Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-01-25

by Hedwig Singer. New York: Charles Boni
Paper Books.
A SUCCESSION of strange deaths under cir
cumStanceS most mysterious. Sounds
much like the familiar formula for the current
detective story. In fact, here is a thing quite
different. The story Is set in Prague An old,
old city, despite its modern role capital Of
a new republic born of the World War. An
ancient rootage of legend, superstition gloomy
beliefs and supernatural occurrences gives to
this place an excellent nurture for inexplicable
happenings, for unsolvable crimes. That spirit
of credulty and superstition passed on over
into Vienna Vienna is the seat of the series
of crimes that this author takes in hand.
Murder? Suicide? Between the two for a
long set of pages the question moves back and
forth. Gradually an approach is made to the
true source of these calamitieS, to an ancient
curse that has held time out Of mind, to those
coming under its influence. Reading. become
curiousy impressed with what is going on
where? Well inside myself in a sense, though
this is by no means an exact description OF the
fact The story looks like the common run of
its tribe, but it doesn't feel that way. Instead,
it fe3lS if Somewhere-aS if somewhere deep,
Oh, very deep inside myself is sense of know
ing a thousand things which never did know,
never can know so far as can make out. As
if, here, am step ahead of the happenings
that come-now what in the world do you sup
pose that is? specially artful author, do you
think? One deeply versed in psychology grow
ing from our crude animal state to our present
stage with many fragments of its primitive
requirements still persisting still operative
upon occasion? I don't know. DR.. Fritz
WittalS in a foreword here speaks of "our
psychic duality" one conscious, the other un-
conscious. Well. let it go at that-but it's
funny to feel that way, particularly when crime
is in the open. Perfectly normal, thank you.
Merely a good, thoroughgoing German telling
his story in characteristic efficiency, with one
reader in an unusually attentive mood, take it.
FATE IS A FOOL. BY Harriet T. Comstock.
author of "a Son Of the Hills" etc. New
York: Doubleday, Doran Co.
MOT only fool but blind as well. With
Y latitudincus a theme there would appear to
be no limits set to a practiced author And
Mrs. Comstock is practiced to the measure of
a score of romanceS. A fine quality Of her work
throughout is the close-knit effect of whatever
action may direct the novel and the place in
which the matter grows A good handling Of
atmosphere. think, this is called. Whatever
it's name, it is a most useful adjunct to the
romance in hand. Let us so back to fate"
who here bungles family SO desperately that
its members become enemies and aliens. Three
brothers. one of them married A pretty wife,
one little daughter. Jealousy intervenes. One
of the two unmarried brothers seems, at least,
to coyet his brothers wife. Separation and
flight the part of the lady, who leaves the
child with her father. Years go by, and then,
up III OAIlaQlan WOOuS, TIE Two uIObIlSIS
who went away together settle, bringing
young girl with them. The illegitimate daugh-
ter of that erring pair, says to himself the
rich and righteous father left behind with a
very attractive and spotlesS daughter of his
own. There is most interesting TODD of life
with that group of three up in the North. This
possibly as good an element as the whole story
holds. 1t comes about because the writer is
really keen to places to what they look like,
how they feel and what they say to such as
gifted to understand. AS a family matter
the story is truly complex. Just one hint-that
girl is not Legitimate at all. She was really
her way in lawful and orthodox fashion
when the mother driven to flight by the
jealousy of the husband. Very complicated, it
looks. Very complicated it is. But, with a way
wise story-teller managing there is no real OBJ
security. Merely a pattern of life q little more
intricate than the village street puts on dis
play. Good work. Interesting occupation for
one of your leisure hours.
A JEW IN LOVE. By Ben Hecht, author of
Erik DORM" etc. New York: Covici-Friede,
publishers
CLEARLY, Ben Hecht is getting elderly. And
WELL that's ALL He's getting elderly. It
seems not yet five years ago-though, in fact,
it must be at least 85-that I came upon this
young man. Justify pIucking afternoons
thousand and more of theSe-from the big city
of Chicago The eagerness of the fellow and
the artistry OF him theni Flooding tower and
spire and dome with nightlight or daylight,
chanting the endless sing-song of the big water.
opening long avenues of human activity under
every sort of lure or pressure. The psalm of a
great city sounded out from these afternoons"
Sometimes it was the dirge Of avarice and greed
and hatred and crime. But that was long ago,
almost a century. A little group of novels,
glinting in genius, came along, "a Jew in Love-"
is the latest of these. And Ben Hecht has
tagged himself as no longer young.
Now, when an aging man goes a-galivantin'
II Is likely to be an un-pretty sight. Ewes,