"The Four Corners of the World" hold a number of bizarre things such as A. E. W. Mason, the author of a collection of stories by that name, loves to describe.
From an intriguing robbery at the Semiramis Hotel in London his imagination flits to Gibraltar and the bomb plots of the miserable Peiffer; from the story of "Green Paint" in a Latin Republic, to murder and suicide in an English country house. But though his imagination has range and facility, it has little depth. He has been reading Freud, or perhaps a book review on Freud, and to the varied complexes of his personages he has brought his own excellent short story technique. They are very enjoyable, these stories; and if writers like Conrad, Thomas Burke, and H. G. Dwight had not projected into the short story a quality that gives it vitality and endurance, we should perhaps be fully content with the temporary satisfaction to be got from "The Four Corners." According to the standard created by these writers, Mr. Mason's work is flat. According to the standard of the average, it is most excellently good.