Evening star., 1935-10-27
Bv Marv.Carfer Roberts.

IN +
MI great writer, tells here OF her
childhood-not in novel, but
4 4 in a simple record OF her
"reminiscences. She tells how the world
looked to her when she was young
how 1t looked, tasted, smelt and felt.
It is a level narrative, as the memory
of any happy childhood, seen IN
perspective, must needs be level, high
on its own plateau above the the peaks
and deserts which make up the labor
of maturity. But, in this rare and
Joyous atmosphere. Madame Undset
paints very clearly. All those moments
when her young being was arrested by
some sensation, at the time super
nally vivid, are there, recaught and
preserved in her lucid, leisurely prose.
It is a book that must have value to
every one who has similar treasures
in his memory-and who, one Won
ders has not?
Reading this work, one is reminded
naturally of Selma Lagerlof's book
about her young days, "Marbacka." ;"
1t is interesting that two of the worlds
greatest writers, having achieved such
profound maturity, should have the
same impulse to write down the small
details of their childhood. For 1t Is
unquestionably the same impulse that
has made both books, even though
there is a difference in manner be-
tween them. Miss Lagerlof wrote with
q spirit of gay fancy, making each Of
her chapters sort of complete story
In itself; whereas, Madame Undset has
set down an unbroken narrative that
Is usually sober.
But it Is a noteworthy thing that in
each of these great women there has
remained alive Wide-eyed little
girl, sitting at all times on the edge
of adult groups. small attentive
savage observing photographically the
behavior of her elders, those who
are, per sc, civilized. Relentless dis
sectors of the eternal life Of genius
might possibly find some significance
In this. The thought is rendered
them in all humility.
THE STREET I KNOW. BY Harold
E. Stearns. New York: Lee Fur
man, Inc.
THE author of this autobiography
- was editor of the old Dial and of
the two works, Liberalism in Amer
ica" and Civilization in the United
States" He was also one of the liter
ary group that came distinctively to
be known as post war" and he was
o member of the colony of American
artistic expatriates which grew up In
Paris in those now dimly remembered
years. Before that he was Harvard
student and New England boy Of
''poor but honest parents" He has
returned to America and, in the pres
ent work, seems to be trying to gather
up all the various strands of his ex-
perience and see what they mean-if
they mean anything. Apparently he is
not sure.
1t Is a book that has been praised,
but still it must affect the sensitive
reader as being curiously level. Mr..
6tearns writes lucidly; he recounts his
memories, one feels, with painstaking
truth, and yet one cannot escape the
notion that, somehow, he is bored
with them. His book is, in substance,
an account of series of efforts to
escape, and while he applies objective
names to the things from which he
fled, there is a constant impression to
be received from his book that it was
really his own boredom that drove him.
Be that as it may, his account of
the life of a poor writer in Paris is
interesting, as are his pictures of that
group that made the French capital
its city of refuge. His pages are full
of names of present eminence, some of
which seem destined to have a some
what longer lease on fame. He does
not, to be sure, go far into character
tzation of these individual fellow ex-
patriates, but he does re-create the
atmosphere of their lives, and the
era which they represented.
That era. one feels, is at an end. In
view Of this, Mr.. Stearns' book may
well become q valuable record in fu-
ture years. At present it seems to be
Just a sad, but somehow an unstir-
ring, narrative.
MONEY FROM HOME. BY Damon
Runyon. New York: Frederick A.
Stokes Co.
"A THOUGH the period when Mr..
Runyon could be hailed as dis
covery is now a few years past, it Is
still reasonably fashionable to write
appropriations. 1t is still in vogue to
remark that he Is a latter-day O.
Henry or that Ring Lardner, leaving
the press box for the Elysian fields,
bequeathed his spirit to him, while
to dispute that he is the great ex-
ponent of the American argot and a
grand short-story writer is to avow
q literary backwardness that ought
to be distinctly embarrassing to the
sensitive critic.
This review, therefore. will begin
by stating that Mr.. Runyon is no
latter-day o. Henry and that If Ring
Lardner did attempt to drop his
mantle on him, Mr.. Runyon muffed
the catch. And having stated this,
the present review will add that he
is no exponent of the American argot
and hardly a short-story writer at all.
He Is, however, a writer of excellence
and one who seems likely to be i'm .
portant in any future accommodating
of our times and customs.
It q curious thing that whenever q
bright light arises in any art there Is
haste and fury on the part Of the
critics to compare it to earlier beacons.
It Is not remarkable, in view Of this
historic tendency, that Mr.. Runyon
should have been compared to O..
Henry and Ring Lardner. 1t is only
remarkable that he has not been COM
pared to De Maupassant, Henry James
and Mrs. Felicia Hemans. In the
case of as interesting writer as
Damon Runyon, however, these COM
parsons seem flagrantly unnecessary.
He is himself. The pertinent thing
In criticism Is to md out what that
implies.
One may begin with the claim
which Is the most general One-that