The Blower of Bubbles — A Reader’s Guide

The Preface as a Frame for National Observation

Baxter's preface is not merely an apology but a deliberate positioning of the author as a participant-observer. He describes the wartime influx of Americans, Australians, Canadians, and others who 'discovered' England, each convinced their own country was 'the special acreage of God.' The preface introduces the conceit of 'three pairs of glasses' through which the stories view England: an Englishman's analysis, an American satirist's perspective, and a French girl's wonder. This framing device suggests Baxter is less interested in plot than in the clash of viewpoints. The preface's anecdote about the American woman's complaint about furnaces and 'rubbers' encapsulates the collection's method: a small, concrete detail becomes a window into cultural difference. Baxter's own voice is wry and self-aware, admitting his 'undistinguished career' with the Canadian Forces and hoping his words contain 'some little ore of truth.'

Dialect and Class in the Recruit's World

The excerpt from the story featuring Private Montague showcases Baxter's ear for dialect and his willingness to let characters reveal themselves through speech. Sergeant Skimps's harangue is a set piece of cockney-inflected military bluster: 'kiss me, 'Arry, get your 'air cut, all of yer. We don't go in for Paderooskies in the harmy.' The sergeant's dropped h's and invented words ('Paderooskies') create a comic but authentic texture. Montague, a wealthy man now a private, is contrasted with Private Waller, a cheerful cockney-turned-Canadian who loses his h's 'when excited.' Waller's question—'What was you—a chauffeur?'—and Montague's reply—'No; I was a sort of social buffoon'—underscore the class gulf that military service both bridges and highlights. Baxter does not sentimentalize the enlisted men; Waller is friendly but crude, and Montague winces at his proximity. The dialogue carries the story's tension between social hierarchy and the leveling demands of war.

The Satirist's Glasses: American and English Perspectives

Baxter explicitly names one story 'Mr. Craighouse of New York, Satirist,' indicating that the collection will use an American lens to examine English society. The preface describes this as using 'the glasses used are American and the medium is a New Yorker.' This suggests a narrative strategy of defamiliarization: an outsider's perspective makes English customs strange. The preface also mentions 'The Airy Prince,' in which a sixteen-year-old girl from Picardy is 'transplanted by aeroplane for one full day in wartime London.' The airplane itself is a symbol of sudden dislocation, and the girl's youth and foreignness promise a fresh, unjaded view. Baxter's interest in multiple viewpoints—English, American, Canadian, French—implies that national identity is not fixed but relational, revealed only when seen from another angle. The collection's structure, with its explicit 'pairs of glasses,' invites readers to compare these perspectives rather than accept any single one as authoritative.

Diction and the Texture of Everyday War

Baxter's prose in the excerpt is attentive to the sensory and social details of army life: the 'gravel parade-ground,' the 'cool shower' Montague craves, the 'reek' of Waller's exertions. Montague's desire to 'edit his thoughts' suggests a mind accustomed to control and refinement, now overwhelmed by the chaos of drill and the relentless chatter of his companion. Baxter uses small physical details—the red band on Montague's arm, the baby-carriage Mrs. Waller pushes—to anchor the story in a specific time and place. The dialogue is peppered with period slang: 'Right-o,' 'blime,' 'C.B.' (confined to barracks). Yet Baxter avoids overloading the text; the dialect feels functional, not decorative. The encounter with Mrs. Merryweather in a 'huge motor-car' reminds the reader of the class divisions that persist even in uniform. Montague's muttered complaint—'Duration of the war—and six months after—with plebs like this!'—reveals his resentment, but the story does not endorse or condemn it; it simply records the friction.

Baxter's collection rewards attention to its framing devices and its ear for spoken language. The preface's promise of multiple 'pairs of glasses' is not just a gimmick; it shapes how each story presents its characters and conflicts. Readers may find that the most revealing moments are not the grand statements but the offhand remarks—the American woman's 'My goodness!', the sergeant's 'Paderooskies,' Montague's 'social buffoon.' These small verbal details carry the weight of Baxter's observations about class, nationality, and the strange intimacy of wartime.