Enoch Strone, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
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Enoch Strone, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
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Edward Phillips Oppenheim (22 October 1866 – 3 February 1946) was an English novelist, in his lifetime a major and successful writer of genre fiction including thrillers. Oppenheim's literary success enabled him to buy a villa in France and a yacht, then a house in Guernsey, though he lost access to this during the Second World War. Afterwards he regained the house, le Vanquiédor in St. Peter Port, and he died there on 3 February 1946. During the war he worked for the Ministry of Information.
Enoch Strone, by E. Phillips Oppenheim- Published on: 2015-11-04
- Original language: English
- Dimensions: 9.61" h x .55" w x 6.69" l,
- Binding: Paperback
- 244 pages
About the Author Edward Phillips Oppenheim (1866 1946), an English novelist, was a major and successful writer of genre fiction, particularly thrillers. Among his books are The Betrayal, The Avenger, The Double Life of Mr. Alfred Burton, The Devil's Paw, and The Evil Shepherd.
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0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Victorian Socialist Romance By Dharma Enoch Strone is a book-loving rustic loner who lives in a remote hand-built cabin. He works as a mechanical engineer in the industrial town of Gascester. One evening he meets a poor factory girl, Milly, who has been abandoned by her friends during a walk in the woods. On the same day he is accosted by the Reverand Martinghoe who introduces Strone to his beautiful, widowed, wealthy sister Lady Malingcourt. Strone is bewitched by her lovely singing and the seductive manners of the jaded upper class widow.At the urging of the owner of the factory, Strone invents a Miracle Crane, capable of doing the work of hundreds of me. This makes him a rich man, able to pursue his socialist dreams of bettering the working class. Who will he marry? the lovely and lower class Milly or the bequiling and brilliant lady?Writing in 1902, Oppenheim uses Strone to vent pre-war socialist ideologies, lamenting the poverty of the working class, the indifference and greed of the wealthy, and the corrupt politics of the Labour Party.The story hinges on an assumed moral principle which is so absurd and anachronistic that it is difficult to sympathize with the characters. This is truly a Victorian romance."His opening phrases scarcely gave promise of anything of the sort. He was unaccountably nervous, over-anxious to do justice to the cause which was so dear to him, and at the same time horribly aware that he was not succeeding. Suddenly, however, after a somewhat prolonged pause a wave of memory swept in upon him. He remembered what he himself had passed through, the underworld of the great cities was laid before him. It stretched away before him, a ghostly panorama, its wailing rang in his ears, the death cries of its children shook his heart. Then, indeed, he straightened to his task. His speech was stilted no longer, his deep voice shook with passion. These rows of unemotional men, some sorting papers, some whispering, some giving him a laboured attention--they too must see and hear. And they did! It was as though a great canvas were stretched before them, and Strone, with the lightning brush of a great master, was painting with lurid touches a terrible picture, a picture growing every moment in horror, yet from the sight of which there was no escape. "It is like this," he cried, and the wan, starved faces of dead children gleamed pale upon the canvas; "Like this," and loathsome vice and unspeakable disease stalked before them, and shook bony fists, which seemed indeed to move on the canvas and threaten the spell-bound audience. "See!" And countless forms seemed to throng the canvas, an endless and awful perspective of suffering and death-smitten humanity. "Men and women like you and yours, born with an equal right to taste the sweetness of life, ground into the likeness of parasites and criminals by your accursed social laws. Murder is a terrible crime, but it is not only their bodies which you destroy, but their souls. God help those on whose shoulders the burden of these things must rest."There were statistics, a plain statement of the practical measures necessary and a brief but passionate peroration. A thrill went through the House when Strone spoke of himself, only newly come from that world for whose salvation he pleaded. All the sins of the universe, all that was ugly, and vicious, and detestable sprung from that pestilential under-current down which were ever drifting the great stream of lost humanity. Drink was an effect, not a cause. A miserable existence begat despair, despair drink, and drink crime. Let them awake from their indifference, their cynicism, or false philosophies, and strike a mighty blow at the great heart of the hideous monster. Life and freedom were gifts common to all. Those who sought to make them a monopoly for the rich must pass through life to the shadow of death with an appalling burden upon their shoulders. And more than any in the world, those men to whom he then spoke must face this responsibility.So he pleaded, no longer at a loss for words, passionate, forceful, touched for those few minutes at any rate with a spark of that Divine fire which carries words straight to the hearts of men, the gift of true eloquence. When at last, and with a certain abruptness, he resumed his seat, there reigned for several moments a respectful and a marvellous silence. Then a storm of cheering broke the tension, cheering from all parts of the House, led by the Prime Minister, joined in by the leader of the Opposition."
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