New Books of 1914

The Weekly Machen

This March, we return to Arthur Machen’s role as a book reviewer for the Evening News, a popular “genre” for readers of The Weekly Machen. In this opening article, first published in January 1914, Machen juggles a number of “new” books which cover the self-satisfying achievements of politicians, the struggles of poets and the perspectives of sculpted horses. Where possible, links have been provided to the cited volumes.

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New Books of 1914
by
Arthur Machen
January 21, 1914

Life of David Lloyd George. By Herbert du Parcq, M.A., B.C.L. Illustrated. Vols. 3 and 4. (Caxton Publishing Co.)

The third volume of the “Life of Lloyd George” takes up the history of the hero from April 4th, 1903, and brings it down to the end of 1912. He is shown fighting against Chinese Labour, Tariff Reform, the House of Lords, “Racialism”—in Ulster, not in Wales—and against many other things. The fourth volume contains two hundred large, solid pages of Mr. Lloyd George’s speeches from “Trusts and Monopolies” in 1903 to the “Marconi Speech” at the National Liberal Club in 1913.

Theodore Roosevelt: An Autobiography. With Illustrations. (Macmillan.)

This is one of the heaviest books of its size ever published. Not metaphorically, but literally; the paper on which it is printed being of the kind known as “loaded.” As for the text itself, it is good reading enough. It is a Roosevelt Encyclopædia containing an account of the manifold activities of the late President, of his interests and occupations in their infinite variety. Here we see Roosevelt the lover of natural history, of boxing, of hunting, of shooting, of wrestling, and of ju-jitsu. Roosevelt takes an interest in prize-fighters, Roosevelt can climb high cliffs; all his achievements of this sort are here set down, together with his part in the Spanish War, and the comfortable doctrines of the Big Stick and the Square Deal. It is all splendid if you happen to be a professing member of the Roosevelt faith; to dissenters from that crude credo it is perhaps a little excessive and superabundant. Mr. Roosevelt gives a very pleasant description of the wealthy New York home of the ‘fifties of the last century. He was born, he says, amidst haircloth furniture, “which scratched the bare legs of the children”; he devoutly admired the glass prisms set about the gas chandelier in the drawing-room, the Swiss wood-carvings, the Russian moujik drawing a gilt sledge on a malachite stand. “I, accepted that moujik as a priceless work of art, and it was not until I was well in middle-age that it occurred to me that I was mistaken.”

Man Who Missed Fire

Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough. With an Introduction by Charles Whibley. (Macmillan.)

In France Clough would be classed amongst the ratés—the men who have missed fire. His personality pricked all his friends to the hope of an eminent performance; it was understood almost from the sixth form at Rugby that Clough was destined to greatness and glory—it did not exactly appear of what kind. In Mr Whibley’s words: “Clearly he was greater in his life than in his work. The friend of Tennyson and Carlyle, of the Arnolds, of Froude and Bagehot, of Emerson and Norton, of Lowell and Longfellow, he was known and acclaimed on either side of the Atlantic.” Alas! like Waring, he gave them all the slip. He became obsessed by a sort of agonised agnosticism which fretted him as a hair-shirt frets the skin of a novice in a monastery. After searchings and seethings of the spirit, he accepted the dogma:

          Christ is not risen, no—
          He lies and moulders low;
          Christ is not risen!

but failed, somehow, to find therein a source of consolation, joy, and strength. But, anyhow, Clough did achieve one thing: he taught by the example of his hexameter poem, “The Bothie of Tober-na-vuolich,” that it is impossible to write English hexameters. Thus:

          So in the cottage with Adams the pupils five together
          Duly remained, and read, and looked no more for Philip.
          Philip at Balloch shooting and dancing with Lady Maria,
          Breakfast at eight, and now, for brief September daylight,
          Luncheon at two, and dinner at seven, or even later.

Francis Thompson, the Preston-born Poet. By John Thomson. Illustrated. (Simpkin, Marshall.)

Francis Thompson’s father made “a terrible scene” with his son in the year 1885. Francis had been a medical student at Owens College, Manchester, for eight years, and had learned no medicine and passed no examinations. The terrible scene that ensued drove Thompson away from his home into the dreadful wilderness of London, to privation, misery, sickness, and loneliness; it is nothing short of wonderful that the young man as he sat in his dread gutter should have lifted up his heart to the heavens and written great poetry—on unspeakably dirty scraps of paper. Compare his beginnings and surroundings with the beginnings and surroundings of Clough “sometime Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford,” and the true value of “that blessed word” environment will readily appear.

Animal Sculptures

Animal Sculpture: Suggestions for Greater Realism in Modelling and in Pose. By Walter Winans. Illustrated. (G. P. Putnam’s Sons)

In his Preface, Mr. Winans renews his attack on the horse which King Charles the Martyr rides so gallantly by Charing Cross. “Go and examine it,” says Mr. Winans, “and what do you see? Looked at from the front the horse has ridiculous human eyes. He lifts his off foreleg, and yet does not lift his weight to his near side, as horses have to do to keep their balance.” And he stands “as a kitchen table would with one leg cut off,” he would fall over if he were not screwed down, he is like, a child’s cheap toy horse, a saddler’s horse for the exhibition of harness is better modelled. It may all be very true—Mr. Winans is an authority on his subject—and yet the statue remains a fine statue, just as “Animal Sculpture” remains an interesting and suggestive book, though the author speaks of the statue we have been discussing as “the Charles I. in Leicester-square.” Especially interesting are his remarks on the drawings of the African Bushmen, who, he suggests, had, “quite a high knowledge of perspective and art.” Mr. Winans might have added that the “action” in these Bushmen’s drawings of horses has a very close resemblance to the “action” of the horses in instantaneous photography.

The Bonds of Africa. By Owen Letcher. Illustrated. (John Long.)

“Impressions of Travel and Sport from Cape Town to Cairo” is the sub-title of the book, and the author takes us on the long journey through North-Western Rhodesia; Mashonaland, Portuguese East Africa, North Eastern Rhodesia, Nyasaland, British East Africa, Uganda, even unto Egypt. There is a good deal about the now notorious Kikuyu country. On his way Mr. Letcher shot many horned beasts and some monkeys, and when he came to Egypt he spoke, he says, with the spirit of Meneptah, once lord over all Egypt, who rose from his pyramid accompanied by Isis and Osiris. This story seems improbable; but otherwise “The Bonds of Africa” is a trustworthy and agreeable record of a great journey through a great wild land.

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The Weekly

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