In the same “Fiction Chronicle,” Elizabeth also delivered a harsh verdict on a story collection by the “mercilessly pretentious” Anaïs Nin. While granting her “a fierce foolishness that is not without beauty as an act,” Elizabeth snatched away this grudging praise by adding, “it is too bad her performance is never equal to her intentions.”71 The most noteworthy aspect of this review is its discussion of the way Nin’s penchant for using vague, mystical phrases to create a spurious aura of sexual revelation was typical of women writers of the era. They offer “the illusion of having opened the bedroom door without involving the performer in a recognizable scandal.” Elizabeth would have much more to say about sex in women’s novels in future decades.