CORDUROY. By Adrian Bell. (Cobden Sanderson. 7s. 6d.)—Mr. Adrian Bell's
Corduroy is not a novel, nor is it exactly a diary or a disquisition. It is difficult to say what it is, except that, in its own way, it is wholly delightful. Mr. Bell recounts his adventures as a young man straight from the artistic world of Chelsea, apprenticed to a farmer to learn something about agriculture. There is a vitality and freshness of manner about this modern pastoral which carries one easily along through a pleasant maze of turnips, mangolds, and the yearly routine of a Suffolk farm. As the seasons change and the crops come and go, the green young apprentice is gradually initiated into the mysteries of coaxing a hazardous living from the soil—no simple matter in these degenerate days. At the conclusion of his apprenticeship he decides to set up as a farmer on his own, and the book ends with him settling into his new home. Mr. Bell writes with an altogether charming modesty, tells countless stories against himself with considerable wit, and never bothers the reader with too much technical detail. This delightful book is enhanced by its pleasant production and a most attractive dust cover.
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