Is worth a special quest,”
we read the old hand.
R. L. P.
Young Felix. By Frank Swinnerton. (George H. Doran.)
In “Young Felix”, Frank Swinnerton has thoroughly exposed the Hunter family. Grumps, Auntie Lallums, Ma and Pa, Godfrey and Felix—every one is perfectly distinct and deeply comprehended. It is a beautiful tale of bubbling mirth overcoming every disaster, for there is the charm of the Hunter family—no matter how great the opposition may be, their infinite good-nature rises to the top and the day is saved. As some one said of Felix, “He would be a great success in any profession—or a great failure”.
It is a pleasant contrast to the presentday novels of youth in America. If the lack of sophistication in the young Felix seems improbable, at least it is better to err on that side than the ultra-mature nature of our own precocious urchins. There is quite enough humor in this book without exaggerating the unruly side of youth. The story throughout is of the lowest stratum of middle-class life already so well handled by Arnold Bennett, the early H. G. Wells, Hugh Walpole, and John Galsworthy. We have no such quintet over here, but we can take comfort in the fact that they are writing in the same language and enriching it.
There is much in “Young Felix” which recalls the earlier “Nocturne”, and yet I believe this is even finer. It has the same lovely quiet, but there is added a treasure of irrepressible humor that outshines anything Swinnerton has ever done. As Mr. Wells says: “Seen through his art, life is seen as one sees things through a crystal lens, more intensely, more completed, and with less turbidity.”
D. G. W.
Jennifer Lorn. By Elinor Wylie. (George H. Doran.)
A poet’s first novel usually brings forth a sharply defined list of questions. Is it anything more than expression? Is it a poem in prose? Is it sincere? Always “Is it sincere?” With Elinor Wylie none of these are permissable. She sub-titles her story, “A Sedate Extravaganza”, and that is just what it is—a burlesque on the latter eighteenth century. Its step-sister, “Nets to Catch the Wind”, shows its relationship only in the rare delicacy common to both and unsurpassed—even by Walter de la Mare. “Jennifer Lorn” is whimsical, satiric—at times reminiscent of Max Beerbohm in his early essays and yet far more like Jane Austen. It is a far cry from Beerbohm to Austen and yet in this story we have the union. There is the common outcry against willy-nilly women who swoon upon the slightest provocation; women who tremble before their lord and master, languishing beside their smelling salts.