Evening star., 1937-04-10

Ba2ar.
The pair. with prosperity and three
children on the side of union, are
shown being inevitably pushed apart
by irrelevant forces and, as Miss Ken
against their own real desires. Betsy,
in a moment of sheer blankness, find
ing her life unexciting (and having a
suitor with a title), decides on divorce
Alec counters with proposal that
they go away together and think it
over. Relatives, friends and gossips ap-
pear at this point and ardently cham
pion one or the other. The real issues
are lost in a welter of dizzy recrimina-
tions-if Miss Kennedy ever meant us
to believe that there were any real
issues to begin with. The divorce takes
place, both remarry unhappily and
pick up their lives as best they can,
longing profoundly, but without the
courage to admit it even to themselves
that they had stayed together. And
there you are.
In so far as it is intended to be an
exposition of the special manner OF
futility of our generation in emotional
relations it is an excellent perform
ance. But beyond that it has little
quality as novel. The characters
are all dull or weak, and even Miss
Kennedy's genius for making them
seem tools of fate rather than free
agents does not make them sufficiently
tragic to arouse ones sympathy They
remain just another set of neighbors,
no more.
AWAY FROM IT ALL BY Cedric
Belfrage. New York: Simon g.
SchuSter
THIS very pleasant book, this witty
fortnight book, this book devoid
of any conventional manner of think
ing or chirping happens incidentally
to be book of travel Do not hold
that against it. 1t is not any one of
the kinds of travel works which our
presses are SO industriously turning
out these years. 1t is not search for
the soul of the natives of Patagonia
or for the culture of the aborigines
of Guinea. 1t is not one of those
compilations of guide-book data on
the backward states of the Balkans
or the Gullah country which (gen-
era!ly) lady travellers put out be-
lieving that by adopting a gay, gur-
Cling style they are easily entering lit
erary equality with Charles Doughty
1t is not the story of an expedition into
the bush-any bush. 1t is not
pSuedo-scientiflc study of the sex Gus
toms of Puka-Puka. 1t is not jolly
ond-hand Ford bouncing boyishly
around Mexico. 1t is not a one-man
trek into the frozen North. 1t is not
Safari. 1t is not $4,000 miles by air
and how lovely. 1t is not a-journal-
ist-looks- t-Soviet-Russia. Marvel of
marvels, it is none of those things.
1t is a book of travel, but it has
point of view, and it has wit of
genuine quality-not of that kittenish
falseness which seemingly infects
everybody who undertakes travel
writing. Its like. obviously, will not
be seen soon again.
1t is the story of trip around the
world, made by the author, a British
journalist who had reached that
stage which is generally known as
being fed up. He decided to run away
from advertisements, moving pictures,
conversations, faces, noises and the
like-all those things which so con-
tribute to fed-upness. So he went
around the world, and he found ad-
vertisements, moving pictures, CONVEX
sationS, faces, noises and the like. 1t
couldn't be done, he discovered Peo-
pie are quite as appalling in Spain
or India as they are in London. Pic
turesqueness, as he found it, is some
thing that lies in travellers desire.
Escape is in believing that you have
escaped and doing nothing to prove
the belief Existence is not improved
by any formula SO simple as merely
moving
All this he found out, but he had
a good time, too. He did not react as
guide books order; he found the Gus
tomary places and sights unlike the
descriptions; he found them a great
deal more customary even than that.
Finally, as if to make q complete
burlesque of the routine, spectacular
travel story, he embarked on a
schooner trip in the South Seas, where
his only companions were the neurotic
lady owner of the boat, her partner,
known as the Cap" and a noisome
young man called Roy, who was sup
posed to be mate. The object of this
jaunt was the romantic one of find
ing pearls. Nobody knew the first
thing about navigating except the
Cap. He was an oid-timer, who
had grown up on sailing ships.
and his knowledge of life ashore
was limited to ports, and disreputable
sections of ports at that. The ship
turned out to be leaky tub, the
three educated passengers were seldom
on speaking terms, the food was vile,
the winds were in the wrong direction,
and instead of approaching the de-
sired port the party found itself pro-
crossing steadily backward Thus the
reality of drifting romantically among
the atolls.
This chapter ought to stand as
classic for all writer's who decide to
get material by navigating the Pa
cific, the Arctic or the Mississippi in
ketches, sloops, schooners, junks. SAM
pans, catboats, yawls, johnboats,
skiffs or barges. After all, it's been
about 80 years since Jack London set
the fashion, and the fashion has been
threadbare for a good part Of them.
There was still another fashion
few years ago-to write books to end
certain types OF books. In this mood