Ninety-Six Hours' Leave by Stephen McKenna (1917)

This fourth novel is a return to the author's brightest mode. His first novel was close to the mood of this; the second and third deepened considerably. I don't know what prompted the return, but either of these modes is a welcome one for this reader - McKenna has a lovely rich aplomb whether he directs it toward the lighter or the darker. It's the story of four upper class young officers with a few days' leave in 1916. They return to London and re-emerge into their prior world - that of the top hotels, their restuarants and cafes, and the denizens who frequent them. One of them spies a gorgeous young woman as they alight at the station on first arriving, and makes it his mission to get to know her. Little does he know that the urge will lead him and his three fellows into a world of spying, political intrigue, royal impersonation and murder! The strangest thing about reading McKenna is the inexplicability of his reputation's demise. Perhaps I have to read further to find out why - he survived until 1967, publishing almost yearly, with his final novel in 1962. But he's never been 'rediscovered', never republished by lovers of the neglected author, is almost completely forgotten. From being hailed on his debut in 1912 as Oscar Wilde's truest inheritor, it seems that, after his huge success in 1918 with the novel after this one, it was all downhill, and a long way down. This lively stylish jeu d'esprit captures the spirit of elegance which is now more associated with Michael Arlen and the authors of the twenties. A kind of knowing cynicism pervades it, but not in a detrimental way. I'm guessing that the success of The Thirty-Nine Steps for John Buchan a few years previously provided an inspiration for this one's tangling with espionage, but the author was the nephew of a cabinet minister and close to that world of diplomacy and no doubt skulduggery, so his influences could have been multifarious. His style is assured and great fun.