BRIEFER MENTION
Nigger, by Clement Wood (12mo, 232 pages; Dutton: $2) has for its subject the futile struggle of the Southern negro for emancipation. Absorbed in the story, the reader hardly notices how it is told. And Mr Wood aids this concentration—this forgetfulness—by never intruding with rhetoric, propaganda, or bitterness, and by using his gift of very individualized expression only in a few phrases that illuminate his theme in reflecting his poet's perception of it. He has allowed his subject to use him as a medium, instead of overshadowing it by his personality. It is difficult to say why this book falls short of greatness: perhaps because it treats an epic subject too sketchily. But it is a tale so engrossing that the reader becomes a passionate participant; and it stays in his mind with ever-increasing vividness, compelling thought, and taking on the aspect of life he has known.
Of The Collected Novels and Stories of Guy de Maupassnat, translated and edited by Ernest Boyd (Knopf: $2 a volume) two volumes have already been issued: Boule de Suif (12mo, 248 pages) and Mademoiselle Fifi (12mo, 262 pages) each with "other stories." The stories are presented in their chronological order; intelligence has at last been brought to bear on the matters of titling, accurate and frank translation, restoration of forgotten or suppressed stories, the incorporation of posthumous works. The format is exceptionally agreeable, the type, binding, paper, covers, all conspire to make the definitive edition a pleasure to every sense. The material for a proper revaluation of de Maupassant is therefore in hand; the material likewise for the definite pleasures one already knows to exist. From the same publisher, by the same translator, and similar in physical aspect comes also Germine Lacerteux, by Edmond and Jules de Goncourt (8vo, 329 pages; $3). The name of the brothers has not had the same enduring prominence as that of Zola or of de Maupassant; the translation, at a time when the art of the novel is again in discussion, is peculiarly fortunate.
Millions, by Ernest Poole (12mo, 279 pages; Macmillan: $1.75) embodies a story which stands out like a circus three-sheet in a churchyard, but its merits as a novel are not to that extent conspicuous. Mr Poole seemingly allowed himself to become so absorbed in underlining his theme that he neglected to make his people quite credible; he has plastered his ideas about so freely that they have lost the power of self-fulfilment, and consequently display a dwindling vitality. As a narrative, it is swiftly projected and shrewdly edged with satire, but a greater degree of artistic restraint would have moved it several notches higher in the scale of excellence.
Bennett Malin, by Elsie Singmaster (12mo, 328 pages; Houghton Mifflin: $2) testifies to a clear advance in its author's competence. The narrative reflects life intimately and with a first-hand directness which is at once challenging and illuminating. As a character study, it has substance and back-ground; as an accomplishment it is sure-footed and sincere.
