Life — August 28, 1924 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

pasa aasn = one d eee GTRUTHERS BURT is on record in his publisher's literary notes as saying that only the highest and lowest socially are important material for copy, and Wallace Irwin in “The Golden Bed” (Putnam) seems to have taken a leaf from his book, Last year Mr. Irwin wrote a novel entitled “Lew Tyler's Wives," which was peopled with characters of the common or garden variety in which it is impossible for most of us to take any interest. Now he steps forward with a fine old Southern family, interweaving the des- tiny of one of the daughters with that of a lowly born confectioner. The re- sult is the kind of thing that you read in a book, but it manages somchow to be interesting. The moral is beautifully Flora Lee Peake inherited her mother’s Venetian bedroom, the out- standing feature of which was a gilded bed with flowers garlanding the head- board and swans perched upon the The idea is that no girl who slept in such a chariot could come to any good end, and later on when she obvious. posts. Life and Letters acquires the coverlet with the naughty motto which even the hardened antique dealer from Chicago blushed to trans- late, you can picture her dying in more miserable surroundings than Mimi or Becky Sharp. Admah Holtz, the candy man, is a character which any author should be proud to have created, and Mr. Irwin deserves applause for every page on which he or his family figures. HE farming classes of Iowa do ni sound promising for copy, especially to those who like high degree in the dramatis persone and want the dialogue as Oscar Wildish as the author can make it. Yet Ruth Suckow waves a magic wand over these yokels, and suffuses their prosaic and industrious procedure with a lively interest. The reader knows well that he has stumbled upon something fine in ‘Country People” (Knopf) without obeying the injunction on the front ot the jacket to read all the glowing things that H. L. Mencken says about the author on its back. — It the story is of SHOPPING Mrs. Spriggs Mrs. Spriggs: NEITHER DO 1. LET'S GOINTOTH DO YOU NEED ANY SHOES? Mrs. Brigg. No. HOE STORE AND REST WHILE THEY TRY SOME ON US. the Kaetterhenry duces as insurgent a younger gene you will find in Newport or ampton. The simplicity of Suckow’s style is in perfect accord w her subject, and I am as confident as Mr. Mencken that her merits will be recognized, RS. PHELPS'S HUSBAND,” | Adriana Spadoni (Bobbs-Merril!), is an illustration of the adage that fools do more harm in the world than knaves. A sex-starved spinster of no romantic experience whatsoever drags a perfectly nice man into marrying her simply he- cause he hasn't the heart to tell her that one kiss does not make a be- trothal. Always meaning the she proceeds to make him miser- able. She even sets up a shop, which was almost more than I could bear. [ hereby warn writers of fiction with de- signs on this department that they must keep their heroines away from quecr blue bowls and batik work if they want any space devoted to them. In this in stance, there was a ray of light in the commercial venture through the h band’s falling in love with the shop assistant. But she would have none of him, so he was saved for Elinor an her approaching baby, which she named Elisart, explaining, “The beginning « Elinor and the end of Stuart.” A/ Phelps had a splendid sense of humo: He responded that the name was per fect, thus bringing down the curtain 00 a note of real tragedy. best, RUTH is said to be stranger than fiction, and when it is served up as “Studies in Murder,” by Edmund Lester Pearson (Macmillan) alse more interesting. The details of fiv extraordinary and almost forgotter murders have been exhumed by the author and the result is hereby highly recommended. I must warn you, how ever, that if you pick it up in th morning your daily tasks will prob ably not be done, and that if you choose it for a bedtime story dawn will have burst upon the hills, as the poets have it, before you get a wink of sleep. Diana Warwick. in comicbooks.com