And he writes well. It's true the books are somewhat obscure, but so what? Firbank doesn't take anything seriously. Everything is a fantasy. You float through a world of handsome choirboys, old ladies talking scandal, schoolgirls preening for marriage. Corruption is everywhere, and no one points a finger. I think his best novel is his last, "Concerning some eccentricities of Cardinal Pirelli." His earlier works ramble a little. "Cardinal Pirelli" is set in Spain and is sort of a satire of the Catholic Church. If you take certain things seriously, Firbank is not for you. But if you are open minded and would like to read something different from most novels, you may enjoy him.

Some of these novels are incredibly funny -- _Vainglory_, in particular, is a comic masterpiece. Firbank had a skill for writing fools' dialogue: imagine an Austen character who always says the wrong thing at the wrong time, then imagine a novel populated exclusively by these types.

Of course, this all gets a little tiring after a while. Firbank seems to have been a fervid misanthrope, and I can't think of an appealing character in any of these novels. Still, they're great, quick reads -- perfect, I would say, to pass the time while on vacation, or sick in bed.

Firbank is seldom considered a serious novelist, or a major literary modernist. It's easy to see why he's underrated; most of his writings are quite brief, and infused with a daring sense of high camp. But Firbank's terse narration and elliptical dialogue require as much sophistication from readers as the novels of James Joyce or Virginia Woolf.

This anthology contains most of Firbank's best work -- the outrageous _Flower Beneath the Foot_, the sublimely scabrous _Valmouth_, and his rueful final novel _Concerning the Eccentricities of Cardinal Pirelli_. (Cardinal Pirelli, a closeted boy-lover, is probably the single strongest character in all of Firbank's fiction.) Even at his campiest, Firbank acknowledges the possibility of tragedy -- and this awareness distinguishes his novels from mere social whimsy.

The absence of _Caprice_ from this particular collection is a bit of a letdown, because this short novel is probably the best introduction to Firbank's skewed world view. (On a separate note, the regrettably racist title _Prancing N----r_ was not Firbank's own. Firbank actually called the novel _Sorrow in Sunlight_, and his American admirer Carl Van Vechten retitled the book to titillate U.S. audiences. Although Van Vechten's gambit worked, and _Prancing N----r_ was the only one of Firbank's novels to achieve substantial U.S. sales during his lifetime, the original British title is much better, and ought to be restored.)