MORE WELLS.*
IT is difficult at this stage of his career to say anything new about Mr. Wells, especially as he himself has very little new to say. He has become a weathercock who swings to every wind of public interest—a trifle late this time, seeing that his present subject is psycho-analysis. He is not even in time to fill his !avourite roll of Apostle to the Gentiles, now that Freud has found his way to every country parsonage and the comic papers make jokes about complexes. If he is late, then, one might at least expect him to be fairly well up in his subject ; but no, here is Mr. Wells propounding views as " advanced " which are not only not new, but also not always particularly true. This is plainly a spare-time novel : dictated, one presumes, as a sort of mental relaxation. It is full of gas : Sir Richmond Hardy, backbone of a perfectly nebulous fuel-control committee ; Dr. Martineau, a. specialist who gives no indication of even a childish knowledge of his subject ; an American lady--all pro- pound by the yard views of no importance. For Mr. Wells as a fantastic romancer we have nothing but praise, but Mr. Wells as a prophet is distinctly behind the times.
Previous page
