Edwin Clark, “Six Months in the Field of Fiction.” New York Times. June 26, 1927, pp.5, 18, 20
Six Months in the Field of Fiction
Among New American Novelists Brought Forward This Season Julia
Peterkin and Nathalie Colby Are Noteworthy
By EDWIN CLARK
THE present article offers a report
on the state of the novel
during the past six months as
shown in the work of American
and English novelists. To
find a critical attitude that would
be all-embracing is manifestly possible,
for one is confronted by a
great variety of attitude and methods.
There is today no generally
accepted theory of form as applied
to the novel. It is a period of experiment.
Yet there may be observed
a peculiar tendency—a trend
toward compression of time—a return
to the classic unities with
modifying reservations. While the
theatre appears to be attempting to
break from classical traditions, the
novel in some quarters is adapting
them to its uses. Notable examples
of this tendency are to be noted in
“Green Forest,” the remarkable
first novel by Nathalie Sedgwick
Colby and in the work of Liam
O’Flaherty and Virginia Woolf.
This is a happy condition to offset
the serious blight of the heavy hand
of sociology—for the didactic naturalistic
novel is little more than
a negative force—in pushing the expension
of the novel to such an extent
as to bring about a natural reaction
from excess. Then, too, the
new consciousness of the post-war
period has loosed a flood of smart
fiction, an assumed sophistication
that has contributed some brightly
colored bubbles. In spite of all this,
the test of the novel still rests upon
the appearance of “life” and
“truth” and the creation of character
or story.
The laurels for first place among
native novel appear to belong to
Julia Peterkin for her first novel,
“Black April.” It is a finely conceived
book and immediately suggests
comparison with the perfectly
realized “Time of Man,” which
stood so singularly alone last Fall.
Mrs. Peterkin does not command
the fresh, resourceful original style
of Miss Roberts, but both novels
are highly meritorious conceptions
of folk material. Mrs. Peterkin has
created a new field for herself.
“Black April” is an intensive study
of an isolated part of the coast
lands of South Carolina inhabited
by the “blue-gum negroes” of the
riceland plantations. This alien material
she has perceived with a
hearty comprehension, a warm humanity
and excellent restraint. In
her technique Mrs. Peterkin has
reconciled the experimental with
the traditional novel. She has
adapted the method of the picaresque
novel, developing a series of
incidents loosely connected by the
thread of narrative and brought
them into a harmonious whole by
the creation of a dominant character,
whose influence reacts upon
the others. In Black April, the
foreman of the plantation, she
presents an almost heroic figure.
There is posited in the central character
and his tragic defeat the
eternal conflict between worldly living
and the concepts of religion.
The story deals with the trials and
hard fates found among a people
who live close to the earth and in
direct contact with the elements
and elemental emotions. It is an
uncommon and notable novel in
both craft and substance.
The season has been marked by
the reappearance of several well-
known writers; the sensation of
course being Sinclair Lewis’s “Elmer
Gantry,” which received more
space in the newspapers than probably
any other novel in the history
of letters. Booth Tarkington again
appeared after a considerable absence.
Mrs. Wharton contributed a
subtle satire of New York society.
Gertrude Atherton turned away
from the best seller and returned to
her former historical interests.
[next column]
Anne Sedgwick continued in the
genteel tradition. James Boyd contributed
another historical novel of
interest—this time the story of a
private in the Civil War. In the offerings
of all these novelists there
is very little for which the past
hadn’t fully prepared the reader.
It remained for Mrs. Peterkin and
Mrs. Colby to provide for the excitement
of the unexpected.
Religion became an inordinately
active subject of fiction this year.
Sinclair Lewis with his broad,
flouting satire naturally was the
headliner. “Elmer Gantry” was a
gorgeous, blatant cartoon. Here
all the zeal of Mr. Lewis for reform
was given vent. He attempted to
be fair, to give all sides of the
[image of Nathalie S. Colby, two columns wide]
question—but, once his creation
was well launched on his career of
buffoonery and debauch, one became
conscious of an interspersed
monologue of the author giving
vent to his own skepticism. The
story had many capital bits of
sharp caricature and was effective
in producing an uproar of controversy.
Elmer Gantry was a straw
man set up for Mr. Lewis to ridicule.
With the best of Mr. Lewis’s
character creations he has no
standing. For all the gusto and
bounce of the novel it is inconceivable
that anything so facile and obvious
will endure. For after one
has caught the main idea the rest
of the novel is mere repetition.
Quite different was the second
novel of Sylvia Townsend Warner,
who with gentle irony, a puckish
humor, and a rare sense of jest,
took her clergyman to the South
Sea and there let him discover to
his surprise that he never did have
a real religious belief. “Mr. Fortune’s
Maggot” is quite in the tradition
of the eighteenth century
satirists. Donn Byrne and Irving
Bacheller, turning to ancient times,
write in the manner of the old-
fashioned romances. Mr. Byrne has
traced the career of Saul of Tarsus.
The story is full of carefully
worked up descriptions of the life
[next column]
of the times. His method of stressing
the virtues of Paul—by running
down Peter—is perhaps a trifle
crude. Mr. Bacheller’s novel tells
the tale of the wanderings of Doris
of Colossae. He skillfully avoided
a pious sentimentality.
Among the new writers there are
a number who have performed
with more promise. After
Mrs. Peterkin, the honors go to
Mrs. Colby for her brilliantly written
“Green Forest.” This is a
modification of the experimental
novel which rises above imitation
and experiment. In actual passage
of time it is limited to the period
of an Atlantic crossing, but in its
projection of memory it embraces
a lifetime. Several of the characterizations
[image of Nathalie S. Colby, two columns wide]
are superb. Behind a
limiting and restless point of view
it presents a facility for handling
comedy types and situations in a
blending of wit and observation.
With all its intellectual hardness it
has a fresh and rare perception of
ironic comedy.
Charlotte Haldane, the wife of
the well-known English chemist,
offered a satirical speculation upon
the hypodermic age of the future.
It is a wise and witty book that
adroitly plays with ideas. The grotesque
visualization has been ably
sustained to emerge in a reductio
ad absurdum of modern geneticists.
“Half-Gods” by Murray Sheehan
is another fantastic first novel. Mr.
Sheehan fashions a tale half real,
half fancy in which a centaur is
born on the farm of a family of
Missouri hill-billies. Apparently,
for some reason, Mr. Sheehan was
self-conscious of his satire and
milieu, and his excellent idea was
not developed to its full possibilities.
He has, however, the beginnings
of a good style, shrewd observation
and humor and has
achieved a Middle Western study
that wasn’t corrupted by the drabness
of its matter. O. E. Rölvaag,
a professor in the northwest, calls
his “Giants in the Earth” a modern
saga. It is a compelling chronicle
[next column]
of the pioneering days of the
last century—a blend of fiction and
history. The combination isn’t entirely
satisfactory, for, more than a
novel, it is a human document of
the early days. It offers a vast
panorama of the settling of the
northwest, with the pioneers pitting
themselves against the natural elements.
It visualizes with stimulating
and imaginative force and a
simplicity of manner heroic behavior
in an age that has disappeared
into a legend.
Distinctly a different type of
novel was “Springboard” by
Robert Wolf. In his hands the college
novel has reached maturity.
It is a dignified and sympathetic
study of the difficulties of adolescence [sic].
Edna Bryner’s “Andy
Brandt’s Ark” is another novel of
protest. A satire on a dominant
mother, it is an uneven performance.
The family portrayed is an
interesting group, but the satire is
somewhat forced. Miss Bryner’s
next novel will be worth watching
for. In “The Woman on the Balcony,”
which is a bad title that
masks a story of passionate intensity,
Rose Caylor has set down
against the background of Chicago
a discerning account of the trials
of several souls in wedlock. On
such a trite and familiar subject
her book is surprisingly refreshing.
In “Bread and Fire” Charles
Walker has presented an autobiographical
story of industrial unrest.
This novel has a poignant,
disturbing quality in its treatment
of the curiosity of a modern young
man to find out what it is all
about. The clever, superficially sophisticated
“The Red Pavilion,” by
John Gunther, showed a talent for
narrative in a novel that re-
echoes the recent smart fiction.
Many of the younger writers
showed growth in their latest work.
Anne Parrish, in “Tomorrow Morning,”
concerned herself with a concept
of failure due to the difficulty
of adjustment to a new order. It is
a more discerning book than “The
Perennial Bachelor.” Isa Glenn’s
second novel is a document of social
interest. Again her background
is the Orient, and her story that of
a child who is the victim of quarreling
parents. The novel suffers
from her uncertain treatment of
the child. Struthers Burt has written
a novel of contrasts. “The Delectable
Mountains” offers an objection
to popular illusions regarding
the West. It is a well organized
novel that rounds to a happy end.
Somehow Mr. Burt just misses being
first rate—perhaps it is his confident,
[next column]
sane outlook where a touch
of madness would put him on edge.
George Hummel, with several capable
novels behind him, in his recent
appearance was bogged in a
sea of inhibitions in his story of a
New England woman’s frustrated
heart. Mrs. Banning, in “Pressure,”
showed growing power in
her arraignment of middle class
American society.
Helen Hull, a novelist of growing
distinction, who frequently is mistaken
for the authority on sheiks,
was represented in a fresh vigorous
story of three generations.
“Islanders” restates the fortunes of
a family, the outstanding individual
being a woman of rare courage and
inquiring mind. Its picture of the
passing American scene of the last
seventy years is a protest against
pushing woman into the background
of family life when it
comes to a decision calling for action.
It is a comprehensive novel
of arresting interest and well-
rounded characters.
“Red Damask” is a worthy successor
to “Talk.” With this book
Miss Sachs is in position to be compared
to J. B. Stern. A German-
Jewish family has grown rich in
three short generations and is beginning
to leave its isolated inter-
family life for one of wider scope.
Naturally, it is the younger members,
breaking from the traditional
groups, who are to be confronted
with inter-racial jealousy and social
barriers. The story of Abby
Hahl and her difficult loves is remarkable.
With wisdom and candor
the novel surmounts partisanship,
with tolerance it sets down
the ancient clash of young and old,
Jew and Gentile. A stimulating
novel if there ever was one.
Percy Marks in “Lord of Himself”
has added a sequel to his
earlier novel, “The Plastic Age.”
Mr. Marks is sympathetic, and his
account of the efforts of his collegians
to find themselves is racy
but sentimental. Harry Harvey’s
“Coñgai” shows improved technical
management. It is a fascinating
and colorful account of the
mixed-bred women of French China
and their European lovers.
The writing of war novels has
entered a new stage. Apparently
the period of disillusionment has
gone by and humor enters in.
Leonard Nason’s doughboys are
heroes bursting into wise-cracks
and slapstick. “Three Lights from
a Match,” for all its natural
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