The Dark Tower. By Francis Brett Young. (Martin Seeker. 6s.)—Although
it needed all Mr. Brett Young'■ skill to carry through the task he undertook, he ham proved himself a master of the technique of his craft, and has achieved a brilliant piece of bravura writing, embellished by his fastidious and deliberate choice of words. For here, in a narrative which is given us by means of a continuous con- versation, sometimes at third, even fourth band, he Las contrived to keep the thread of interest unbroken, and our attention focussed throughout on the central characters. The actual story is as old as the hills, and as grim and unbending. How Judith married Charlie, that dissolute young rake, how her baby died, and Alaric came to the tower, and loved too late, has all been told before, hex possibly been set before against this very background of dark fir-trees and mountains of loneliness and sudden sunshine, to the tune of the wind sobbing round the dreary heights. But Mr. Young may claim as his own the tragical figure of Judith herself, and the strange atmosphere which seems to hang heavy round the book and grip us by the throat; and may rest content that he has made a worthy contribution to what is best in modern fiction.