The Equinox (Volume I, Number III)

THE EQUINOX all magic—which is love—and Mr. Brodie-Innes’ refinement avoids the crude detective solution of the mystery. And that mystery is enticing and enthralling; Morag is delicious as dream or death, enticing, elusive, exquisite. One of the subtlest and truest women in literature. Not many men have imagination so delicate and—dictame!—but Mr. Brodie- Innes writes “with authority, and not as the scribes.” Why he allows Mathers to go about saying that he is a Jesuit and a poisoner will be revealed at the Last Day. Perhaps, like us, he can’t catch him. Or perhaps it is that he is contented to be a great novelist—as he is, bar the weakness of his English and an occa- sional touch of Early Victorian prunes-and-prismism. He has every other qualification. God bless him! BOLESKINE. IN THE NAME OF THE MEssIAH. By E. A. GORDON. KEISERSHA. Tokyo. N.D. N.P. The only way to read this book is to run at it, shouting a slogan, and to stick a skean dhuibh in it somewhere and read the sentence it hits. Thus, perhaps, with perseverance and a lot of luck, one may find a coherent paragraph in the porridge of disconnected drivel, defaced with italics and capitals and inverted commas like a schoolgirl’s letter. And this is the coherent paragraph. “There are 3 apocryphal descriptions of the man Christ Jesus. . . . All agree in describing Him as ‘strikingly tall, ‘6 ft. high, and with curled or wavy locks. “This, to my mind, establishes the Identity of the Daibutsu with the curl- covered head and colossal stature.” This, to my mind, establishes the Identity of Mrs. Gordon with Mr. J. M. Robertson. A.C. OLD AS THE WoRLD. By J. W. BRODIE-INNES. 6s, Rebman. A rattling good novel, with hundreds of incidents on every page, a hero and heroine who seldom talk in anything meaner than capitals, and a happy ending: “Wherever you are, there is my kingdom,” he murmured, as he folded his beloved close against his heart. Mr. Brodie-Innes belongs to what one may call the Exoteric Occult School 330