Great God Pan Book

Whatever the hell was going on with the society when this was published. This, a sensation? Underwhelming. Thank God I live now not then: I would have died bored out of my mind!
Too whimsical for me. Reads like a cross of Hawthorne with Poe with just a tad of Lovecraft (who might have been a diligent follower of Machen, at a later date) and several notes from Merezhkovsky (of all autors!) added into the mix. Though in the case of Merezhkovsky it is not clear who influenced who (even if this was not a case of ideas congeniality), since they sort of worked and published simultaneously. Lovecraft might have been himself influenced by Machen not the other way around.
The story centers around a hypomaniacal sociopathic butcher of a transcendent surgeon who spews lots of bullshit and proceeds to act on it. Some Pan added to the mix, some dreadful mysteries, some incarnates, some whatnot... Did nothing to me, read tediously. Why did I even bother to read it?

Q:
"No, I think not, even if the worst happened. As you know, I rescued Mary from
the gutter, and from almost certain starvation, when she was a child; I think her life is
mine, to use as I see fit..." (c)

Q:
...But have you no misgivings, Raymond? Is it absolutely safe?"...
"Safe? Of course it is. In itself the operation is a perfectly simple one; any surgeon
could do it."
"And there is no danger at any other stage?"
"None; absolutely no physical danger whatsoever, I give you my word. ...
"We are standing on the brink of a strange world, Raymond, if what you say is true. I suppose the knife is absolutely necessary?"(c)
This is patently what should be the prompt to getting the hell out of the plan, whatever it involves: operations, investments, whatever... Hear the crock talking! And not the feeble 'is the knife necessary?'

Q:
That is a strange saying of his: 'In every grain of wheat there lies hidden the soul of a star.'" (c)
Q:
Strangely that wonderful hot day of the fifties rose up again in Clarke's imagination; the sense of dazzling all-pervading sunlight seemed to blot out the shadows and the lights of the laboratory, and he felt again the heated air beating in gusts about his face, saw the shimmer rising from the turf, and heard the myriad murmur of the summer. (c)
Q:
He could only think of the lonely walk he had taken fifteen years ago; it was his last look at the fields and woods he had known since he was a child, and now it all stood out in brilliant light, as a picture, before him. Above all there came to his nostrils the scent of summer, the smell of flowers mingled, and the odour of the woods, of cool shaded places, deep in the green depths, drawn forth by the sun's heat; and the scent of the good earth, lying as it were with arms stretched forth, and smiling lips, overpowered all. His fancies made him wander, as he had wandered long ago, from the fields into the wood, tracking a little path between the shining undergrowth of beech-trees; and the trickle of water dropping from the limestone rock sounded as a clear melody in the dream. (c)