One of Lewis's later works. Back in London after the war and after his exile in Canada he lays into the rotten state of the country. I suppose this might sound like the kind of territory beloved of Mail Online readers, but actually I've never really thought of Wyndham Lewis as right-wing in that dreary, small-minded UKIP type of way. He is certainly acerbic and vitriolic, though. His style is less dynamic and excitable than in his earlier books and somewhat sadder, but just as readable. One of the great unsung British writers - I never know why, there's not that many to choose from and he is as fine a writer as they come. This book is not really the best starting point for Lewis, but for those who have read his more well-known works and like them, this is a good read and feels like a last letter from an old, wise friend.
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