The New York herald. [volume] (New York, N.Y.) 1920-1924, 1922-04-16
New Fiction in Varied Forms

was an aspiring type that really
wanted to do things, to write great
books. paint, perpetrate poems, sut
it was SO hedged in by its interest
in itself that it never could get out
side Of that self-made prison. 1t
amounted to sort Of religious fanit-
icism Of self-worship, though of
course it used other terms than that.
A good many individuals of the
breed came out of an environment Of
dull mediocrity; they had just
enough uplift to get themselves out,
to realize that they were better than
their environment and to aspire, but
they could go no further. Hence
they became, by adoption, family
of grandnephews to Oscar Wilde
and the slim gilt souls" Of the ear
lier astheticism. They eavorted into
Cubism and discovered GERS libre in
it's Fothergill Finch, American vari-
ant of the really alive French origi-
nal. Wilde at least got himself into
Jail, and left behind some immortal
poems. Our American collaterals
(who were once known, little be-
fore Mr.. Van Vechten's day, as the
pink poet push in and about
Washington Square) never achieved
more than aspiration. The top notch
of attainment in expression was
really the wonderful Tender But
tons" of Gertrude Stein.
Peter Whiffle is an outline of
much of that class and it's era, though
he is also a little more. After his
Paris introduction we get flash
back" to use the motion picture
phrase, and learn that Peter was
born in Toledo in 1885, the son of
respectable stodgy bank cashier;
that he went through Williams, or
compulsion, was imprisoned briefly
in the bank but escaped to New
York to Give his own life," the ideal
of which was based upon doing no
work whatever. He served a term
with the claque at the opera, but
becomes too engrossed in Fremstaas
singing to applaud and loses that job.
Then he plays the piano in house
of "pretty ladies'" and is perfectly
happy. But rich uncle grotesquely
leaves him a small fortune, where
upon he buys clothes, gets hair
cut, has a bath, cocktail at the
Knickerbocker bar and
''Then he ate his dinner, consist
ing of terrapin, roast canvasback
duck, an alligator pear and quart
or two of Pontet Canet. 1t was
during the course of this dinner that
it occurred to him for the first time
in his life that he would become an
author. Four days later he sailed
for Paris"
Upon his return, in 1913, after an
unexplained six years during which
we only know that 'he lived" he
enters upon revolutionary stage.
followed by a parlor Bolshevik era,
an aesthetic saturnalia" and as
sorted experimentation. Still later
we find him indulging in magic, in
a veritable Arabian Nights stage set
ting, just such as Belasco would
have bought for an incarnation scene.
1t blows him into the hospital. but
also aids him toward a saner mys-
ticism which is his last phase, last
ing to his death in 1910.
The whole thing is supremely
clever, if sometimes a little smart.
But most of its glitter.is real enough.
1t will add to Mr.. Van Vechten's
record, even more than his "Tigcr
BY the way, it should be noted that
there are exemplary cats here: one
an orange gentleman named George
Moore, another lady named George
Sand; also a black nightmare who
aids in Peters lamentations. And
no doubt Mr.. Van Vechten will agree
that these cats are the sanest people
| in the book.
HENRY WALKER.