A New Short Story Writer
Life Is a Dream, by Richard Curle. [Doubleday, Page and Company, New York.]
It is to be hoped that Richard Curle will not long remain a name unfamiliar to American readers, for he is a writer of marked and unusual talent. Life Is a Dream is the first of his books to be published in this country, and, consisting as it does of short stories, it can scarcely find as large an audience as it deserves. For there can be no doubt that volumes of short stories have only a modest sale—Kipling and O. Henry to the contrary notwithstanding.
In Curle’s case this is a great pity, for the stories in Life Is a Dream are every one of them remarkable and they have not been printed elsewhere. They are not what we are accustomed to; almost any magazine editor would reject them, if only because they have none of that “punch” which so largely characterizes the work of Kipling and O. Henry, not to mention the other and far smaller people. It is difficult for the man who writes stories without “punch” to procure a hearing; the great popular magazines will have none of him; style, craftsmanship, subtle psychology, exquisite color—none of these (and Curle is a master of them all) can quite atone for lack of that predominant American quality. And that is why Richard Curle, working as he has thus far in a genre that appeals, however strongly, still to only a few, may be long in securing the recognition that is already quite his due.
There are nine stories of varying length in the present volume. They take you to the corners of the earth—London, Damascus, Spain, the West Indies, the high seas, Central America—and their spirit is well suggested in the title of the collection—La Vida Es Sueno. Truly they are such stuff as dreams are made of. Curle’s feeling for the colorful word, the precise phrase is remarkable; in a moment one feels almost bodily transported to a strange and fascinating land. And then the story is unfolded—for these are real stories and never mere impressionistic sketches. They may not be about the sort of people you are likely to number among your friends, but they are about very human folk just the same. They have a subtlety that is never too involved and an engaging frankness which is one of Curle’s greatest charms.
Old Hoskyns, almost homely in its simplicity, is a very touching tale. Going Home is an exquisite bit of irony. The Look Out Man—slight though it is—is profoundly tragic. In A Remittance Man, little by little, like a mosaic, a shrewd, penetrating, and very convincing picture is built up of a man who has lost his grip on life. And so they go—Curle knows the people of his tales so well! He is careful never to tell you too much about them—there is ample opportunity after each narrative for pleasant speculation—but one never feels that the real story he set out to tell has not been fully told.
It is equally important that Curle knows intimately the places he chooses as settings for his stories. Most of this knowledge he has gained in his amazingly extensive travels. Aside from North America he has visited almost every corner of the earth. And yet it is none the less very remarkable—this curious ability to paint atmosphere—a talent not too often associated with those who write in English. Conrad has it, and the greater continental writers—and Curle has studied them to advantage. I should have myself to possess this same ability to make you realize the peculiar fascination of such a story as The Emerald Seeker. It is a fine and thrilling yarn; no matter that—there are many who can tell a rattling tale. But I doubt if any could approach Curle’s masterly sketching of his milieu—a page or two, and in a very real sense you feel yourself in the heart of tropical Central America. Finally and best of all, you know that the color is never there merely for its own sake; there is always a real story to be told and to its telling the background merely adds distinction. It is difficult—trying to show the peculiar charm and interest of Curle’s work. But once you read him, it becomes very apparent.
Richard Curle is only thirty years old. If the promise of Life Is a Dream is fulfilled, he should be one of the really significant writers of his day. He has traveled widely and is widely read; he knows not only men and places, but books as well—particularly the works of the great Russian and Frenchmen. Among living writers he admires especially Joseph Conrad, with whose work his own has a certain kinship. Curiously enough he has written the first adequate book on Conrad and it is shortly to be published in America. It will reveal Curle as a critic of sympathy, insight and independence. Meanwhile every lover of good fiction, everyone who cares for skillful craftsmanship in literature, and all those adventurous persons who would see strange lands and people should read Life Is a Dream.
Alfred A. Knopf.