Henry Brocken, to me, feels like an exercise in showing off how many literary references de la Mare is familiar with, between the epigraphs at the beginning of each chapter and the general plot of the novella containing characters from other works. Unfortunately, it is not an exercise in creativity, originality, or particular writing prowess. The protagonist is undeveloped, a flat mannequin of a character who explores around pointlessly with no personal goals, agendas, or participation in what he sees beyond asking inane questions. The characters, all figures from better-written and generally-actually-developed literature, simply talk about what they are or what their purposes are. And then he moves onto the next one. A land where literary figures all exist in reality is an interesting one, but there’s no attempt at original execution. No plot connects the episodes, no messages or deep meanings can be extracted by the weakly pasted together segments, and the writing is simple, bland, and does nothing to inspire the reader with a sense of artistic beauty.
There is no point to this book aside from de la Mare’s own pride, and unless you really like the feeling of arrogantly understanding every literary reference haphazardly tossed into a book, there is no point in reading this one. His first published novel, and clearly there’s a lot of room for growth on all fronts.