Anodyne

Crabtree House — By Howel Evans

What is a ‘sweetly pretty’ novel? Standing in the library waiting for the book which never is in, we are constantly hearing this term of recommendation used by a certain type of young lady. ‘Oh, do read “Room for Two.” Of course “The Fireplace” is interesting and awfully thrilling and exciting, but it is not sweetly pretty.’ And the sweetly pretty book wins the day.

We imagine it is a novel which sets out to prove that the only form of government is government by the heart alone, and for the heart alone. There is a dreadful black monster, a kind of wild bull, looking over the fence at the innocent undefended pic-nic and plotting and planning how he may come in and upset and trample all—it is in the mind. Beware of it. Have nothing to do with it. Shun it as you would your mortal enemy. The innocent, the simple, the loyal, the trusty, the faithful, the uncomplaining—all, all are children of the heart. Have they ever plotted and planned, ever lain tossing through the dark hours—and thinking; ever smiled strangely and disappeared; ever slunk down narrow streets muttering something and frowning? Never! These are the habits of villains, of schemers, adventurers and clever men—these are the signs by which ye may know the children of the mind. If the mind triumphs—where is your happy ending? And as we understand the sweetly pretty novel it is part of its ‘appeal’ that you are never out of sight of page 54 the happy ending from the very first page. Your faith is tried, but not unduly tried; the boat may rock a little and a dash or two of spray come over, but you are never out of harbour—never so much as turned towards the open sea.

Poor little human beings! From the success of the sweetly pretty novel one may learn how difficult it is for them to keep their faith intact in the triumph of good over evil. What consolation to turn from the everyday world with its obscure processes and its happy endings so remarkably well hidden to another existence where every other moment they may have the comfort of crying: ‘There now! I knew that was going to happen!’

What the outside reader does feel inclined to question is whether the simple people need be so incredibly simple and the innocent characters innocent to imbecility.

The heroine of ‘Crabtree House,’ for instance, at the age of nineteen when about to tell her father that her young man wishes to marry her, goes to these lengths:

‘… and Dad—’ Rosie came up and fingered her father's collar, and put his tie straight and whispered a little shyly: ‘he—he—he's been asking me when—when it's to be. You know what I mean, Dad, don't you? And I said, well, that—he—I—he—we must ask you, Dad. Don't you see?’

That is hard enough to bear. But when Rose delivers herself later of:

‘But there, I won't speak any more of that, Daddy.

… I know it only makes you sad, and Daddie—may I—may I, to-night, like I used to when I was a little girl, and you used to call me Goldilocks, may I say my prayers on your knees?’

Amos could only smooth that silken hair once more; he could not trust himself to answer; and Rosie knelt at her father's knees and with eyes shut and hands folded prayed in silence….

page 55 we seem to hear the ‘Broken Melody’ as we read and the waves beating against the Eastbourne Pier. Let us be grateful to Mr. Howel Evans that we are not with Rosie and her husband in the early months of their wedded life when Rosie is caught hemming an infinitesimal garment…

But apart from this embarrassing exaggeration of the characters' heavenly qualities ‘Crabtree House’ is as nice an example of the sweetly pretty novel as you might wish to find. Heart and mind are nicely balanced against each other, and though you would not doubt the issue of the fight, you cannot be absolutely certain how the victory will be obtained, and so—you read on.