The book starts with one man trying to convince another that he is a 'serious' anarchist and taking him to a meeting of an anarchists' club, and then it gets crazier. It is probably not considered to be in good taste today to make jokes about people who throw bombs, even less in good taste than it was in the Edwardian era, but this book is hysterical and madly nonsensical. The headlong rush of events escalates steadily, even as it loses any semblance of sanity, until the book becomes a sort of adult Alice in Wonderland. What I most enjoyed about it was probably the style and the incredibly clever dialogue. It's full of philosophical paradoxes and wonderful comments on society and people and has a way of insistently questioning values. It's a completely wild and delightfully absurd novel, and I probably alarmed by neighbours by laughing over it at all hours of the night.
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