Vol. VI No. 1 - Modernist Magazines Project

THE BOOKSHELF
author was well-known to reviewers almost as soon as it was published!
But whether one knew that this book was written by Siegfried Sassoon or
Timothy Tinks, would not disturb one's judgment of it; that it is very
good indeed.
To call it, as one hurried writer has called it, the best book of the year, is to
talk nonsense. Like all memoirs, it is partly fiction and it is certain no author
could remember, as clearly as Mr. Sassoon does, the details of childish
habits. For hunting is like war in this; that we only remember the big
things—not the small.
Mr. Sassoon's war experiences were unfortunate. He took a game (like
fox-hunting) too seriously and he was not, if one may judge by the last
two chapters in this book, a "a good mixer" in the proper Army sense.
But the early chapters in this book are excellent and the style is
impeccable.
As I read about early days and onwards, with talk of an aunt, a private
income (never much in jeopardy) and of men and horses I begin to understand
why the author can write as simply and sincerely as he does in this
book.
He was an orphan. He was brought up by a most understanding aunt,
whose portrait remains one of the most beautiful I have encountered in
modern literature.
In the description of Aunt Evelyn I find all the satisfaction I require
from this delightful book. There is for all of us a woman somewhere, and
for a certainty for Mr. Sassoon, Aunt Evelyn.
In the background there is a solicitor (like a father might have been)
a fool about payments, but in the foreground is the aunt who understands,
and a boy and a man, as clean and straight as a blade.
One quarrels with parts of this book as I have quarrelled with Mr.
Sassoon's war poetry because I saw war as a joyous game and he did not;
but no one can read this book without realising its sincerity and the simplicity
of the writing.
Mr. Sassoon was a thoughtful rider to hounds and a thoughtful soldier.
In this book he has given us the truth, as he sees it, about two phases of life
almost akin in the spirit of killing.
Personally I prefer war to fox-hunting and the best soldiers in the world,
killed on foot without "chasing." The exploits of "Tally Ho" were, (save
on one occasion) useless in the Great War. Mr. Sassoon's realisation of this
fact is made clear in this book; at least I think it is though I may have
misread the memoirs. If he could only stand outside life for a space what
a book he could write, for he has all the fairy gifts.
F. H.
JEHOVAH'S DAY. By MARY BORDEN (Heinemann).
"Jehovah's Day" is the seventh book that Mary Borden has written, and
(perhaps because seven is a magic number) this is certainly her most
remarkable, though perhaps not her best book.
IOI