Excerpt from "A Novel by Salvador Dali," a critical review by Edmund Wilson.

"...The only relatively up-to-date elements are a superficial injection of Freudianism and an overlay of surrealist rhetoric-when, if you follow me, Mr. Dali allows the milliped and Boschesque crustaceans of his hermetic imagination to caress the tentacular algae of his subaqueous and electrified impudicity or the nacreous and colubrine doves of a psychosomatic idealism to circle in shimmering syndromes the facades of a palladian narcisissism."

Nobody writes like this anymore. Why is that?