We have just been reading what we honestly believe is the most
fascinating book in the world. It is, we must confess, very much in
the vein of this modern realism, because it is written in a terse,
staccato, and even abrupt style, although always well balanced. The
general effect, we admit, is depressing, though that may be only
our own personal reaction, because the plot is one with which we
are intimately familiar. Every now and then the action rises to a
climax when we think it is going to end happily after all; but then
something always occurs to sadden us. Occasionally it gives us moments
of gruesome suspense, followed by flashes of temporary optimism. The
general technique is distinctly that of the grieving Russian prose
writers, for the total effect is gloomy and grim. The critics have had
nothing to say about this book, but for us it has cumulating interest.
* * * * *
We find we forgot to mention the title of the above volume, which is
issued in very handy format, bound in limp brown leather. We mean, of
course, our bank book.
* * * * *