ABSTRACT
Mr. Huxley's new novel contains all the ingredients of his former books, but hotter and stronger and in greater abundance. It is an imposing and a dangerous dish, not meant for queasy stomachs. One naturally thinks of the stomach in connexion with Mr. Huxley's work; he does so love to turn it. He feints at the heart, he attacks the head, but where he really hits one is in the wind.
