It is almost incredible that an Occidental could have written this fragile, illusive Japanese print-come-to-life. It is almost like being thrust into a vivid dream, in which a susceptible young Englishman follows dream adventures in love with all of Japanese womanhood. The incidents seems to have the lack of substance of a dream, colored as they are by imagination and humor and originality and a fragrant sort of charm. There is an inconsequentiality of sequence, a sudden breaking off of the thread of action that seems natural in a dream -- but that makes this not conventional straight ahead reading for the average person. Can't quite place the appeal -- it has a sort of modern Madame Butterfly theme, with an obliqueness of approach that is, as the publishers suggest, like Jerome -- Or the Latitude of Love. A bit too preciouse for a wide market. Chance for success with highly selective list.