(HEATH, CRANTON) is not, as the title suggests,
something rather thrilling in the way of romantic fiction, but one of those
dispassionate novels in which the author, through the medium of his
puppets, gently scourges the follies of society. _William van der Beck_,
whose fictional house of clay very obviously clothes the spiritual essence
of the author, Mr. LUCIAN DE ZILWA, returns to his native Colombo with a
liberal education, to find that the life and thought of the strange
Indo-European bourgeoisie to which he belongs by birth present no alluring
features. In point of fact the ambitions and hypocrisies, pretences and
prejudices of the Cingalese "burgher" with the tell-tale finger-nails are
merely those of Bristol or Amsterdam evolved under Colonial conditions.
_Jack van der Beck_, for example, the pompous medical ass with a
flourishing practice among the local nabobs, can be found in every
provincial town in Europe. _The Dice of the Gods_ has no plot worthy of the
name, but Mr. DE ZILWA has both satire and philosophy at his command, and a
flair for atmosphere. His scenery and "props" too will be new even to the
most hardened novel-reader. He paints a vivid Oriental background with
which the semi-Western civilization of his characters alternately blends
and contrasts rather effectively.

* * * * *

Mr. TRESIDDER SHEPPARD'S _The Quest of Ledgar Dunstan_ (DUCKWORTH) is one
of those half-sequels of which, while it remains true that You Can Start
Here, you will get a better grip with some previous knowledge of the
earlier story about the same people. Not that your hold upon the present
book will, even then, be other than slightly precarious. For my own part I
seldom met anything so elusive. I freely grant that it is original,
thoughtful and provocative, but the effect it produces is rather like that
of _Jaberwocky_ upon _Alice_ ("It fills me with ideas, only I don't know
what they are!"). At first one seemed in for a comedy of disillusion.
_Ledgar_ and _Mary_, united, are met with in the process of living
unhappily ever after. This is clear enough, human (unfortunately) and
amusing. It was, for one thing, _Mary's_ habit of misquotation that got
upon _Ledgar's_ nerves. "Alas, poor Garrick!" was one of her typical
lapses. Nor was _Ledgar_ himself more of a success with _Mary_, who found
him (and here my sympathies went over to her) lacking in force and
coherence. But as _Mary_ eloped with some