PULP FAMINE NOTICES.
(A Hint to Reviewers.)
A WRITER in a recent issue of The Daily Chronicle prefaces a column of novel notices with the following remarks: "The smaller papers consequent upon the famine in 'pulp' have made the reviewing of the new novels rather a job, but at least it is possible to give news of them."
But the writer tackles his job in a half-hearted manner, using such ponderous polysyllables as "international" and "acquisition." Now Mr. Punch, always ready to lend a hand in a good cause, has instructed one of his young men to rewrite two of The Chronicle reviews in words of one syllable, and presents them to his contemporary as models for imitation in the future.
I.—Mrs. Ward.
A Great Hit. By Mrs. Hump. Ward. Lond., Smith, Eld., 3s. 6d. net.
For the most part Mrs. Ward writes long yarns, and those who read her books look to her for more than five score thou. words. Here she gives us a short tale in which the three chief rôles are filled by a man who earns lots of dibs by his pen, his wife, and their, or his, friend—a peer's wife, who takes him up for her own ends. She tries in her hard bright way to shape his course as she views it, which means a place in the sun for her. The wife, who has brains as well as a warm heart, will not be robbed of her man like this, puts up a good fight, and in the end has the best of the bout with the pale witch with dark eyes who had waved her wand o'er the knight of the pen. It is not poss. to deal with all the points of Mrs. Hump. Ward's book in words of one syll., but we can at least say here is a good tale to speed the flight of the hours of eve.
II.-The Bills.
The Shop Girl. By C. N. and A. M. Sons o' Bill. Lond., Meth., 6s.
Miss Child is a nice sweet girl with lots of sense who goes to the land of the Yanks and makes things hum a bit in a nice sweet way. She meets her fate on board the big ship on the way out; but a long and bright yarn has to be read ere she makes the Port of Joy. We see a Yank store in full swing, learn much of the way it is worked, and the folk who run it are well drawn. To be frank one could scarce think that so chic a tale could be made out of the prose of New York. But to the Bills—if I may so call them—all the world is a stage, and they see through the heart of the New Eve with a gaze that is quite weird. In fine this is a tale in which the Bills, while they take new ground, write with all their old flair and charm.