate accounting Of its progress. At
school, out in business and social life,
it is the same. With no great natural
gifts, Oswald Raikes, by. his uncanny
power to visualize proper effects, so
arrangeS and projects his behaviors as
to gain respect and esteem, success and
prosperity. He even pretended himself
into matrimony, really against his will,
but, in sum, the act promised more of
advantage than the opposite of this.
and admirer, saw exactly what had
been going on, what was still going on
Then Oswald RaikeS fell sick, fell tired
of making believe, as matter Of fact.
I'm too tired" he moaned. II shirk
the effort" Don't shirk. You never
have shirked. Go on to the end--go
on pretending" Pretend that 1 want
to iive?" Yes" And so the story
ends. But you may be sure that the
man did not die. An amazing excel
lence of nvention-"invention? Is
not this tale, instead. concentration
of pretense in Oswald RaikeS, where
we, you and I, practice the same art,
but in intermittent, unartful fashion?
A liar and a hypocrite this Oswald
Raikes? Yes. perhapS-theres mirror
right there back Of you.
y \
THE METHODIST FAUN. BY Anne
Parrish, author Of "All Kneeling,"
etc New York: Harner & Bros