Arnold Bennett wrote thirty novels but has been somewhat neglected by modern critics. He was ahead of his time in appreciating Joyce, Lawrence, Faulkner and Hemingway. His work is characterized by social irony without bitterness, and satire without nastiness. As this novel suggests, perhaps he has more in common with E.M. Forster than has been realized.

If there is any virtue in advertisements-and a journalist should be the last person to say that there is not-the American nation is rapidly reaching a state of physical efficiency of which the world has probably not seen the like since Sparta. In all the American newspapers and all the American monthlies are innumerable illustrated announcements of "physical-culture specialists," who guarantee to make all the organs of the body perform their duties with the mighty precision of a 60 h.p. motor-car that never breaks down. I saw a book the other day written by one of these specialists, to show how perfect health could be attained by devoting a quarter of an hour a day to certain exercises. The advertisements multiply and increase in size. They cost a great deal of money. Therefore they must bring in a great deal of business. Therefore vast numbers of people must be worried about the non-efficiency of their bodies, and on the way to achieve efficiency. In our more modest British fashion, we have the same phenomenon in England. And it is growing. Our muscles are growing also. Surprise a man in his bedroom of a morning, and you will find him lying on his back on the floor, or standing on his head, or whirling clubs, in pursuit of physical efficiency.