Although he is still comparatively a newcomer, a book with the signature of Mr. JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER is already something of a landmark in the publishing season. To this repute _Linda Condon_ (HEINEMANN) will certainly add. In many ways I incline to think it, or parts of it, the best work that this unusual artist has yet done. The development of _Linda_, in the hateful surroundings of an American "hotel-child," through her detached and observant youth to a womanhood austere, remote, inspired only by the worship of essential beauty, is told with an exquisite rightness of touch that is a continual delight. Mr. HERGESHEIMER has above all else the gift of suggesting atmosphere and colour (ought I not in mere gratitude to bring myself to say "color"?); his picture of _Linda's_ amazing mother and the rest of the luxurious brainless company of her hotel existence has the exotic brilliance of the orchid-house, at once dazzling and repulsive. Later, in the course of her married life, inspiring and inspired by the sculptor _Pleydon_ (in whose fate the curious may perhaps trace some echo of recent controversy), the story of _Linda_ becomes inevitably less vivid, though its grasp of the reader's sympathy is never relaxed. In fine, a tale short as such go nowadays, but throughout of an arresting and memorable beauty. The state of modern American fiction has, if I may say so without offence, been for some time a cause of regret to the judicious; let Mr. HERGESHEIMER be resolute in refusing to lower his standard by over-production, and I look to see him leading a return towards the best traditions of an honourable past. * * * * *