Fascinating mystical and artistic creed and a good-natured marvel of circumlocution. Practically everything Machen wrote in the 1890s had the touch of genius, and this even applies to his non-fiction, though this is actually presented as a fictional account from Machen's familiar of imagination. Here Machen vaguely details how he separates high literature from mere reading material, and whilst such an essay may sound haughty and pretentious, it makes more sense when you realise he isn't making a critical separation based on quality, but is espousing his hearty belief that art should exist to portray those unknown spheres of the infinite and ourselves. I didn't agree with all of Machen's conclusions, but such rambling rants as these were a big influence in shaping my own views on art, and it remains a criminally underlooked book. Buy this if you loved Machen's classic dark fiction of that decade (The Great God Pan, The Three Impostors, The White People and The Hill of Dreams), but perhaps weren't able to articulate why you felt their beckoning mysteries so deeply. (Jim Smith)