BRIEFER MENTION
The Horses of Diomedes, by Remy de Gourmont, translated by C. Sartoris (12mo, 249 pages; Luce: $2). De Gourmont gives his ideas the outlines of women, and offers them the caresses of Diomedes, Pascase, and Cyran. Sophistication at its summit becomes a lucid naiveté. He builds a sad Utopia wherein his mind blossoms in the restless colours of flesh. In an immortal garden besieged by decay, Diomedes moves idly between Pascase, his youth—acolyte yet alien, subtle but young—and Cyran, his age—a tempting destination barely evaded; aesthete turning ascetic as his hair whitens. Thus de Gourmont amuses himself with ghosts whose flesh is still capable of embraces; and indulges the hesitations of his spirit among amours that are exquisite, yet cannot relinquish their imperfections. He woos thought like an ironical lover who knows how to make a banal whisper profound. Having evaded both the violence and the ennui of his time, his imagination waits where only the monosyllable of the mystic is adequate; his murmurings are one step from silence. Thought glides elusively complete as all living things in the transparent pool of his style; a moonlight style in which shapes are distinct yet pliant.
The Victim, and the Worm, by Phyllis Bottome (16mo, 292 pages; Doran: $1.75) are two novels in one volume, each aptly described by its title. The Victim is an American millionaire who has decided to pass the last of his life in England as being the most peaceful place he can find. His beautiful daughter interrupts this dream, and, presenting a front of martyrdom to the world, manages to inflict suffering upon everyone about her, until her father sacrifices his happiness to save others from being her victims. It is vividly told, readable, and unimportant. The second story is rather more complex, and with better relief. Two people, a man and a young girl, adore a clever, domineering woman who shapes their lives for them, until, almost unconsciously, they find themselves defying her in small ways, and finally allying themselves for life against her. Phyllis Bottome is distinctly the "popular appeal" writer, but here and there, one comes upon evidences that she could write a better novel, even a realistic one, if she so desired.
Elimus: A Story, by B. C. Windeler, with twelve designs by D. Shakespear (16mo, 45 pages; Three Mountains Press: $3.50) depicts without mercy the collapse of a weak illusioned youth in a tough expletive pioneer world. The psychology of Elimus Hackett is established directly, without comment, in a few brief actions. He exists primarily as part of a firm design, as a topic for solid chunky vigorous prose. The omission of articles, the employment of compounded words, the skilled use of alliteration speed up the text which runs with an emphatic accent like that of an unmuffled motor exhaust. Elimus is a proof that Joyce and Lewis have revivified the language. In addition, the force of the prose is well translated in the black-and-whites of D. Shakespear.
