“It cannot be called a worthy monument to its subject. Its author has little critical acumen or severity of taste; it is rambling and repetitious; padded with much matter of little interest as presented; marred by mistranslations of foreign tongues, misunderstanding of technical terms, faulty transcription of proper names, and careless proofreading.”
| − − + | Nation. 84: 275. Mr. 21, ’07. 1510w. | |
| N. Y. Times. 11: 812. D. 1, ’06. 190w. |
“On the whole the book disappoints one in the lack of letters from the interesting people Leighton knew. A more serious matter is the failure of the biographer to offer a plausible pen-portrait of Leighton, or even to allow him to describe himself.” Charles de Kay.
| − + | N. Y. Times. 12: 57. F. 2, ’07. 2490w. |
“Small points and insignificant matters are grossly inflated, but the real issue is never faced. The flawless impeccable Leighton remains so to the last, though we are not told why he was, or, what is rather more important, why he was really not so.” Christian Brinton.
| − | Putnam’s. 2: 125. Ap. ’07. 340w. |
Barron, Elwyn Alfred. Marcel Levignet. †$1.50. Duffield.
6–36038.
“A detective story laid in Paris and including all the elements needed for profound sensation. The author is skilled in keeping apparently tangled threads in his hands, and unties several hard knots with all the ease of a practiced novel writer.” (Outlook.) “The hero is a sort of modern Cyrano de Bergerac.... He is bon vivant, editor, amateur detective, student of life as it is lived. His kinship with Cyrano is sentimental.” (N. Y. Times.)