Tony Bellew. By Margaret Peterson. (Andrew Melrose. 6s.)—This review is
really an exhortation to the writer of Tony Bellew. Her first novel, which appeared about a year ago, was clever but not altogether pleasant ; her second dealt with matters so repulsive that we considered it wiser not
to review it at length; this, her latest, which is concerned with the same subject as was the first, has persuaded us to speak our mind. Miss Peterson has a great many valuable qualities, notably a fine imagination, and a feeling for, and skill to present, the dramatic elements of human nature; she writes good English, and has, doubtless, a large number of readers. It is thus a matter for grave regret that the subject, the people, the tone of her books are invariably unpleasant. Tony Bellew himself, the outcast son of a native girl by a white man, is adopted by an English family, grows up in India, and becomes engaged to an English girl: when she leaves him, and he learns the truth of his birth, he takes to drink, and finally shoots himself. Now does Miss Peterson honestly consider that the physical aspect of inter-racial marriage, and the problem of Eurasians in India, are suitable subjects for light fiction ? In each of her books she would seem to rejoice in the use of innuendo, in the emphasizing of that vulgar, second-rate treatment of sexual problems which should be kept in the background—in fine, in an almoa deliberate misuse of her exceptional talents.
Previous page
