Hordes ancient and modern CHILDREN'S BOOKS
PETER. VANSITTART
Writers of history, fictional or straight, foi whatever age groups, face stiff competition,. whether from the growing tumult of urban streets, dazzling movie fantasies or from in- stantaneous, non-linear revelations of history in the making. When the twiddle of a knob can expose bawling Red Guards, opting-oue prophets, humourless neo-Jacobins awash with hatred or dreams of perfection, books must offer more than gaudy atmospherics and penal violence. To put a tusky helmet on the local park-keeper and call him Genghis Khan is insufficient.: to tush or not to tush is no longer the question. Some semblance of truth and relevance, literal or poetic, is required, None of the books here is negligible, though traditional in form, matter and, for the most part, language. Whether the traditional reader- ship can for much longer be assumed is perhaps a gathering query.
First, the controversial Vikings. Besides being brutal axe-men they could be exceptional craftsmen and builders. Also story-tellers o; Homeric tragic sense. In return for wis- dom Odin sacrificed an eye. Greek in its' useful triteness is 'Better burden beareth no man abroad than wisdom: better it is than riches in a foreign land.' The late Henry Treece understood this very well. A poet, he found true vocation in historical fiction. His Viking trilogy is now reprinted (Vikings' Dawn, Vikings' Sunset and The Road to Mikla gard, Bodley Head 18s each). Language, eco- nomical but richly suggestive, is paralleled by narrative skill: the ancient blood-feuds, pioneerings, songs and treasure-seekings, not glamorous but singular, become as close as the neighbour's greenhouse.
With J. S. Andrews the Vikings reappear as marauding thugs (The Bell of Nendrum, Bod- ley Head 18s). A twentieth century boy sails the Irish islands and, by some freak of time; is swept back to a tenth century monastery shortly to be gutted by the Northmen. Plenty of action, with dragon-ships outpaced by an outboard motor, monks excited by a wrist' watch. Boat-lovers will find technical details accurate without being pedantic. The dialogue occasionally goes overboard. 'Let me show you the layout here,' a monk offers.
From George Finkel a knowledgeable, unro- • mantic *account of the first Crusade, its slaughters and double-dealings, stratagems, dis- graces and heroics: Journey to Jorsala (Angtre.
and Robertson 22s 6d). Bohetnund, Tancred, Raymond, Adhema, the names still clash, the blood-sodden Moslem corpses round the Holy Sepulchre still reek. The strong story line is cast over England, Spain, Asia Minor, Russia, though copious detail and tortuous Christian politics occasionally crowd out the hero, Godric, in his evolution from sailor, bandit, merchant, pilgrim, warrior, poet, hermit to self- knowledge and sainthood. A considerable weld- ing of scholarship and entertainment.
Written more from the outside, less con- vincing in suggesting immediate period sensa-
tions, is E. M. Almedingen's account of eighth century France leading up to the fantonv Saracen defeat at Poitiers, an unfamiliar period and locale (A Candle at Dusk, our' 17s 6d).
A high-minded boy passionately desires liter- acy but this ambition is threatened by the claims of manorial duties and military train- ing, and by the greed of the local monastery. The values and misgivings of a threatened society are colourfully envisaged.
The Palestine of fateful AD 70 is the setting for The Children of the Cave (Zvi Livne trans- lated by Zipora Raphael, OUP 17s 6d). The Romans are invading, with the Jews divided be- tween the Zealots (the fanatical Resistance) and the Moderates who hope that, with surrender, the storm may pass. In one village only the children survive massacre, and establish a self- governing community. Breathlessly written in the present, lively with the elicit& of nationalistic journalese, it often resembles a cartoon strip, Romans all bad, partisans all good. Only in the second part, with the children grappling with adult problems and ten- sions, is the imagination really set to work.
Hjalmar Thesen is more successful in The Castle of the Giants (Hutchinson 21s), and more ambitious. He, too, presents conflict, but less between races as such than between different layers of time. Stone age Africa collidzs with seventeenth century Europe. The youth Harib, neolithic but adaptable, leads the strangers through the unknown for gold. All the 'White Giants' perish save one, and a powerful com- radeship grows between him and Harib, later with Harib's people. Each can learn. Novel sympathies emerge, hopeful of the Africa that might have been. Perhaps an idealisation, but no great matter. Fashionable literary reputa- tions are being made daily by excess of un- imaginative brutality. Here is a moving, undoctrinaire story with considerable feeling for the archaic mind : the primitive powers of taste and smell, the startling effects of alcohol and guns, of new shapes, colours, mirrors. Harib enters a European house and finds 'a live thing in a box.' The clock. There are glowing descriptions of the trudge through animal-crowded forest and bush, and the author convincingly conveys the mores of a people shocked from immemorial passivity by a Single man with fire-magic.
From Maurice Sendak's 'Higglety Pigglety Pop!'
Also on racial relations, but more simple, something of a tract, is Benlie's Portion (Martin Ballard, Longman's Young Books 21s). Ex- American slaves led by an old blind preacher and a humanitarian white officer arrive in eighteenth century Sierra Leone. But the Promised Land, a colony fOunded by far-off London liberals, is actually being run by in- tolerant bullies, drink-soused failures, Anglican bigotry. Promises turn sour, witless cruelty revives, high hopes founder, though the situa- tion is never wholly disastrous. James Barbary.; Captive of the Corsairs (Macdonald 16s) gives youthful adventures amongst North Afri- can pirates when the fledgling American fleet was trying itself out in the Mediterranean. It's the old game of escapes. sea brawls, cruelty avenged, and ruthless absolutes. 'Point of view be damned, Lieutenant Decature, I'm not talk- ing of points of view but of the confounded insult to our flag. sir.' If the late Percy P. ('Skipper') Westerman still has readers they can rally again.
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