A skippable, unnecessary, and nonetheless pleasant-to-dip-into novel from Mr. Wells, who felt compulsed to reach triple digits with his belletristic novelizing.
Sure, he dashed off a few masterpieces in his day, but this is not one of them. I doubt he could even recall writing it a few years later. It’s sort of about a mermaid, but more about the bickering about the mermaid, with social commentary tossed into the mix. It reads like a series of notes between cardboard cut-out characters cobbled together from one of his loose notebooks of pseudo-ideas. Yet, Wellsie manages a few dashes of genuine absurd humor, and a touch or two of surreal speculative description. A diverting, extremely minor short novel-thing I only read so I could add a check mark to my completionist charts. How many more of these grade-school-exercise-esque books wait to be discovered in the dusty heap of Wellisana?