Late Reviews

by Douglas A. Anderson

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  Ransome, Arthur. The Elixir of Life (London: Methuen, 1915).

  Arthur Ransome (1884-1967) is remembered for his series of children’s books which began with Swallows and Amazons (1930). Before that he had published over twenty books, on diverse subjects ranging from literary criticism, biography, and journalism to the sport of fishing and the retelling of folktales. Most of his early books have been forgotten in the wake of his later successes.

  The Elixir of Life was his fourteenth book, but his first novel. In December 1911, Ransome had reviewed The Life of Paracelsus by Anna M. Stoddart, and two years later he drafted “The Philosopher, the Homunculus, and the Elixir of Life,” an idea that had grown out of the book he had reviewed. While in Moscow in February 1915, he returned to the idea, developing it into a novel, and he finished the rough draft of it on March 20th. Ransome’s joy in having written 60,000 words in only one month (he wrote to W.G. Collingwood on 12 April 1915 that he had “never done anything so fast in my life, or with so much enjoyment”) was diminished by the task of revision, during which process he decided that the book was “very bad, in a thousand ways.” It was published in September 1915, and has never been reprinted.

  It is the first person narrative of young Richard Stanborough, who is tossed out on his own by his uncle on his twenty-first birthday. The feel of the era is vaguely eighteenth century, but it isn’t until very late in the book that the reader is informed that the events are taking place in 1716. Young Stanborough is, by the admission of his older self (writing this memoir twenty years later), a “most incomparable young ass,” and the reader is given many examples of the truth of this statement. Perhaps the worst aspect of this mixture of naiveté and youthful arrogance is visible in the circumlocution of the prose, which rambles on and on in a self-important manner.

  Left on the road with nowhere to go, Stanborough heads to an inn, where he is befriended by the strange John Killigrew, with whom he discusses philosophy—Berkeley, Spinoza and Paracelsus—in the manner of a schoolboy. Killigrew invites Stanborough to live with him, and young Richard accepts. There he meets Killigrew’s sister, Rose, conveniently the same age as Stanborough. The mysteries of the plot begin, as well as the clichés of the genre—for all of Stanborough’s actions come about because of his quickly-formed love of the girl. And, irritatingly, Ransome’s chapter titles give away the elements of the plot (e.g., Chapter IX. “I Am Invited to Eternity and Refuse the Invitation”).

  Meanwhile, Stanborough and Killigrew continue to discuss philosophy, covering not only Paracelsus but also Raymond Lully and Cornelius Agrippa, and they perform various alchemical experiments and discuss the Elixir of Life. Nearly half-way through the book, Stanborough finally figures out what the reader has long known—that Killigrew himself has the secret of the Elixir and has unnaturally prolonged his own life, in his case by two hundred years. Richard, because of an admonition by Rose, refuses the Elixir when Killigrew offers it to him. The remainder of the book is an unraveling of the motives and deceits of Killigrew until he gets his just reward and Richard, with Rose to be his wife, returns to his repentant and forgiving uncle.

  As a novel, the book is, as Ransome himself discovered, bad in a thousand ways, but it also has attractions. The prose is assured, confident, and the plot, particularly as it unfolds in the second half of the book, is compelling and uplifts the book to the level of a page-turner. There are some especially well-done sections, like the chapter filled with translated excerpts from Killigrew’s own diary, written in Latin and titled Imitatio Satana. Overall, one feels instinctively that the author of this novel is eminently capable of much better things, as is indeed the case. In the end, though, The Elixir of Life remains primarily a flawed but entertaining experiment in a writing career renowned for books of a very different type.

  Ransome, Arthur. Highways and Byways in Fairyland (London: Alston Rivers, [December 1906]).

  Arthur Ransome (1884-1967) published some twenty-odd books, of a wide variety of types, before he found his métier with Swallows and Amazons (1930) and its sequels. Highways and Byways in Fairyland was his seventh book. It has never been reprinted, and Ransome described it in his autobiography as “a good idea wasted,” while Ransome’s biographer Hugh Brogan dismissed it as a book “about which the less said the better,” and “arguably his worst book.” This is unfair, for the book, though it could have been better developed, is readable and entertaining.

  Basically, as the title implies, the book explores various ways that children can get to fairyland, and what they find there. It is comprised of seven chapters, and is a kind of travelogue of the various inhabited areas of fairyland, covering the Elves, the little bearded Gnomes who live in a Mountain (they are miners) by the banks of the Dreaming River, the musical Water Elves who live in a domed Water Palace, the green Pixy folk of the woods (who cut all the firewood for Fairyland), and the elfin Cobblers, who live in the woodland of the Happy Valley. This kind of geographication of fairies and fairyland was a trend in the early twentieth century noticeable in Bernard Sleigh’s famous An Ancient Mappe of Fairyland: Newly Discovered and Set Forth (1917), and its much lesser-known precursor by Sleigh from 1909, titled An Anciente Map of Fairie-Land, as well as in J.R.R. Tolkien’s earliest writings of his legendarium, published posthumously in two volumes as The Book of Lost Tales. Ransome’s treatment is discursive—besides the travelogue aspect each chapter gives a short tale or two about the fairies that have just been described.

  Ridley, Guy. The Word of Teregor (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1914).

  This short fantasy novel is the only known work of fiction by its author, [Cecil] Guy Ridley (1885-1947), a Harrow- and Oxford-educated London solicitor who was on the far fringe of Bloomsbury, remembered primarily as one of the six participants (including, among others, Duncan Grant, Adrian Stephen and his sister Virginia—later Virginia Woolf) of the famous Dreadnought Hoax of February 1910, when disguised as dignitaries (escorting the supposed Emperor of Abyssinia) they hoodwinked the British Navy and arranged a conducted tour of the flagship of the Home Fleet, the H.M.S. Dreadnought. The success of the operation caused considerable embarrassment to the British government.

  The Word of Teregor is a very unusual fantasy—all but one of the characters are sentient trees, and the tale begins with a kind of mythic prehistory before the Coming of Sound to the Forest, which was then ruled by the Great Oak Teregor. The trees move about on their own will, wary of their enemy man. The various types of trees have different characteristics, and many individual trees are named, such as Anith the Beautiful (an ash-tree), Sork the Yew-tree, and Koderon the Oak-tree. The story has little plot, and is well-written in a quasi-biblical style, but what is most remarkable about the book is how it seems to be a precursor to Tolkien’s treatment of trees in The Lord of the Rings—both in the watchful and distrusting presence of the trees in the Old Forest, outside of the Shire, and in Tolkien’s famous tree creatures, the Ents and the Huorns. Ridley even has a gathering of trees called a “Moot of the Trees,” and one of the minor trees is named Enteth; Tolkien calls his gathering of sentient tree-creatures an Entmoot. There is no evidence that Tolkien ever read Ridley’s book, but the similarities in names, ideas and themes are tantalizing.

  The Word of Teregor was reprinted by Nodens Books in 2018.

  Robbins, Tod. Close Their Eyes Tenderly (Monaco: Editions Inter-Pub, [no date, but circa January 1947]). Illustrated by Paule de Nize.

  Tod Robbins’s last novel is another curious piece of work, reworking the familiar Robbins theme of a man pursuing murder as a creative form of art. The twist this time is that the man—the wealthy, young Maxwell Jenks—finds a soulmate in Elaine Verez, with whom he plans and executes murders. Written with Robbins’s usual misanthropy and wry humor, this novel may be merely a curiosity, but it is an entertaining one.

  Robbins, Tod. In the Shadow (London: Elkin Mathews & Marrot, 1929).

  Clarence Aaron Robbins (1888-1949), who wrote under
the name “Tod Robbins,” is remembered today mainly as the author whose short story, “Spurs” (Munsey’s Magazine, February 1923), was filmed as Freaks (1932) by Tod Browning. Some might also remember that Robbin’s novel The Unholy Three (1917) was filmed twice (in 1925 & 1930), both films showcasing the talents of Lon Chaney Sr., the later version being his first and only sound film.

  In the Shadow is a very odd piece. In the opening chapter we are introduced to a bourgeois French family, the Delatours, comprising husband Lawrence, wife Hortense, and their four children. Madame Delatour dies at the end of the chapter, and the entire rest of the book is made up of chapters written from the perspectives of each of those she has left behind, including, in addition to those listed above, Madame Delatour’s father. A final chapter, “The Black Parade,” gives a more roving perspective of the funeral march and burial. And that is all.

  The book is very well-written, and the characters finely drawn. One wishes that the author could have more ambitiously exercised his talents. There is little wrong with what there is in the book, but one retains an overwhelming feeling that the author could have done something much more interesting if he had wanted to.

  Robbins, Tod. The Scales of Justice and Other Poems (New York: J. S. Ogilvie, 1915).

  Robbins’s third book and only collection of poems. This is a collection of twenty-three poems. Most are routine, and more than a bit sing-song in an old-fashioned way. Compared to Robbins’s fiction, these poems are almost entirely without interest. One particularly macabre example should suffice:

  Come Dine

  The night is cold, and dark, and drear;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  A wanton whiff of Life’s good cheer,

  A foaming glass, the larder near,

  A taste of flesh, a sip of wine;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  Dark shadows speed across the sea;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  Soon other guests, than you and me,

  Will enter in Life’s hostelry

  To taste the flesh and sip the wine;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  Your face is white, like winter snow;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  The wind, you hear, is sighing low;

  Close your eyes, and you’ll never know

  Your sister’s flesh now steeped in wine;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  The Silver Skull is in the sky;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine—

  It drives the charnel coach close by.

  For all who sup at last must die

  To pay for flesh and tasted wine;

  Come dine, my brother, come dine.

  Robbins, Tod. Silent, White and Beautiful and Other Stories (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1920). Preface by Robert H. Davis.

  A collection of four lengthy stories, all previously published, with an overly praiseworthy introduction by Robert H. Davis, the editor of Argosy/All-Story, in whose magazine much of Robbins’s fiction (including two of the present stories) first appeared.

  Robbins remains a curious writer, whose stories, while exhibiting many weaknesses in character usually found in pulp fiction, add a level of intelligence and subtlety that is highly unusual. All of Robbins’s stories are worth reading, but few of them are without some kind of flaw. And bibliographically, Robbins is often complex.

  The title story appeared in H.L. Mencken’s Smart Set (April 1918), while “Who Wants a Green Bottle?” and “Wild Wullie the Waster” both appeared in Davis’s All-Story Weekly (21 December 1918, and 14 February 1920, respectively). All three were reprinted (with five additional stories) in Who Wants a Green Bottle? And Other Uneasy Tales (1926), and many of these stories reappear in various volumes of the Creeps library from Philip Allan of London in the 1930s.

  The gem of the present volume, “For Art’s Sake” (twenty-one chapters), also has a curious history. An earlier version (seventeen chapters) was published as Robbins’s first novel, Mysterious Martin (1912). It was revised, retitled, and announced as a forthcoming publication of the legendary Thrill Book (a serialization was to begin in the November 1919 issue), but that magazine folded before the story was published. A further revised version (twenty-two chapters) later appeared as a solo novel, The Master of Murder (1933), published by Philip Allan. The story concerns a man who practices murder as an art form. In many ways, it anticipates some of the work of Clive Barker (and others) by some seventy years. An omnibus of Robbins’s best work is overdue.

  Robbins, Tod. The Spirit of the Town (New York: J. S. Ogilvie, 1912).

  This is Robbins’s second novel, published in December 1912; his first, Mysterious Martin, had appeared in March of the same year. Like most of Robbins’s work, this is an odd piece. Mainly it is a coming of age tale, about a rich young man, fresh out of college, who comes to New York to make his way as a writer. On another level it is about the clash between the impulses of civilization and of nature. Characters in the story exemplify the strengths and failings of each side, but this is not a simple philosophical tale of black and white motives and results. Despite some failings of characterization, and a few too many pulp-styled contrivances and chance-meetings, this is an intelligent and interesting book. A failure in many ways, but one with a number of attractions.

  Russell, Ray. The Case Against Satan (New York: Ivan Obolensky, 1962)

  Upon its original publication in 1962, this may have been a ground-breaking novel, at least with regard to its subject. Basically, it is the story of two Catholic priests (one holding some doubts) performing an exorcism on a clearly disturbed sixteen-year-old girl, supposedly possessed by the devil. But the book has not stood well the passage of time. First, many of the attitudes expressed in the book are clichéd and sadly out-of-date, and if a prospective reader cannot additionally stomach over-the-top Catholic dogma then this book should be avoided. Second, the same ground was covered more thoroughly by William Peter Blatty’s novel The Exorcist (1971), which was also made into a popular film two years later. The Case Against Satan may have been the first modern novel of exorcism, but being first does not always mean being the best.

  Ray Russell (1924-1999) is perhaps best-known for his screenplays for films based upon his own writings, like Mr. Sardonicus (1961), from a short story “Sardonicus” published in Playboy in January 1961, and Incubus (1982), from a 1976 novel of the same name. Russell was also fiction editor at Playboy for many years.

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  St. John, J. Allen. The Face in the Pool: A Faerie Tale (Chicago: A.C. McClurg, 1905).

  James Allen St. John (1872-1957) is probably best-remembered for his illustrations to the writings of Edgar Rice Burroughs, though he did also illustrate stories in Weird Tales in the 1930s. The Face in the Pool is his only known work of fiction, and it is the first of many books he illustrated. It is a children’s story, of fourteen chapters, with four color plates and fourteen drawings in black and white (introducing the chapters), along with other decorations and opening letters to the chapters.

  The story is of young Princess Astrella of Elgardane, who at her christening pulls on the tail of the black cat owned by the wicked witch Eluesa, thereby giving the witch reason to cause mischief. The witch gives the girl a tiny silver spinning wheel, and says: “This is my gift, and it will grow as she grows. If she prove fonder of spinning than of play, all will be well; but if not, I shall return when she is sixteen, and then—.” The spinning wheel is of course enchanted, and entices the young princess to go a-larking. On her sixteenth birthday, the witch takes her and puts her in a stone tower with only one window near the top, surrounded on all sides by a dense forest. To be freed, a prince must perform three tasks and pass through the enchanted woods.

  Prince Hardel has a vision of Princess Astrella’s face in a pool (hence the title), and goes about the task of rescuing her with aid from some fairies and wizards.

  This routine story is unambiti
ous but it moves along confidently and competently. The real attraction of the book is seen in the illustrations, which raise the level of quality of the entire production. The black and white drawings are excellent, as are the color plates, which include one marvelous picture of the young knight fighting a dragon with the witch in the background.

  Salmon, Arthur L. The Ferry of Souls: A Book of Fantasies and Sketches (London: Foulis, 1927).

  Arthur Leslie Salmon (1865-1952) was a prolific poet, journalist and essayist of the West Country. Born in Exeter, he was educated privately in Bristol, where he lived from early childhood until his death at the age of eighty-seven. His first three books, Matins, Noon-Song, and Vespers—each a single poem—appeared in 1887, and of his fifteen collections of verse the first was Haunted and Other Poems (1894), the final being Swan Songs: A Collection of Later Verses (1938). Some of his poems were set to music, one, “Pleading,” by Sir Edward Elgar. However, the works for which Salmon was best known were the large number of topographical books he wrote covering various locations throughout the West Country, including Cornwall (1903, with several revised editions through the 1930s); A Popular Guide to Devonshire (1904); Literary Rambles in the West of England (1906; rev. 1937); The Cornwall Coast (1910); Dorset (1910); Dartmoor (1913); Bath and Wells (1914); Plymouth (1920); The Heart of the West: A Book of the West Country from Bristol to Land’s End (1922); and Bristol (1922). Two volumes of personal reminiscences were A Book of English Places (1934) and A Book of Memories (1937).

  Salmon’s fiction was collected in four volumes, the first two of which are companion volumes that contain the bulk of his fantasy writings. The Ferry of Souls, published in May 1927, is the first collection, containing eighteen prose sketches and vignettes, several of which had previously appeared in the magazine Colour (a few also were in The Outlook). The second volume is Waysides and Byways: A Book of Realities and Dreams, published in November, 1928. It contains nine further stories, and eight more grouped under the title “Studies in Loneliness.” Additional stories by Salmon published in Colour between 1918 and 1931 remain uncollected.