Poldoodle, for such a delightful afternoon."



THE PERILS OF REVIEWING


A most unfortunate thing has happened to a friend of mine called ---- to
a friend of ---- to a ----. Well, I suppose the truth will have to come
out. It happened to me. Only don't tell anybody.

I reviewed a book the other day. It is not often I do this, because
before one can review a book one has to, or is supposed to, read it,
which wastes a good deal of time. Even that isn't an end of the trouble.
The article which follows is not really one's own, for the wretched
fellow who wrote the book is always trying to push his way in with his
views on matrimony, or the Sussex downs, or whatever his ridiculous
subject is. He expects one to say, "Mr. Blank's treatment of Hilda's
relations with her husband is masterly," whereas what one wants to say
is, "Putting Mr. Blank's book on one side, we may consider the larger
question, whether--" and so consider it (alone) to the end of the column.

Well, I reviewed Mr. Blank's book, "Rotundity." As I expected, the first
draft had to be re-headed "A Corner of old London," and used elsewhere;
Mr. Blank didn't get into it at all. I kept promising myself a sentence:
"Take 'Rotundity,' for instance, the new novel by William Blank, which,
etc." but before I was ready for it the article was finished. In my
second draft, realizing the dangers of delay, I began at once, "This
remarkable novel," and continued so for a couple of sentences. But on
reading it through afterwards I saw at once that the first two sentences