page 44

New Zealand Literature

(By Winton Keay)

In spite of New Zealand's tender youth there is forming, with perceptible rapidity, a literature characteristic of its domestic life and containing the ideals of those whom the Hon. W. Pember Reeves has described as “The New Race.” A nation's literature is the reflection of its soul, and it augurs well for the future that even at this stage we can survey with pride the writings of the sons and daughters of Maoriland.

England has its Dickens; France its Zola; Russia, its Techov; America its O. Henry, and we now look to a writer of outstanding merit to place New Zealand's name indelibly upon the literary honours’ board. Strange though it may seem, it is indeed a fact that the greatest strides in novel writing in this country have been made by women. Miss Rosemary Rees has gained a wide reputation as an authoress, and her last novel is said to be her greatest work. Its title is “Wild, Wild Heart,” and it is at present appearing in serial form in Australia. The story deals with station life in New Zealand, and is staged near the small township of Omoana. Miss Rees is a lady so gifted that she might well be expected some day to write a book of such calibre as will set the tongues and pens of the critics throughout the world busy with approval and praise. Another of the fair sex to make her way in literature is Miss Edith Howes, of Christchurch, whose “Cradle Ship” gained more favourable notice abroad than has been the good fortune to befall any other New Zealand novelist. Miss Howes’ next attempt, “The Enchanted Road,” in no way detracted from her well-won reputation. One of our best-known writers, Miss K. Mansfield, died before her undoubted talents had fully matured. Had she only been spared there is not the slightest doubt she would have enhanced the world-wide reputation she so early gained as a brilliant writer.

Our verse writers, too, are many and worthy. That they compare more than favourably with the bards of other English-speaking countries will be admitted readily by those who are familiar with this department of English literature. It is not claiming too much for our New Zealand poets to say that relatively more of their verse is worthy of preservation than of that of any other English-speaking country.

What Sir John Foster Fraser has not written about the countries of the world is not worth knowing, and, similarly, what Mr. James Cowan has not written about our own country we need not bother our heads over. A man of wonderful industry, wide knowledge and ready pen, he has specialised in dealing with the natives and their lore, rather than the lighter side of literature. In the short stories he has written, some old superstition of the Maori invariably forms the basis of the plot. As time goes on Mr. Cowan's books will be still more sought after. They will prove fountains of information to the youth of to-morrow when they come to study the history and conditions of yesterday. “Travel in New Zealand,” by this author, forms two volumes, touching upon every phase of the tourist attractions of the Dominion which have come as a boon to overseas travellers and to those of us who believe in the slogan “See New Zealand First.”

The setting down in print of the results of his studies of the Maori, ancient and modern, has been the life work of Mr. Elsdon Best, a gentleman who does not believe in guesswork, but insists upon historical proof. Without a doubt, Mr. Best is our greatest authority upon the history and folk-lore of the Maori.

New Zealand is proud of those men and women who, yesterday and to-day, by hard work and patient application are laying the foundations of a new literature, a clean, healthy, wholesome literature, characteristic of, and a credit to, “The New Race.”