Mr. Marquand's latest epic has been reviewed in all of the important magazines, his face has graced the covers of two of them in the same week, and the royalties will undoubtedly make him a much richer man than he already is. Even more than in his previous novels, he deals with a subject which will interest millions of people who can easily fit themselves into the place of Charley Gray, Mr. Marquand's protagonist. In addition, "Point of No Return" is written in a style so slick and even that one glides through it effortlessly, like sliding down a bannister.

Charley Gray, who grew up in a small town which hears a striking similarity to Newburyport, Massachusetts, is a junior executive in a staid old New York bank. During a critical week in his life, when the turning-point of his career in the shape of a possible vice-presidency looms ahead, a chain of circumstances leads him mentally and physically back to his home town. Most of the book is a long flashback describing Charley Gray's childhood and youth.

Although "Point of No Return" is a thoughtful book, and also a book which, if taken too seriously, can scare hell out of the thousands of prospective commuters in this college, there are several flaws in it.

Charley Gray, like so many others of Mr. Marquand's fine, upstanding young men, is nevertheless a pretty cold fish. He does the right thing at the right time, has perfect control over his emotions, and never makes mistakes; one gets the impression that while he may feel himself caught in the rat-race of modern business society it is for him the most suitable of all possible ruts.

Also, there is the question of organization. The long flashback in the middle of the book sags perceptibly. After a couple of chapters one is perfectly willing to accept the author's word for the fact that the social strata in a small New England town are extremely solidified. Mr. Marquand, however, piles on more and more illustrations. Everything that happens to Charley Gray seems caused by the fact that he isn't quite on the top of the social ladder.

Finally, there is the basic philosophy of the book. While Mr. Marquand is a master at describing the outward characteristics of the people about whom he writes, he fails when he probes any deeper than their social climbing or the cut of their suits. Basically, he is saying that the man who typifies our urban eastern civilization, the rising executive who rides the commuter's locals and hopes to send his children to good prep schools, is caught in a horrible treadmill. A rut is what you make of it; even Mr. Marquand's social anthropologist--a fascinating literary device, based partially on fact--indicates that he is tired of the South Seas rut and would like another. It is foolish to make treadmillers out of men who, as a class, are certainly no more frustrated than, for instance, successful novelists.