Novel on yellow paper, or, Work it out for yourself

As a devoted Smith fan, it pains me to say that everything that makes Stevie Smith a compelling and original poet seems to work against her as a novelist. NOYP is too cute, too self-consciously experimental, and terribly dated.

In contrast to Stevie Smith's poetry this reads as a book of its time, England in the 1930's, whereas the poems are more timeless and general in their grasp of the Human Condition. Certainly the Human Condition is here in the novel but it is sometimes dated and narrow.

This book is definitely not for those who love straight-forward plots and prose. The book reads like a poem.