so far as it gives cross-sections of their remarkably uninteresting and commonplace minds.
Nor does it seem to have any ideas that a reader can grasp with satisfaction. Frances Newman apparently thinks she is going to make us think she is thinking (if I may borrow her style for a moment) by simply making all her sentences walk on stilts. It is a pretentious way of being dull. And if there is a sort of social criticism in her books, I am unable to see that it is effective. We Southerners may deserve Frances Newman, as the United States deserves Sinclair Lewis. If she can shake us out of mental sloth and too-easy conformity by her peculiar methods, I am all for her. But I greatly fear that these books are not written in terms that will penetrate far or shock very much, since they are admittedly prepared (Mr. Cabell says) for the very sophisticated few.
DuBose Heyward has enjoyed a considerable popularity in the last few years, and has been looked on as a leader among the new writers who have brought the South forward in literary matters. That the popularity is well deserved, I think no one can deny. But Mr. Heyward's third novel, Mamba's Daughters, shows him to be wavering between the demands of his own artistic integrity and the demands made by outside influences, including no doubt the