One could tell by the smell of this novel that
it was printed in America, apart from the colophon to that effect. At first sight it appears of the bright, homely, detailed kind ; but upon reading it will be found to be not without merit, or even thought of a certain sort. The reactions of father and son are studied with sincerity and genuine observation • the general atmosphere is quite competent : it does not read in the least like a promising first novel" (take that remark which way you will !). But it seems rather lacking in impulse, except a self-conscious optimism not so blatant as the wrapper would suggest. It ends : "The pale disk brightened, and now Joe began to hear, not funeral harmonies but the forest songs from the earlier part of Siegfried. He heard the music of the dawn as though multitudes over the verge of the horizon were singing it."
Before an ending like that almost anything might happen
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