Neither Here Nor There

In Short

This book is a gathering of whimsical, satirical essays that examine everything from the etiquette of revolving doors and the mystery of vanishing matchboxes to the pretentions of high art and literary criticism. Written with a light, observational touch, the collection captures the author's delight in poking fun at societal trends and the "Great God Bunk." It has lasted because its humor is grounded in the perennial human tendency toward self-importance, a subject that remains as relevant and ripe for mockery today as it was a century ago.

The Story

The collection does not follow a linear plot, but rather moves through a landscape of topical musings, each essay serving as a brief, witty investigation into a specific human absurdity. The narrative journey begins with a playful reinterpretation of the Garden of Eden—suggesting that a "Tutti-Frutti Tree" might have saved the world from the consequences of Eve’s fateful choice. From there, the author conducts a tour through the modern world’s bewildering rituals. We see the "leaping" bachelor, who must feign death to escape the clutches of a Leap Year suitor, and the beleaguered "Mlle. Fauteuil," a piece of theater furniture tossed aside by directors because she inconveniences the actors' blocking.

As the pieces progress, the tone shifts from lighthearted observation to a sharper critique of institutional rigidity and intellectual vanity. The author tackles the "Great God Bunk," lampooning the historical reputations of Alexander the Great and Christopher Columbus, arguing that their fame rests on fraudulent displays rather than true merit. The discussion turns to the soul-crushing bureaucracy of the future—represented by a series of increasingly nonsensical constitutional amendments—and reaches a climax in a spirited assault on the pretentiousness of contemporary literary anthologies.

Throughout, the author remains a cynical but affectionate observer. He watches the "dancing man" with the clinical detachment of a scientist and the irony of a skeptic, contrasting the frantic activity of modern life with the quiet, observational humor of his own life in a cottage by a lake. The book concludes not with a grand resolution, but with a final, biting dissection of a short story collection, reinforcing the author’s stance: that sincerity is the only true currency, and without it, all the intellectual posturing in the world is merely "twaddle." The ending leaves the reader with the sense that the author has successfully unmasked the absurdity of his age, having found that while the world is indeed "neither here nor there," it is at least an endlessly entertaining place to observe.

How It Unfolds

The Garden revisited The author sets the stage by imagining a world where the Tree of Knowledge offered a wider variety of fruit, effectively paralyzing the first humans with indecision and preventing the Fall. This establishes the book's signature blend of mythological revisionism and lighthearted provocation.

Domestic mysteries The focus shifts to the small-scale frustrations of daily existence, such as the etiquette of revolving doors and the inexplicable disappearance of household matchboxes. These segments transform the mundane into a detective story, highlighting the author’s talent for finding deep meaning in trivial inconveniences.

The stage and the street The author observes the world as a theater, analyzing the plight of a stage sofa and the "soothing" nature of garish roadside advertisements. Here, he contrasts the high-minded complaints of critics with the honest, if loud, reality of public life.

The critique of Bunk The essays become more biting as they target the icons of history and modern life, dismissing great achievements as mere parlor tricks. This beat serves as the book's philosophical backbone, rejecting hollow fame in favor of genuine character.

The final tally The collection closes with a sustained, humorous attack on literary gatekeeping, specifically mocking the use of asterisks to denote "literary value" in anthologies. It is a sharp, final reminder that the author values authentic life over the rigid, self-important structures that seek to categorize it.

The People

The characters in these pages are often archetypes or reflections of the author’s own wry perspective. Eve appears as a bored, relatable figure seeking novelty, while the Serpent is cast as a misunderstood social lubricant. The "Leap-Year Bachelor" represents the terrified, retreating male, desperately trying to maintain his bachelorhood against the inevitable tide of matrimony. Mlle. Fauteuil—the personified sofa—is the book’s most sympathetic figure, a silent, abused victim of Broadway’s demanding directors. Finchsifter, a man of "well-trained words," serves as a temporary companion and a cautionary tale about the dangers of becoming a slave to one's own verbosity. Finally, the author himself appears as a modern-day detective of the trivial, armed with a blue-print for his own apartment and a healthy suspicion of any "expert" who claims to have solved the mysteries of the universe.

In Its Own Voice

"It’s quite absurd, of course, but just suppose the Tree of Knowledge in that First Garden has been a Tutti-Frutti Tree instead of an Apple Tree!"

The author uses this playful hypothetical to pivot from the biblical origin story to the absurdity of modern human desire.

"The Leap-Year Bachelor’s only hope is to feign death."

This observation, delivered with mock-seriousness, highlights the author’s comedic approach to the gender dynamics of the era.

"When oblivion has overtaken Alexander and even the name of Gordius is forgotten, the world, which is surprisingly young for its age, will still babble wonderingly of the knot that never was and never will be untied."

The author reflects on the fleeting, performative nature of historical greatness and the persistence of myths.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is a defense of the authentic against the artificial. The author is obsessed with the tension between the "Great God Bunk"—the collective performance of importance—and the quiet, messy reality of human life. He explores why we feel the need to build monuments, draft amendments, and invent hierarchies for short stories when the world itself is already sufficiently chaotic. The underlying argument is that we are all, to some extent, just "dancing men" or victims of "pernicious peaches," caught in a cycle of performative behavior. The book asks whether, in our rush to organize and categorize existence, we are losing the ability to simply enjoy the scenery.

Why Read It Today

You will love this book if you appreciate essays that prioritize wit over weightiness and observation over instruction. It feels like a long, brisk walk with a companion who has a sharp eye for the ridiculous and a gentle heart for the overlooked. The prose is clean, rhythmic, and delightfully punchy, making it an ideal companion for a quiet afternoon.

Be aware, however, that the work is a product of 1922; you will encounter period-specific attitudes, particularly regarding gender and social roles, that may feel outdated or jarring to a modern reader. The author’s references to contemporary figures and specific, now-forgotten controversies—like the "Bolshevism for babies" or the specific amendments of his time—require no deep study but do root the book firmly in its era. The humor relies on a refined, slightly cynical sensibility that rewards those who don't mind a bit of light mockery. What stays with you is the author's voice—a warm, intelligent, and remarkably modern tone that reminds you that if you cannot change the world, you can at least point out how silly it is being today.