Ego 4. By James Agate. (Harrap. as.)
IN contrast to the author of whom H. G. Wells complained, " It's all very well, but you only lay one bantam's egg every two years," Mr. Agate continues, in inimitably slick, fertile and lusty fashion, to lay a large ego every twelve months or so. Eggs are at present scarce and expensive, but eighteen shillings seems a pretty stiff price to pay for Ego 4. The way Mr. Agate goes scratching and pecking and preening about the theatrical and literary farmyard has the virtue, for a time, of being lightly amusing, but a little of it goes a long way. Horses and actresses, pianists and authors, flocks and herds of smart people—they are all here as usual. In the intervals of being garrulous about them Mr. Agate not unexpectedly finds time to be garrulous about himself ; he clucks about how much he earns a year, how many million words a year he writes, what he owes the income-tax authorities, how much his Café Royal dinner costs him, and so on. This does not disguise the fact that the book is, thanks to Mr. Agate's wily habit of extensive quotation, largely written by other people. Ego-laying of this kind can go on for ever ; we only hope Mr. Agate will duly remember that you cannot catch old birds with chaff.
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