[Theophilus North is] a story of a young tutor in the Newport of the 1920s, a mushy account of mild eccentrics and trivial complications and of a not very exciting young man's attempts at saintly midwifery and playing deus ex machina to bring to birth peace of mind in petty souls. In brief, sentimental drivel, [although] competent insofar as remembered craftsmanship and Wilder's memory of the 1920s were concerned…. The kindest thing one can say is that, just perhaps although there is no evidence of it, Wilder indulged himself in a playful pastiche—he always had a superb sensitiveness of style—of a "woman's novel" of the 1920s. (p. 76)

Inevitably one wondered whether one's own memory of The Bridge of San Luis Rey as a masterpiece was not the product of nostalgic falsification, whether it had really been all that good…. The only way to find out was...