BRIEFER MENTION
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Challenge, by V. Sackville-West (12mo, 297 pages; Doran: $2) might—with a little less genuflection to Conrad—have become an even better novel than it undoubtedly is. A great deal of brilliance has gone into it; a splendid setting devised for the enactment of drama, but the central figures in the narrative—having a tragic intensity imposed upon them for which they are ill-prepared—crumple up around the edges and disclose the cardboard mounting. The author has concerned herself with a tenpenny revolution, but her style is not scaled down to it; the emotional sweep is out of proportion to the issues involved and the boundary line between idealism and quixotism is crossed—but not with impunity.
The Burning Spear, by John Galsworthy (12mo, 251 pages; Scribner: $1.50) shows the author as a master of pointed, fantastic caricature, a realm into which his mordant dramatic comment on community problems and the occasional quiet sallies of his novels gave no perspective. The antics of John Lavendar, descendant of Don Quixote and Pickwick, the credulous victim of floridly patriotic propaganda, are staged with the skill of a Barnum, supplemented by Galsworthy's admired sense of fitness. There is much horseplay, but not the most insistent serious-mindedness could resist such stringently selected, uproarious fun.
In Dark Places, by John Russell (12mo, 285 pages; Knopf: $2.50) is a second-rate imitation of its predecessor, Where the Pavement Ends. The romance of the South Seas has become tediously vulgarized. Mystery has been melodramatized into clap-trap, description has run into patter, glamour has been torn into shreds of tinsel. In place of power we have an efficiency that is feeble and works far away from the mark. Mr Russell has found his pattern; now he can turn 'em out by the dozen.
Plays of Near and Far, by Lord Dunsany (12mo, 245 pages; Putnam: $1.75) shows the author a little less inclined than usual to wander to dim palaces beyond the sunset and to enter "faery lands forlorn." While the fantastic elements are not lacking, and one may find much of the gloss and shimmer with which Dunsany usually decorates his work, yet he succeeds at times in coming down almost to earth; and he is as skilful in producing an atmosphere of reality in one or two of his plays as he is in creating an effect of beautiful unreality in the others.
Puppet Plays, by Alfred Kreymborg (16mo, 133 pages; Harcourt, Brace: $1.75). In his foreword to this volume, Gordon Craig hazards the opinion that these highly individualistic little dramas would act better than they read, but one who has seen some of them put to that test is inclined to the contrary view. What appears on the printed page as fanciful, bizarre, or poetic takes on a somewhat self-conscious pose across the footlights; the flavour is charming, but a bit too precious. What the author himself accurately terms "the contrapuntal ritual" of the plays is deftly indicated in the text, but difficult to catch in the theatre. Mr Kreymborg bestows his highest praise upon marionettes, for their greater fidelity to his mood and purpose.
