Enclosed Worlds
IN A week of competent traditional novels, works like those of Mr. Ingrey and Mr. Ologbosere have a particular appeal. The first tells, in his own words, the story of a psychopath : the sec- ond is an experiment by an African in the Euro- pean novel form. Both books have a memorable vigour.
Me and Victor and Mrs. Blanchard plunges us straight into the private world of Frank, who is charged with the murder of his brother Victor. He is unaware of his guilt and, in fact, imagines he is Victor. The brothers are undersized— the papers are referring to the Midget Murder Mystery—but not without sexual attraction. Though he speaks of willing girls as 'dirty Irish- women,' Frank co-operates with enthusiasm —when one of them invites him in for a 'nice quiet plate of supper.' ('Ohhhhhh, she said, and she started shivering all over and growling again, it was like a lovely big dog.') As for the seduc- tive Mrs. Blanchard, when she kisses him 'as if she never wanted anything more in her life,' Frank falls wildly in love. This is his undoing. Mrs. Blanchard has been living with Uncle Tom but taking more than an interest in Victor. When Victor is thrown downstairs by his rival and crippled, she transfers her interest to Frank. Convinced that she returns his love, Frank visits Victor in hospital and refuses to accept the fact she has made fools of both of them. He kills Victor in a frenzy and assumes his brother's identity. Though he sustains Frank's idiom bril- liantly throughout, the author is forced by the demands of his medium to bring over-much order out of chaos. Some of the later pages, however, especially those describing the exalted ferment which led to the murder, could have been lifted straight out of the Maudsley case notes.
Mr. Ologbosere is a Nigerian and his world is the village of Ugha, some twenty-three miles from Benin City. He tells of Iyamu and Imade, whose situation is much like that of Abraham and Sarah, and his title means 'nothing is hard with God.' Ills a tragedy to be childless in Ugha 'where people believed that to have one's own child was the greatest duty to God on earth,' and the couple have consulted one medicine-man after another without result. Their plight is a thread on which the author strings his pictures of village life and customs, tribal stories like that of Mr. Tortoise and Mr. Dog, and a long sequence describing the visit of Ogie-obo, king of physicians, to whom lyamu and Imade make a last desperate appeal. The visit occasions 'a great exhibition of medical culture' planned to include 'the revelations in natural science, the discovery of new herbs for treatment, divinations, clairvoyance, mental- communications in thought-transference, and all the hidden truths in man's environment.' No need for a health scheme in Nigeria. Ogie-obo prophesies that Imade's sadness 'is without cause' and, sure enough, she produces a daughter, but not before her husband is injured in a graphically described elephant hunt. Mr. Ologbosere's English is lyrical and vivid, and readers will be interested to note how far afield new turns of phrase have travelled. We are told 'it was fascinat- ing to watch these varieties of greens and crops thriving together, enjoying an indivisible form of communism' while the wine in jars is de- scribed as 'ready for self-service.' The publishers have wisely left in inaccuracies, mostly of usage rather than sense, which give the style a vitality of its own.
Mr. McLean, who writes of the island of Skye, has published several children's books. His first adult novel, The Islander, starts off at a pace which leads one to expect, if not a thriller, at least a strong central plot. This is just what the novel lacks. Old Dan dies while out poaching with Niall, and Niall, cornered by police, fells the foremost man with a blow. He escapes, but suspicion overhangs the village. This promising theme, which leads almost nowhere, is followed by others. Unknown to the gossips, Dan has a son in Glasgow who attends the funeral in his dark city clothes, rousing distrust in Niall. Niall's brother turns up and causes trouble. Catriona Iseabail, with whom Niall is in love, comes home from the big city with a strange young man. Ah, says the reader, conflict at last. But the strange young man fades out like every- thing else and, rather late, we realise that the author is merely giving us a series of incidents contrasting the shoddy values of the outside world with those of the crofters who, despite hardship and small rewards, cling to the ways of their forefathers. He writes pleasantly and with humour. He has an eye for character and ability to describe his scene. If we are, nevertheless, a little disappointed, he must blame himself for applying the adventure story method to matter which does not require it.
Miss Edmiston's prose is more subdued than that of Mr. McLean but produces a reverse effect, fulfilling more than it promises. The Shake-Up is a very well-constructed novel. Keeping a steady pace, writing with simple direct- ness, the author builds up a tense situation which she skilfully resolves. Hers is also an enclosed world, that of Turton's Chemical Works where the director of the Efficiency Unit is about to retire. The assistant director, Parchin, naturally expects to take control and is dismayed to dis- cover that a new member of the staff, a Mrs. Ashridge, is being groomed to share his duties on an equal footing. In a town where the factory executives are dominant, this diminution of authority affects not only Parchin's iMportance in the office but his social position. It also deton- ates his wife's dissatisfaction with him. There is a further complication when his friend Quain falls in love with Mrs. Ashridge. It seems that the Quain marriage will break up but, in the end, it is-the Parchins who separate and Parchin is left to face in himself the inadequacies which led to Mrs. Ashridge's appointment. Unlike Mr. McLean, Miss Edmiston has adapted herself ex- cellently to a new genre. She has brought to her work the craft of an earlier avatar, that of crime story writer, and understands that an involve- ment of character is essential to the serious novel. I think we shall hear more of her.
OLIVIA MANNINO
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