compressed white hot with emotion, turns into poetry, and the inflections of poetry

ODETTA sings


"The moon riin.~down in a purple stream T h e run trfusrd to shine"


LEON BlBB sings
"Zf I'd liad my weight i n lime I'd a ' whipecd that Ca@tain till hc w n t stone-blind" in LEON BlEB SINGS FOLK SONGS VRS-9051

"Chri.<ti/ my love were in my arms

"Somelinies Z think Z d o And someiimes Z think I don't'' in IF THIS AIN'T THE BLUES VRS.8513


LIANE sings

" H e just hung his hot on the nail in my room; A n d what Z did after Z can't remember"

in the oustanding original German THREEPENNY OPERA recording
A l l 12" Long playing records Thme and other r i c h a in the distinguished cnfal


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Molone Dies. Ginsberg goes to India with a knapsack full of carrots in 1960. nonfiction. and other magazines. PAUL Williams.EVERGREEN contributors SAMUEL BECKElT has two books in production at Grove Press: the trilogy Molloy. Louis. Bronc People. Columbia. CORNEILLE lives and works CARROLL is editor of Big Table. and poems of CYNTHIA OZICK have appeared in Commentary. His Kaddish: Poems 1956-59 will be published by City Lights in January. His second novel. R. and be was awarded the Guggenheim Prize for the Netherlands in 1957. St. etc. was reviewed in Eoergreen Review 8. and returned to San Francisco to read new work and make a tape of Howl for Fantasy Records. which will be published as a single volume in January. H. His second book of poems. PAUL BLACKBURN‘S anthology of troubadour poetry is scheduled for spring publication by Macmillan. Chicago. His parents are Dutch. and a book of short plays and mimes. BROWN is a young English poet. (Contintiad on p . Sun Francisco Review. in Paris. WILLIAM EASTIAKE lives on a ranch in New Mexico. B. School of New York: Some Younger ALLEN GINSBERG recently ended a series of chance Artists. Romance Languages at Washington University. Fiction. 192) . Botteghe Oscure. In Eoergreen Review 9 HENRY MILLER defended Sexzrs (Part I of The Rosy Crucifixion) from the charge of “obscene writing. which will be published in the spring. Harvard. The Dissoloing Fabric.” BARBARA MORAFF is one of Three Young Lady American Poets ( a book to be pubBRUCE MORRISSETTE is Professor of lished by Totem Press). HENRYK MUSIALOWICZ is a young Polish artist. is available from Jonathan P. readings at Oxford. and The Unnamable. FRIEDMAN edited the Evergreen Gallery Book.

H. But It Got Too Cold 55 P. by Alain Robbe-Grillet VIEWS and REVIEWS 108 B.VOLUME 3 NUMBER 10 NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 1959 contants 10 John Rechy: The City of Lost Angels 28 Samuel Beckett: Embers 42 Sin&: These Weapons Will Still Remain 47 Feng Meng Lung: Song 47 Barbara MoraR: Tune 48 Cynthia Ozick: We Ignoble Savages 53 Paul Carroll: George Swimming at Barnes Hole. Friedman: The Most Expensive Restaurant Eoer Built 117 Jerry Tallmer: Bye Bye Blackbird 132 Allen Ginsherg: Notes Written on Finally Recording Howl 136 Martin Williams: Funk for Sale 192 Censors Are Wrong (An Editorial from The hlinneapolis Star) C w e r dimwing h j HennJk Uusiolowicz . Brown: Africa and Small Poem 56 Corneille: Journal of a Painter in Ethiopia 68 Henry MiIler: From Nexus 83 Paul Blackbum: Sirventes 87 William Eastlake: Three Heroes und a Clown 98 Henryk Musialowicz: Three Drawings 103 Bruce Morrissette: New Structure in the Nooel: Jealousy. R.

1 . Like inmates in other sanitoriums. roses. . perpetual sun (never the lonesome1 winter. and palmtrees . 1 .JOHN RECHY The C i t yo f Lost Angels Southern California. . . . say. and what more have you been led to expect if youve lived this long? And although youre still separated from the Sky. enough-importantly-to tan you healthy Gold . lost . . You shut the windows. trapped down here by the blanket of smog and haze locking you from Heaven. life came screaming at you. surrounded by roses. still theres the sun almost all year round. . said: WE 'l'REAT THE SOLES OF YOUR FEET FOR INNER PEACEt. b it. . . . those who came to be cured sometimes die prematurely-but among the roses and the sun: in a swinging haven. . . of mess of gray . So you came to Southern C n l i k m i n tn . . cool blessed evenings even when the afternoons are fierce... . Still. bolted the doors. . the legend of The Last Frontier of Glorious Liberty (go bmefoot and shirtless along Hollywood Boulevard) have promi!sed us longdistance for oh so long. and night-usually starless here-cc imes. . . The sign on Crenshaw.---"-. the cool. the makebedieve among the palmtrees that the legend of the Movies (soda-fountains and stardom and the thousand realized dreams whiich that alone implies). black ocean. greengrass .Inch vnrirrdf I nnninrt . This is the last stop before the sun gives up and sinks into the black. So this is why you stay if you stay or come back if you come back: You can rot here without feeling it . 1 . . 10 .--~". is a giant sanitorium with flowers where people come to be cured of life itself in whatever way. drew thc3 blinds. . which is shaped somewhat like a coffin. or of the shrieking winga). . You came here to find the wish fulfilled in 3-D among the flowers-the evasive childworld (som e figurative something to hold hands with like you used to urith Mommie until you discovered Masturbation). of course. roses1 .- .

. among other places. flowers flowers from the Garden o f the Roses by Exposition Park next to the Dodgers. flowers into the hillsorange and yellow poppies like just-lit matches sputtering in the breez-arpets of flowers even at places bordering the frenetic freeways where cars race madly in semicircles-the Harbor Freeway crashes into the Santa Ana Freeway. the palmtrees.. outside the bank on Hill Street off 8th downtown (with the poetic street-names: Hope. like two armies out for blood. cars in long rows in opposite lanes. . . create a . . roses. and when the traffic is clear. the blessed evenings: sex and religion and cops and nymphs and cults and sex and religion and junk-and these. smog. theyre paperbut theyre truly real this time. plants and vines inside the buildings when you go see your attorney-flowers illuminated outside by lights hidden beneath the green tropical-leafed plants across the street.. all here. Sunset Strip. Oh. all-night movies. manufactured dreams (and the doctor that can create clouds and stars) and sex and flowers and junk and religion. from The Church of the Open Door over which like in the old college cartoon the sign flashes neonbrightly JESUS SAVES like an advertisement for the bank around the comer. religion.. Grand. . . yes. sex. roses.. fairies and sick.... into the Hollywood Freeway. La Jolla in the sun. fairies. . palmtrees.. among the flowers and the grass. Strip City.JOHN R E C m 11 And the newspaper in its “Forecast of the Stars” omits The Cancer and replaces it politely with The Sign of sign of the Moonchildren in its gentle Zodiac. flowers. And what you came hoping to be cured with (which is what someone else came to be cured of-your sickness being someone else’s cure) is certainly here. . It’s dainty blue flowers you think how phony.. greengrass all year round. Spring) where the man put up a sign: WE WILL BE OPEN SUNDAY YOU BUY FLOWERS FOR MOTHERflowers like white Easter. etc. Laurel Canyon. Flower.. . Laguna Beach. along with Hollywood Boulevard and Main Street downtown. sick cops make Southern California The City of Lost Angels as I would like to tell you about it now.

Even downtown if you stand at 9th Street looking up at San-Francisco-like-ascendingGrand Avenue (do this on one of those rare Los Angeles mornings that come suddenly like a miracle. why. truly Blue.... . . slightly less hairy gorilla encouraged his urine-scented little girl to play in the traffic while he read a swinging Ode to Allen Ginsberg. .. beside the frenzy of Pacific Ocean Park (dig: POP)-"Crystal" Beach-Jack's and the Girls and the would-be kept boys the waves lapping at the sand like frothing tongues-and Long Beach-and the rollercoaster that went hurtling like a rocket and sent the youngman plunging into the ground like a bullet while his girl laughed convulsed at the impossible absurdity the now-ghost of Muscle Beach where the men with the balloons for muscles posed for each other. it proTo Venice and the beat claimed: like this is The End. teenage girls with painted lips hustled sailors in the park and tough merchant mariners looked for Negro women in San Pedro. and the city council of Santa Monica. Santa Monica and everyone. amid the heat odor of urine and beer. Where? To for example the golden beaches. It's more flowers: birds of paradise with long pointed tongues. blue and purple lupin. next to the mysterious c a v s a n d the sailors nearby flooding San Diego with make-it.. One Twelve. . L a y n a and the Artists and Mamma Gabor. somewhere. generation in stores where the man like a slightly smaller. anywhere.12 Evergreen Reoiew whoooooshl that repeating itself is like the sound of the windswept ocean. and youre liberated into it as .. while away along the Long Beach Pike. depthless Blue like a Texas Sky.. when the sky is clear of smog and haze. where pretty girls and boys turn brown in the hazy sun lazily rotting like mangoes but they dont h o w it. set like a jewel in a ring of gleaming sand.. La Jolla and the Elite. until The Authorities of Santa Monica (Aghast and Indignant) Found Three of Them Shacked with Two Negro Girls. long rows of phallic palmtrees everywhere with sunbleached pubic hair. joshua trees with incredible hunches of flowers held high like torches-along long. the Other Thirteen. and the cars wind in and out dashing nowhere.

balancing your all-you-can-eat $1. On Olive.. And I like to think Valentino’s falconhouse will make it.. shades and calypso hat walking her pink poodle)-houses hiding snobbish or embarrassed. theres the organ. wings spread in imitation of Flight.25 tray-passing the of course American flag. full of Inspirational Poetry (Walking. Mulholland Drive and Marlon Brando’s wife. As you walk upstairs. who11 write the Cafeteria Folks expressing their Sincere Gratitude (and their letter. which is the brochure published weekly by the Cafeteria. . and the man playing (against the sound of waterfalls gushing over phonyrocks and sometimes into your tray) “Anniversary Walk’’ for the couple from Kansas here to celebrate their anniversary. thurmillingly. soaring away-away . you see-magic!-a row of palmtrees! ‘They lead you out. will he printed in the Food for Thot. to the tune of “Anniversary Waltz” palmtrees burst into lush neonlife! erupt into fourth-of-July-sky-rocketpink! and blue! and green!-phony trees and flowers outlined with nmn tubes all over. stooped over like vultures in the hills. others brazenly shooting up. for example.).JOHN R X C W 13 it were Heaven). USA . rich peopl+PaIm Springs.. Amarillo lilies-and Be1 Air and Laurel Canyon. All around are rainhuts-but surprisingly no rain-draped with lonesome yellow thatch.. to tango-swinging angels. Through the Dark Holding Hands With Thee) and Friendly Thots for the Miseries of the Day). and the walls of the cafeteria simulate rocks. especially: resort. Next to Pershing Square.. Los Angeles is Clifton’s Cafeteria. into Beverly Hills and the jacaranda trees-more flowers (flame-red hibiscus for the rich. out along Wilshire Boulevard. farther. And if youre out and out. desperately piercing the smog. . and into: houses hiding in the trees crouched low (the witch-house out of Hansel and Gretel-and I have to tell you the lady in slacks. And it’s draped in verdure outside somehow like a demented Southern plantation in a movie. But inside! Inside. you can get for a nickeI (or . or trying for clean air.

all genuine replicas. smoothing the folds of her drag-away from the crowd-but benignly. in the neon cafeteria-where a sign says: THE GARDEN. and sandals. and bright-gleaming anachronistic bifocals which reflected the neonlighted flowers like miniature searchlights. strains of “Anniversary Waltz. and the Citizens of Skidsville stand hands extended for their box of vitamins and minerals before the lush counters of meats and fruity desserts and gaudy salads that look like they’ll bite back-all neonlighted among the simulated caverns and the waterfalls. dig the benches.” the American Flag. and the lady is suddenly explaining to us. green and blue and purple. the beautiful . the tough chick with the camera and the leis about her neck: “Can I take your picture honey for The Folks Back Home?’’-and a neonlighted Cross. that this is a replica of a loom used in the time of Mary. Past the picture of The Founder. the thatched huts. with like a turban. Down the narrow panel of stairs directly under the toilet with many mirrors and Hawaiian scenes in the Lounge. She was dressed in a kind of robe. like hypnotized. to a place to the right of the entrancestill. She had the air about her usually reserved for someone who has just enjoyed A Death In The Family. she drones on like a holy record (we turning her you11 pardon me on). along the serviceline. man. sits down. Finally she gets up-she ascends. Well. We followed her. remember. the tables. the cat from New York rubs his pupiled eyes like he cant place the scene: dig the woman in the long flowing drag. she glides through the serviceline with a truly virginal air. standing like that picture of Ruth St Denis. Into The Room-where the lady in drag replaces another lady as virginal as herself-like holy sentinels changing the guard. all hushed words and Virginity. Suddenly. Dig. Now The RoomAnd here is The Loom. that junked-up day.1 4 Evergreen Review nothing if you aint got that) a pint of multipurpose food containing every swinging vitamin and necessary mineral to get you through the infernal day.

slightly. It tells us how lucky we are. standing behind the Things For Sale.JOHN RWHY 15 parchment books with the Holy words. And then the lights hidden somewhere behind the cavelike rocks (like the lights hidden all over the city to illuminate flowers. . under the gushing fountains and the multipurpose vitamin food-under the sad yellow thatch rainhnts and the American flag. We survive. Then a voice booms out from somewhere: “MILLIONS HAVE PERISHED I N WAR AND TERROR. slightly. and the organ now playing Happy Birthday. passed into-lo and behold!-The Under the lush neon jungle erupting upstairs. . . through a replica of a wooden door.” . but what we did was what the bifocaled lady had told us to do-why. Christ seems to shift uncomfortably. hands clenched.. the lady in blue and green drag and the crazy-gleaming searchlight bifocals. kneeling before a rock. palms creating a U before her face. And when we passed into The Garden. directly beneath the head and the mirrors and the South Seas scenes: Theres Christ. A giant white statue. It tells us about Sacrifice. slowly.. the bifocaled lady stayed behind like a dream when you wake and it‘s gone-and we stooped into a kind of cave and sat in the dim murky gray light. or a cannon) become brighter. Soon. she will allow us to pass into The Garden. Then The Voice tells us about Christ. said: . beyond the tough chick taking pictures with leis around her good-looking neck. I could detect the faintly stagnant odor of probably a phony brook somewhere. As we came out for air like submarines. then dim-slightly. or a statue. . though you cant really hear the organ down here). Then leading to it I forget just how (the tune of Anniversary Waltz kept running persistently through my mind. we Grotto of Meditation. her wrists touching each other delicately. still basking in the radiance of someone whose Dear has just Recently Departed. And in the weird light. The Voice ends with: WHAT SHALL I DO???? Maybe this is not what The Voice had in mind. ..

in the head-very.16 Evergreen Review 0 boys why dont you buy some colored slides of our Beautiful Garden-they make Lovely gifts to send home-or just plain old Souvenirs? . expediently. right here!! while she Did It on the apron of the stage. swings with junk and jazz-black- . dont care-strung along Broadway and Main Street like a cheap glass necklace-Main Street between say 4th and 6th with jukeboxes rattling rock and roll sexsounds. please. . the sad youngmen with sallow painted faces-shadow of the 3-2-6. the junkie who looked like Christ asked you right out did you want him to turn you on? And moved to East Los Angeles where the spade after-hours club seethes with conflict. and the vagrant youngmen trying to score no matter how-along the arcade and the stripmovies. Motionpicture theaters downtown featuring three movies and hard floors for sleeping when you dont. the live New Follies and the flesh-show where the young boy with his hands in his pockets pled with the nymph bumping brutally before him. very quickly-for say a deuce standing before. or Chi-Chi’s with the femme queens. while at the Greyhound station leading everywhere the Vice squad vengefully haunts the head and you cant tell them from the real-life fruits. snatch crowning the inaccessible V of her spread legs. . say. downtown on Spring. where outside. please. . and he sighed and sank into the seat . a musical play by Tennessee Williams). . . and even on Main Street: it’s Dreamland-Dreamlmd where the girls in tight reddresses dance for hire in the speckled light and crowded Marty lonesomeness extending to Roseland on Spring Street ( a title for. blinking manycolored. please honey do it some more. the scrawled message: IN THE BEGINNING GOD CREATED FAIRIES & THEY MADE MEN . . now closed. move to the Waldorf or Harold’s on Main Street with the long accusing mirrors where you can hustle the lonely fairies for anywhere from a fin to whatever you can clinch or clip-even. once. and Main Street is mean looks and the arcade and magazine stores with hundreds of photographs for sale of chesty faraway nevertobetonched women in black stockings and spiked heels.

now. short palmtree. smooth as velvet with grime-rooms squashed in by lonesomeness where for a buck a night you die that night easily until checkout time-and you can face the day again in that endless Resurrection-among the roses nearby somewhere-the flowered trees before the courthouse on Wall Street. Los Angeles Street-Skid Row: squeezed hotly protesting against each other.. walls greasily containing food from days’ cheap cooking. these citizens of the country of Skids.. shall they go to the Mission (and surrender to the owlfaces and the empty uplifting words before the lambstew) or just give up right here. and on the dancefloor the bulldikes and the femme-queens dance with each other-the roles of cburse reversed but legal-broadshouldered women and waistsqueezed youngmen. The dikes are leading the queens. the carnations . wonder.JOHN RECHY 17 gleaming faces crying hate the fayboys. . with arched leaves shrugging what the hell. . now on this doorstep.. on this comer. and you step out having paid a fine and see them-lavender and yellow flowers-and a short. Spring Street. And the Skid-rowers (now talking about them at night without pad).). surrender for the night into the pool of their own urine-a surprise to discover-until the heat patrol comes by and makes up their minds. and they wake up hung over . windowscreens if any. and in the head sweat-gleaming fay and spade faces focus intensely on the dice. cramped bodies in the tiny room exploding with the odor of maryjane smoke more powerful than at Gloria’s downstairs when the heat is Off -while the spade chicks with the classic butts squeezed into gold and orange hugging dresses wait outside. not so much h the other largely spade bar farther away on Broadway where outcasts from everything hang. Main Street again and the surrounding area to Skid Row: sweaty apartment houses squeezed tightly against each other (but not far from the green ebony trees. cobwebbed lightbulhs feebly hiding from sweaty plaster peeling in horrendous childhood-nightmare leper shapes snapping at you. flying on Thunderbird in this sunny rosy havenpast the owlfaces of the Salvation Army fighting evil with no help from Cod or the cops.

is a tough cannon pointing at Clifton’s Cafeteria. . they had The Dancing Waters on Pershing Square. amber. Ollie talking sometimes sense. I mean to tell you. The bums and the studhustlers and the queens and the vagchicks and the preachers and The Visitors stood on the grass in the middle of the park before the fiercely perspiring man manipulating a set of keys which caused like spurts of water to change colors as it gushed into the air. at the Pershing Square menagerie: at. future.. Very pretty very. the Oh. It’s bordered on the Hill Street comer. . the young vags. on Christmas (when the Vice squad couple. And on Easter. Gay fountains gush in the midst of the wellkept grass-a stream of colored water.. by a statue of a general. at the comer of Bth. . rightly.18 in the drunk tank: then out-into flowers. a t 5th. like he says Officer Temple. They cut down the bushes. told him he could-but Ollie. probably. They tell me it used to be a jungle of Expression as opposed to now (relative) Repression. the Lord couldnt be on the side of the bulls. whom later they11 spreadeagle against the black and white car with red searchlights like science-fiction eyes-rousting them for mean kicks. figuring. green grass.. he didnt. and on the 6th Street side theres a statue of a soldier.once . Ollie was then going to make a Citizen’s Arrest. mostly rot. And on the 5th Street comer is a statue of-really-Beethoven with a stick. fatherlymotherly spoke to the young vagrants about why dont you go home and get a job-before the bulls took them. and he is glowering. oh. on Christmas. mostly not. Once. very pretty. say. Pershing Square. a woman and a man. and once they threw a firecracker at him which landed on the flowers and sputtered. . swaying to the rhythm of the corn-music. for a ride in the wagon to the fingerprinting glasshouse) . . oh. as I say. blue. the cops roll eggs for the lonesome children. Evergreen Reoiew . On the Olive Street Side. the fat cop. They love soldiers and generals in queer parks. . delinquents. Pershing Square. the green.

daily-brutally-Holy Moses strumming a soulful guitar. . my of course favorite. why.onc e this chick clipped a fatlooking score trying to make it with her sweetboy.JOHNRECHY 19 Talking about Citizen’s Arrests-whereby anyone c& come up to you and say I saw you do such-and-such you are under mes t . and one day. man? The Square naturally walks away. her old man having come across at last with the rough Message. It gleams in the sun. with paradoxically alive freckles snapping orange in the sun. bumping and grinding (lord-uh! . standing like white candles while their old man preaches. searching the homeless youngmen. freckles popping in the sun. and of wurse she will start to quiver and wail where once she smiled. Like youre going to make a what arrest. All the swinging hustlers from Persbing Square. and alive red sparkling hair. for sometimes hours. singing spirituals. while the chick. and they hold in turns a picture of Christ crucified. And the statue of Beethoven (getting back) glowers fiercely at the studhustlers coming. The blood is wax. at the Negro woman sweating quivering in coming-lord-type ecstasy. she will see theres nothing to giggle about. the little angel sister. and Beethoven glares at the bucktoothed Jenny Lu. checking the mean-it faces all with her. hears. he is making a Citizen’s Arrest because he pinned her clipping the score. and the five white Angel sisters. mercyuh! . All this to the piped paradox of the Welkian-Lombardian . is always giggling in the warm Los Angeles smogafternoon among the palmkees-but the oldest is quivering and wailing. and a square caught the scene and marches to the clipping chick and says she is under arrest. oh. and the lonesome fruits coming after them. . they gathered round. at the tough stray teenage chicks making it from night to night with the studhustlers at Cooper’s coffee-and-donuts-for-a-dime. at the epileptic youngman thanking God for his infirmity among the roses and the warm sun. coming. . leaving the chick with the clipped wallet: a Fine example of Togetherness. so used to being clipped she leaves her bread on the dresser of the rented room to make it easy. sees the hungry nymph who haunts the park around the men’s head. said to the square. halleluj-uh!) at each uh! in a long religious orgasm. And the cutest of the angel sisters. .

He took him away to savc the pardon me go-mankind. screwing up for everyone.. in a little tool hut. wheeeeee. I went to Gri5th Park Observatory. the swinging queen whose stud husband got busted by this hull. who was having such a great time. .. . said. . the bull sits before the pictures of the wanted angels. . and left us Marlon Brando in a suit). hint of clouds the black night creeping up the stars appear. Like not long ago. But now a Voice announces this is such a planet. Downstairs.. Vengefully-vengefully for not having spotted the psyched-up stud before the papers implicated them-the bulls stormed the park. . . . Here it comes1 A skyline . And longing for a Texas Sky. .. And everyone. But when the heat is On in Pershing Square. man. and he killed her with an iron. And Miss Trudi. . like. oh.20 Evergreen Review school of corn.. like a swollen toad. . That lousy psycho. where the fat bull daily interrogates the new butch-hustlers in the park-and downstairs. . had to go and kill that chick. . In a moment.. periodically starts rumors about 05cer Temple and how she saw him in the mensroom doing you-know-what. Youre truly goneas if the half-womb had opened magically and carried you into the real Sky. And didnt recognize that the greatwinged bird had merely chosen the guise of Murder to swoop ridiculously upon him. Longing for a Texas Sky . . The sky here is usually a scrambled jigsaw puzzle-all indefinable smears of grayish-blue. . . they will simulate the most beautiful Sky you11 see in the City of Lost Angels-an imitation Texas Sky. made famous by James Dean in “Rebel Without A Cause” (and the Lord. watch out. The studhustler who used to hang in the park snapping a whip around the water fountain killed the chick like 17 years. . Then he strangled her. the planetarium where they reproduce the Skyshaped like half a womb-like the Hollywood Bowl-and in back of your seat there are headrests so you can look up comfortably. hidden in typical sneak-cop fashion. hiding out on Main or Spring or Miramar. is the baby-joint. It’s circular..

. Youre sitting in a slick shellshaped auditorium with a voice telling you about distances.) tells you again about Christ like talking about the local boy made good-in such a way I thought this cat’s flipped-hes a sadist digging the Crucifixion. wheres the monks? .JOHN RECHY 21 such a star. . And went to Santa’s Village later-and believed in Santa Claus-because there he is. the evasive childworld. They play “Afternoon of a Faun. A cinemascopic painting presented first in sections. . and they held up the stagecoach. with all his helpers. . . tribute to live TV Westerns ( I wanna he a cowboy when I grow up). . to the Chapel of Capistrano with the giant hell and the sunken gardens where the fruit that day later going to Laguna Beach the long. . . Then you go to the actual Crucifixion. shattering the illusion-and then there appear Walt-Disney-like cartoons of the figures of the Zodiac on the simulated sky. how the Can-Can girl looked straight at Harry All Through The Show. A super mosaic. churning you out of the dream. . spinning.” Now the shellsky turns. You go to Disneyland. (Their wives thus have an anecdote for The Folks. like curling up. You came to find the dream fulfilled. The lights come up. And Knott’s Berry Farm. See the hills all green. etc. before your longing eyes.) Remembering the swallows. drones on. the tasteful stones-the marble Depiction of Life (or Love?) in a garden. . and the chorus girls did a Can-Can. . long way said to hell with the swallows. with benches. . You walk into the smoggy day. . . and you walk through an umbilical tunnel (dig) and you enter the mouth of a whale (Dig) and (Digl) pass through replicas of nursery dreams! and I dont wonder that when you came out you looked for Mommie and you were stooped over. To Forest Lawn. The illusion is over. flinging out their garters coyly at the adult tourists shouting with naughty delight. to gloat at the tombs. And I with my time-obsession stand longingly before the Hollywood Ranch Market watching the clock moue backwards. Sit in as a fourteenth guest on the duplication of The Last Supper. then you see it all-and the sick voice of the nhiquitous announcer (is it the same Voice? .

a giant picture of Susan Hayward. and the twin Boswells of the Golden Cinema World-the screeching ladies with the hats and the weird-one of them-persona1 grudges against Lolita-record the phony . happily. most disappointing street in America -expecting to see The Stars in limousines. and youre disappointed to find that Marilyn Monroe (sigh) and Jane Russell are represented by their hands. . stocked up on bees. tough to say.. and on premiere days at the Pantages the unenchanted crowd forms early to glimpse the enchanted men and women-and the searchlights screw the sky-while the lady from say Iowa sighs ahhhhh . impressed in the cement -though sometimes. the swingingest star in the movies-in a sexpose screaming out against the railroading LA cops I WANT TO LIVE!!!! Toward the end of the stretch of more-or-less activity. that day. After 2 in the morning. writing mental postcards. and extras in costumes-and see instead the long rows on either side of stores and counter-restaurants and B-girled bars and moviehousesand. insisted there should be a scene of him ironing her panties). to Vine and the recordstore and the TV studio where the visiting ladies in the live studio say oh hes much handsomer on television. before the street turns into softlawned houses and apartment units where starlets live lonesomely wondering will they make it. into Sunset Boulevard (and remember Gloria Swanson going mad thinking shes playing Salome for Cecil B DeMille in knickers but the flick was shot on Wilshire Boulevard where the slick building now commands attention-a modern act of faith-and Erich Von Stroheim. they wait in line to come in. writes love poems to the femmetype teenage fairies.22 Evergreen Review Dash like a crazy somekind animal on the Hollywood Freeway. the dike with pencil and pad. Now heres the Chinese Theater. not quite so tiny. said Mr Brackett at USC. Your own big foot can rest where The Great Star’s tiny one rested. Inside the mosaicked windows like in a church. and at home say oh hes much handsomer in personto Hollywood Boulevard. finding no substitute for stardom in the carefully rationed joints of maryjane for manufactured dreams-there (before the softlawned swimmingpooled houses) is a coffeehouse for teenage queers.

and the fairies having crossed the street on their way to the Ivy (where Miss Ana Mae plays her organ coyly) say my dear she is Too Much why doesnt she get a Man and swish on giggling wondering nervously does it show (which ruins a birl) and will they make it tonight and if so will it.JOHN RECHY 23 fable of the Stars. along-but on the opposite side-the outdoor newsstand where professional existentialists with or without sandals leaf through a paperback Sartre and the horse-o-manes (going tomorrow to the races where theyll see Lucille Ball) leaf through the racing forms. from the dim nightclubs on the Strip-and' Chasen's. incredibly beautiful letters.. beyond the house hidden in the hills where the Doctor of Something Divine stood on the balcony like a fairytale . The young highschool delinquents with flattops proclaiming their youth heckle him cruelly in merciless teenage fashion while he dashes out his prophecies of not-unlikely doom. . Away. rubbing leather-jackets and staring at belts and boots and exchanging notes with sketched whips across the bar now slowly transferring far out (intentional) to the Satellite and the Jupiter. . . neat. and the fairies cruise each other by the physique books and the same lady from Iowa staying at the Biltmore for a convention of the PTA buys a moviehook --offLas Palmas on Saturday nights the oldman graduate of Pershing Square writes Bible inscriptions on the street.. . Away. used to hang. now scattered. While the cafeteria in Beverly Hills serves caviar hors d'oeuvres . O f f Las Palmas. Mmmmmrrrrrrumphl The motorcycles dash by on the Boulevard-ghosts of the Cinema Bar where the sadists and the masochists. in someone Nice and early please God so they wont have to add to the shadows on Selma-while the queen who left her telephone number in the toilet at Coffee Dan's waits -this is only conjecture-nervously by her telephone wondering will someone call? The palmtrees look down apathetically-but green-from the surrounding hills. .

Hollywood has answered him too. the maps of Life. while he padded our legs fraternally. why. New Masculine Blood To Hollywood-he also is A Challenge to the movies-and a willing fish you rent a boat and screw her on the pond. outside. open in a V almost revealing her own-and the ad said shes available to Furnish New Blood To Hollywood-she is The Challenge to the movies-call her up and see. snoring. why.. of course. hushes and the spade cat killed a cop while the ducks shivering out of the water made a noise like laughter-beyond the miles of flowers and greengrass. contentedly-away. away from the fruit Y where the fairies sunbathe naked with semihqdons-heyond the signs on the sidewalks that say LAWD and you think of a religious Negro but it stands for Los Angeles Water Department-far from Strip City on Western and the nymphs with the tantalizing G-strings feeding on hungry yearning eyesbeyond the gossip at Schwab‘s on the Strip in the afternoons where the beautiful girls and boys go to be Discovered in one way or another (and one of them put a doublepage insidespread ad in the daily variety film journal. surrounded by grass. beyond the spiritualists and the Holy Ghost Services. inside. the ad says. serenity and subsequent contentment.24 Evergreen Review II wizard-highpriest of a cult-making clouds and stars appear where there were none-blessing the world from the balconyand later. preaching love and fraternity. and justmown greengrass-beyond the other side of the park where hot mouths lurk in the. away. . HOLLYWOOD HAS ANSWERED!!!! And very soon after. under the stars-the odor of. plants in the downtown buildings. a young cowboy without shut. dividing life into tiny blocks like beehives-far from the fat Negro woman sprawled like chocolate pudding on Main Street. he does the same thing. the copies of “Tbe Watchtower” falling from her lap to her fat tired feet-beyond MacArthur Park and the little boats where if you aint got a pad but. a man’s shirt clinging wet to her nipples. and he says he too is available to furnish. darkgreen in the light night. flowers. another ad-and another sex picture. with an almost naked sexpicture of herself. serenely. and soon after. this time. and it shows another picture of the cowboy-and a new phone num.

. .JOHN R E C m 25 ber) (and the starlet who advertised two months ago’ now advertises shes back in t o m again)-and.. threatening heaven. . to be loved by the world. junk. the ocean thrashing beneath it... . past in the summer the stands of youngmen and oldmen selling strawherries and corn a t bargain prices-beyond all. . beyond the miles of geraniums and grass. where in a penthouse lavishly decorated the select clientele of gentlemen chauge the color of their hair subtly. . to think you11 be cured. Im glad to tell you that now at last it has been properly immortalized by J a p e Mansfield when she wed there in kewpiedoll I think pink. piercing the sky brazenly. religion. To Southem California everyone comes: to be Discovered and get in the movies. . oh. . all glass and vines. away. . still moving away. all this .. the bar on Cahuenga and the B-boys looking at their watches where the maleprostitute walked into the far from women’s toilet and the flashy woman followed him as real as a “hot” Juarez ruby beyond the Chinatown Men’s glamorshop on Sunset. to find out if indeed your Brother is your keeper. up there on a hill. cool nights. the bars on the Boulevard and the B-girls looking at their watches. is The Church of the Wayfarer designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. with sex. to find the evasive childworld... . . or to find God in fruit or vegetables or in the sun or ghosts-or standing on a balcony creating stars and clouds or to bask in the sun-to rot without really knowing it . etc. from the existentialists who used to grace the Unicorn and Cosmo Alley until they became famous as “beats“ and now the tourists pay 75 cents for a cup of coffee and stare at each other wondering is he one? beyond Coffee Dan’s and the young punks. . gossiping ahout the Stars over a cup of Italian coffee in the natural light from the windows overlooking the trees and the flowers-heyond the sirens incessantly screaming-away.. or to cater to personal grudges by joining the Los Angeles Police Force and so attain to holydom and omnipotence and wear the stick like a mighty scepter and the badge like a sort of misplaced halo-and become merely another gang in a .


JOHN RECW thinking abo or maybe sa: lost if they had roses and poppies and sun and grass and palmtrees swaying in the cool. . And I was thinking about this when I saw her.. I heard a siren scream. coming out of Kress’s on the Boulevard: a wild gypsy-looking old woman. . cool breeze-and childhood dreams in 3-D: a maze shaped at the same time conveniently like a coffin.. But halfway down toward her breast. And she seemed now instead to he blessing the terrible spectacle she had first tried to tear from her sight. lost its franticness. screamingly painted kaleidoscopic earrings .. and as she stepped into the bright Hollywood street. this old flashy woman began a series of the same gestures: her right hand would rise frantically over her eyes. slowed. . the gesture of her hand mellowed. like a fugitive from a movie set-she was dark. Nordenstrh . a red and orange wide blue skirt.. . lowcnt scarf about her long black hair blouse-an old frantic woman with demented burning eyes. as if tearing some horrible spectacle from her sight. dashing along the palmtrees. almost running into the suntanned platinum blonde getting into a Cadillac.

) Stop! ( H e halts. (Boots on shingle. (Pause. H e halts. he doesn’t answer me. Louder. louder.) Can he hear me? (Pause.) You would never live this side of the bay. (Pause.SAMUEL BECKETT Embers ( A Play for Radio) Sea scarcely audible. audible throughout what follows whenever pause indicated.) Who is beside m6 now? (Pause. (Pause. Pause.) As if he hadn’t died.) I mention it because the sound is so strange. not long past noon and all the shore in shadow and the sea out as far as the island. (Sea.) A ten ton mammoth hack from the dead. still faint.) Hooves1 (Sound of hooves walking on hard road.) Yes.) On! ( H e moves on. Sea. (Pause.) To answer me? (Pause. that if you didn’t see what it was you wouldn’t know what it was.) That sound you hear is the sea. (Pause. in this strange place. blind and foolish.) Stop. (Pause.) No. you wanted the sun on the water 28 . Pause.) Again! (Hooves as before.) Listen to the light now. he must hear me. HENRY On. HENRYS boots on shingle. back from the dead. to be with me. Excitedly.) My father. As h e goes. Voice louder. (Sea. (Pause. Voice louder. Louder. Sea a little louder. we are sitting on the strand.) An old man. shoe it with steel and have it tramp the world down! (Pause. you always loved light. simply hack from the dead.) Hooves! (Pause.) Jnst be with me. They die rapidly away.) I say that sound you hear is the sea. (Pause. (Pnuse. have it stamp all day! (Pause.) No. (Pause. Boots m a shingle.) Train it to mark time! Shoe it with steel and tie it up in the yard. (Pause.) Down.) Down! (Slither of shingle as he sits. Sea a little louder. As he goes.) Listen to it! (Pause. to he with me. so unlike the sound of the sea.

SAMUEL BECKETP 29 for that evening bathe you took once too often.) Standing there in his old red dressing-gown might go on fire any minute like when he was a child. white world.) I’m like you in that. (Pause. cedar boughs bending under load.. hitter cold. snow everywhere. (Pause. just to myself.. Louder. oh just loud enough to drown it. (Pause. only the light of the fire. only the fire.) Ring then at the door and over he goes to the window and looks out between the hangings.hen I got your money I moved across. that held up probate an unconscionable time. that grieved mother greatly. no.) I usen’t to need anyone. nobody notices. (Pause.. . I never finished anything. (Pufcse. I never finished any of them. I think the last time I went in was with you. there was a great one about an old fellow called Bolton. stories. and then as the ann goes up to ring again recognizes Holloway (long pause) . . (Pause. all the hangings drawn and the light.) We never found your body.. everything always went on for ever. very big and strong..) Today it’s calm. But \. only the sound of the fire. and no sound of any kind. (Pause. (Pause. but I often hear it above in the house and walking the roads and start talking. that was his pyjamas. . sitting there in the no. an old man in great trouble.) Bolton! (Pause. . as perhaps you may know. you know.) Before the fire with all the shutters .. they said there was nothing to prove you hadn’t run away from us all and alive and well under a false name in the Argentine for example. no. standing there waiting in the dark before the fire in his old red dressing-gown and no sound in the house of any kind. no. (Puuse. (Pause.) There before the fire. standing there waiting in the dark. standing there on the hearthrng in the dark before the fire with his arms on the chimney-piece and his head on his arms.) Just be near it. I once went to Switzerland to get away from the cursed thing and never stopped all the time I was there. only the light of the b e . hangings. bright winter’s night. fine old chap. (Pause. no light.) But I’d he talking now no matter where I was. no light.) Bolton. standing. . I never finished it. hangings. can’t stay away from it. but I never go in.


Evergreen Review
yes, Holloway, recognizes Holloway, goes down and opens. (Pause.) Outside all still, not a sound, dog’s chain mayhe or a bough groaning if you stood there listening long enough, white world, Holloway with his little black bag, not a sound, bitter cold, full moon small and white, crooked trail of Holloway’s galoshes, Vega in the Lyre very green. (Pause.) Vega in the Lyre very green. (Pause.) Following conversation then on the step, no, in the room, back in the room, following conversation then back in the room, Holloway: “My dear Bolton, it is now past midnight, if you would be good enough-”, gets no further, Bolton: “Please! PLEASE!” Dead silence then, not a sound, only the fire, all coal, burning down now, Holloway on the hearthrug trying to toast his arse, Bolton, where’s Bolton, no light, only the fire, Bolton at the window, his back to the hangings, holding them a little apart with his hand, looking out, white world, even the spire, white to the vane, most unusual, silence in the house, not a sound, only the fire, no flames now, embers. (Pause.) Embers. (Pause.) Shifting, lapsing, furtive like, dreadful sound, Holloway on the rug, fine old chap, six foot, burly, legs apart, hands behind his back holding up the tails of his old macfarlane, Bolton at the window, grand old figure in his old red dressing-gown, hack against the hangings, hand stretched out widening the chink, looking out, white world, great trouble, not a sound, only the embers, sound of dying, dying glow, Holloway, Bolton, Bolton, Holloway, old men, great trouble, white world, not a sound. (Pause.) Listen to it! (Pause.) Close your eyes and listen to it, what would you think it was? (Pause. Vehement.) A drip! A drip! (Sound of drip, rapidly amplif e d , suddenly Cut off.) Again! (Drip again. Amplification begins.) No! (Drip cut off. Pause.) Father! (Pause. Agitated.) Stories, stories, years and years of stories, till the need came on me, for someone, to be with me, anyone, a stranger, to talk to, imagine he hears me, years of that, and then, now, for someone who . . knew me, in the old days, anyone, to be with me, imagine he hears me, what I am, now. (Pause.) No good either. (Pause.) Not there either.





(Pause.) Try again. (Pause.) White world, not a sound. (Pause.) Holloway. (Pause.) Holloway says he’ll go, damned if he’ll sit up all night before a black grate. doesn’t understand, call a man out, an old friend, in the cold and dark, an old friend, urgent need, bring the hag, then not a word, no explanation, no heat, no light, Bolton: “Pleasel PLEASE!”, Holloway, no refreshment, no welcome, chilled to the medulla, catch his death, can’t understand, strange treatment, old friend, says he’ll go, doesn’t move, not a sound, fire dying, white beam from window, ghastly scene, wishes to God h e hadn’t come, no good, fire out, bitter cold, great frouble, white world, not a sound, no good. (Pause.) No good. (Pause.) Can’t do it. (Pause.) Listen to it1 (Pause.) Father! (Pause.) You wouldn’t know me now, you’d be sorry you ever had me, but you were that already, a washout, that’s the last I heard from you, a washout. (Pause. Imitating father’s voice.) “Are you coming for a dip?” “No.” “Come on, come on.” “No.” Glare, stump to door, turn, glare. “A washout, that’s all you are, a washout!” (Violent slam of door. Pause.) Again! (Slam. Pause.) Slam life shut like that! (Pause.) Washout. (Pause.) Wish to Christ she had. (Pause.) Never met Ada, did you, or did you, I can’t remember, no matter, no one’d know her now. (Pause.) What turned her against me do you think, the child I suppose, horrid little creature, wish to God we’d never had her, I used to walk with her in the fields, Jesus that was awful, she wouldn’t let go my hand and I mad to talk. “Run along now, Addie, and look at the lambs.” (Imitating m n d s voice.) “No papa.” “Go on now, go on.” (Plaintive.) “No papa.” (Violent.) “Go on with you now when you’re told and look at the lambs!” (mnrds loud wail. Pause.) Ada too, conversation with her, that was something, that’s what hell will be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead. (Pause.) Price of margarine fifty years ago. (Pause.) And now. (Pause. With solemn indignation.) Price of blueband now! (Pause.) Father! (Pause.) Tired of talking to you. (Pause.) That was always the way, walk


Evergreen Review
all over the mountains with you talking and talking and then suddenly mum and home in misery and not a word to a soul for weeks, sulky little bastard, better off dead, better off dead. (Long pause.) Ada. (Pause. Louder.) Ada!


(low remote voice throughout). Yes.
Have you been there long? Some little time. (Pause.) Why do you stop, don’t mind me. (Pause.) Do you want me to go away? (Pause.) Where is Addie?



With her music master. (Pause.) Are you going to answer me today?


You shouldn’t be sitting on the cold stones, they’re bad for your growths. Raise yourself up till I slip my shawl under you. (Pause.) Is that better?


No comparison, no comparison. (Pause.) Are you going to sit down beside me?


Yes. ( N o sound as She sits.) Like that? (Pause.) Or do you prefer like that? (Pause.) You don’t care. (Pause.) Chilly enough I imagine, I hope you put on your jaegers. (Pause.) Did you put on your jaegers, Henry?

What happened was this, I put them on and then I took them off again and then I put them on again and then I took them off again and then I took them on again and then IADA Have you them on now? HENRY I don’t know. (Pause.) Hooves1 (Pause. Louder.) Hooves! (Sound of hooves walking on hard mad. They die rapidly away.) Again1 Hooves as before. Pause. ADA Did you hear them? HENRY Not well.

HENRY ADA You wish me to laugh? You laughed so charmingly once. Henry. (She laughs. H e n r y .) Any of the old charm there? OhHenry! ADA Pause. HENRY (irritably). (Pause. HENRY Listen to it! (Pause. (Pause for mile. Pause.) Did that attract you? (Pause. HENRY Perhaps I should begin with the smile. (Pause.) Lips and claws! (Pause.) It was rough.) Some old grave I cannot tear myself away from? (Pause. (Pause.) Come on. (Pause.)The ones I used to fancy all did.SAMUEL BECKETT ADA 33 Galloping? y m No. ( that for me. in the same place.) Could a horse mark time? PaUSE.) Laugh. He tries to laugh.) A woman? (Laugh in which she ioins. the .) Now I11 try again. ADA HENRY And I live on the brink of it1 Why? Professional obligations? (Brief laugh. I ' m not sure that I know what you mean.) Laugh. Could a horse be trained to stand still and ADA mark time with its four legs? ADA Oh. I think that's what first attracted me to you. (Pause.) Get away from it! Wh'ere it Codkt get at me! h e Pakpas! What? Calm yourself. it's not every day I crack a joke.) Reasons of health? (Brief laugh. (Long horrible laugh. Pause. it will be like old times.) Family ties? (Brief laugh.) Listen to it! What is it like? ADA It is like an old sound I used to hear.) It is like another time. That and your smile. fails.

(frenziedly). Fa1 ADDIE (tearfully).) What do you suppose is keeping her? Smart blow of cylindrical ruler on piano case. ADDIE stops playing. MUSIC MASTER beats two bars of waltz time with ruler on piano case. Eff! Effl ( H e hammers note.) And calm now. What? (violently). ADDIE Will I play my piece now please? Pause. Qua1 (He thumps note.) Fa1 Pause. ascending and descending. Go? Where? And Addie? She would be very distressed if she eame and found you had gone without her. Tremendous blow of r u l e r on piano case.34 Evergreen Review spray came flying over us. hands first together. HENRY ADA Let us get up and go. MUSIC MASTER (ViOhtly). ADDIE plays scale of A Flat Maior.y. ADDIE begins again. Unsteadily. Where? MUSIC MASTER ADDIE-( MUSIC MASTER (violently). SIC MASTER benting time lightly with ruler as she play. Effl Effl tearfully). she plays E instead of F.) Eff! MUSIC MASTER . ADDIE stops playing. (Pause. bar 5. Resounding blow of ruler on piano case. Pause. (Pause. When she comes to bar 5 she makes same mistake. MUSIC MASTER beating time lightly with ruler. Pause. (Pause. begins to wail. ADDIE plays opening bars of Chopin’s 5th Waltz in A Flat Major. MUSIC MASTER (Italian accent). then reversed.) Eff! (He hammers note. In first chord of bass. Santa Cecilia! Pause.) Strange it should have been rough then.

ADA What are you thinking of? (Pause. Pause. then solid.) And hack. Pause. (Pause. He halts a t water’s edge. ADA you are silent today. That-and Hooves walking. (Shingle as he gets up. “now A4iss!” and ADDIE’S wail amplified to pamysm.) Now Miss! Eyes front Miss! (ADDIE begigins to wail. She shall learn. What was your strong point. A11 my life I regretted it. ADA Well why don’t you? (Pause. With a sigh. Sea a little louder. don’t . .) Why do you get up? HENRY I thought I might try and get as far as the water’s edge. then suddenly cut off.) I was never taught. HENRY ADA Oh . until it was too late. HENRY ADA riding DING MASTER Now Miss! Elbows in Miss! Hands down Missl (Hoooes trotting.SAMUEL B . Distant. say ten step. y m Don’t. (Pause. (Pause. He goes towards sea. It was not enough to drag her into the world. then suddenly cut off. (Pause. now she must play the piano.) Don’t stand there staring.) Stretch my old hones.) Don’t stand there thinking ahout it. geometry I suppose.) Don’t wet your good hook.) First plane. She must learn.) Now Miss! Back straight Miss! Knees in Miss! (Hoooes cantering.. . plane and solid. Pause.) Now Missl Tummy in Missl Chin up Missl (Hoooes galloping.) Now Miss! Now Miss! Galloping hooves.n 35 Hammered note. “ef!” and ADDIES wail amplified to paroxysm. . . Pause. Boots on shingle. I forget. Pause. (Pause.

she said. imploring).) And if you hate it why don’t you keep away from it? Why are you always coming down . Pause.) Do you know what she said to me once. Boots laborious. He moves on.. cut off. Darling! (do. Sit down. there must he something wrong with your brain. (Pause. He goes back up deeply shelving beach. Don’tl Rough sea. Shingle as he sits. He halts. it’s a lovely peaceful gentle soothing sound. You should see a doctor about your talking.) On the shawl. more feebly). Sea calm and faint. ADA I Euergreen Review (twenty years earlier. Darling! (do..I ’ 36 Sea suddenly rough. Sea calm. when she was still quite small. ADA cries out.. End of evocation. (Pause. why do you hate it? (Pause.on shingle. It’s very had for the child. And if you are what’s wrong with it. HENRY ADA HENRY I ADA Don’t stand there gaping. erultantltj). what must it he like for Addie? (Pause. (Pause. Pause. He halts. I didn’t know what to answer. it‘s worse. HENRY ADA Pause. Don’tl Don’t! (do.) It’s silly to say it keeps you from hearing it. Mummy. why does Daddy keep on talking all the time? She heard you in the lavatory. HENRY ADA Yes. urgent).) Are you afraid we might touch? (Pause. HENRY ADA That1 I shouldn’t he hearing that1 I don’t think you are hearing it. (Pause.) I told you to tell her I was praying. it doesn’t keep you from hearing it and even if it does you shouldn’t be hearing it. Daddy! Addie! (Pause.) Henry.) Roaring prayers at God and his saints. Cry and sea amplified. Pause.

(pause) . (Pause. . ) Not this . ADA And why life? (Pause. .) Is there anyone about? Not a living soul. Twelve? Thirteen? (Pause.) When we longed to have it to owselves there was always someone. I t took us a long time to have her.) The place has not changed.) Fourteen? HENRY ADA I really could not tell you. sucking1 . (Pause. Thuds. (Pause. Louder. Sound of its fall.) Stone! (Clash. (Pause. . I want thuds! Like this1 ( H e fzIlnbZes in the shingle. you ought to see Holloway.) There’s something wrong with your brain. you were always very sensitive to being seen in gallant conversation. Pause. Henry? (Pause. The least feather of smoke on the horizon and you adjusted your dress and became immersed in the Manchester Guardian. He throws one stone away.) Stonel (Clash. I can see it. I think I remember. Yes.SAMUEL BECKElT 37 here? (Pause.) Years we kept hammering away at it.) What age is she now? HENRY ADA I have lost count of time. cut off. “Stone!”and clash amplified. Oh yes it has. HENRY ADA I thought as much.) There is a levelling going on! (Pause.) That’s life1 ( H e throws the other stone away.) But we did it in the HENRY . What hole? The earth is full of holes. (Pause. (Confidentially. he’s alive still. HENRY ADA HENRY Where we did it at last ADA for the first time. catches vp two big stones and starts dashing them together. Henry.) Why life. Now that it does not matter the place is deserted.) The hole is still there. after all these years. Sound of its falZ. (Pawe.) The hole is still there. Ah yes. HENRY (wildly). isn’t he? Pause.

I couldn’t remember. Pause.) you will . not a sound.) You wore him out living and now you are wearing him out dead. But I forgot it today. (Pause. Well? He doesn’t answer any more. Not a sound. I was trying to be with my father. (Pause.) We had her in the end. (Pause.) No difficulty about that.) See Holloway. Underneath all is as quiet as the grave. Pause.) The time comes when one cannot speak to you any more. (Pause.) Who were you with just now? (Pause.) It’s not so bad when you get out on it. Sigh. (Pause. Ada. I mean I was trying to get him to be with me. not even complete strangers.) The time will wme when no one will speak to YOU at all.) I was asking him if he had ever met you.38 Eoergreen Review end. you know. (Pause. HENRY Let us go for a row. All day. (Pause.) You seem a little cruder than usual today. ADA A row? And Addie? She would be very distressed if she came and found you had gone for a row without her.) There is no sense in trying to drown it. HENRY ADA HENRY ADA HENRY ADA I suppose you have worn him out. (pause.) Listen to it1 (Pause. (Pause. ADA It’s only on the surface. (pame. (Pause. all night. (Pause.) Perhaps I should have gone into the merchant navy. ADA There is no sense in that. HENRY Now I walk about with the gramophone.) Before you spoke to me. Oh. (Pause.

Just your mother and sister. Ada. ADA You weren’t there. I have forgotten almost everything connected with you. (Pause. I can’t do it any more now! (Pause. every syllable is a second gained. I’m sorry. there will be no other voice in the world but yours. Your sister said she would throw herself o father got up and went out. as arranged. as if he had been turned to stone. ADA HENRY You know he met me. Pause. He was sitting on a rock looking out to sea. HENRY (irritably). I can’t! (Pause. Your f f the cliff. HENRY . I could never make it out. ADA That’s all. We were to go bathing together. No.) Do you hear me? Pause.) Go on now with your father or your stories or whatever you were doing. I’m afraid. HENRY (angrily). m y I can’t remember if he met you. Ada. I don’t know. He did not see me. You used to have it sometimes.SAMUEL BECKElT 39 be quite alone with yonr voice. I had called to fetch you.) Christ! Pause. Perhaps just the stillness.) I can’t do it any more! ADA You were doing it a moment ago. before you spoke to me. (Pause. drive on! Why do people always stop in the middle of what they are saying? ADA None of them knew where you were.) Keep it going. Drive on. don’t mind me any more. I never forgot his posture. And yet it was a common one. They were all shouting at one another. Pause. Your bed had not been slept in. keep on! (Imploringly. I left soon afterwards and passed him on the road. HENRY Keep on. slamming the door.

) Christl (Long pause.) Takes tram home. no sign of you. hangs round a hit. and pitch black in the room. How very peculiar! No. as if unowned. (Pause. (Pause. difficult to describe.) Hoovesl (Pause. Not yet! You needn’t speak. Louder. as if all the breath had left it. But with your father sitting on the rock that day nothing of the kind. great trouble.) Is this rubbish a help to you. Perhaps. not a soul about.) Had you gone round the cliff side? (Pause.) Hooves! (Pause. (Pause. .) No? (Pause. heavy velvet &air. there are attitudes remain in one’s mind for reasons that are clear.) Can’t have been looking out to sea. (Pause.) Christ! (Pause. (Pause.) I can by and go on a little if you wish.) “My dear Bolton .) Sits down in front. no. then lets it fall back. (Pause. Be with me. I have a panhysterectomy at nine. . Just listen.) Then I think I’ll be getting back. Miss?”. up on open top and sits down in front. no detail you could put your finger on and say. Not even.) Father1 (Pause.” meaning of course the anaesthetic.) Must have I suppose. Henry? (Pause.) Very unhappy and uneasy. (Pause. looking out to .40 ADA Evergreen R m * e w Yes. didn’t see her. then on down path to tram.) Suddenly feels uneasy and gets down again.) Unless you had gone round the other side. Louder. (Pause. draws it back.) Fire oiit. That kind of thing. goes back down path and takes tram home. you b o w what I mean.) Ada1 (Pause.) Stands watching you a moment. white world. bowed when one would have thought it should be lifted. or a hand suspended in mid air. passed you on the road. hitter cold.) Christl (Pause. hanging. (Pause. just the great stillness of the whole body. as I said.” ’ . kind of gathers it towards him and the moon comes flooding in. (Pause. (Pause. cold wind coming in off sea. (Pause. I could never make it out. (Pause.) Ada! (Pause. and vice versa. no. not a sound. let down your trousers and I’ll give you one. Bolton. the carriage of a head for example. then towards him again. (Pause. (Pause. goes back up path.) Left soon afterwards. conductor: “Changed your mind. .’ HENRY .) Bolton starts playing with the curtain.) “If it’s an injection you want.


41 white, black, white, black, Holloway: “Stop that for the love of God, Bolton, do you want to h i s h me?“ (Pause.) Black, white, black, white, maddening thing. (Pause.)Then he suddenly strikes a match, Bolton does, lights a candle, catches it up above his head, walks over and looks Holloway full in the eye. (Pause.)Not a word, just the look, the old blue eye, very glassy, lids worn thin, lashes gone, whole thing swimming, and the candle shaking over his head. (Pause.) Tears? (Pause. Long laugh.) Good God no! (Pause.)Not a word, just the look, the old blue eye, Holloway: “If you want a shot say so and let me get to hell out of here.” (Pause.)‘We’ve had this before, Bolton, don’t ask me to go through it again.” (Pause.)Bolton: “Please!” (Pause.) “Please!” (Pause.) “Please, Holloway!“ (Pause.) Candle shaking and guttering all over the place, lower now, old ann tired, takes it in the other hand and holds it high again, that’s it, that was always it, night, and the embers cold, and the glim shaking in your old fist, saying, Please! Please! (Pause.)Begging. (Pause.) Of the poor. (Pause.) Ada! (Pause.) Father! (Pause.) Christ! (Pause.) Holds it high again, naughty world, fixes Holloway, eyes drowned, won’t ask again, just the look, Holloway covers his face, not a sound, white world, bitter cold, ghastly scene, old men, great trouble, no good. (Pause.) No good. (Pause.) Christ! (Pause.Shingle as he gets up. He goes towards sea. Boots on shingle. He halts. Pause. Sea a ZittZe louder.) On. (Pause.He moues on. Boots on shingle. H e halts at water’s edge. Pause. Sea a little louder.) Little book. (Pause.)This (Pause.)Nothing this evening. (Pause.) Toevening tomorrow plumber at nine, then nothing. morrow (Pause.Puzzled.) Plumber at nine? (Pause.) Ah yes, the waste. (Pause.) Words. (Pause.) Saturday nothing. . Sunday nothing all day. (Pause.)Nothing, Sunday l night nothing. (Pause.) all day nothing. (Pause.)All day d Not a sound.

... ...



. ..



These Weapons Will Still Remain

As a result of Sings anti-militaristic campaigns, Mr. Khrushchev made a proposal not long ago before the United Nations to abolish a11 nuclear and conventional weapons. “This is a step fonvard,” says Sink. “But it’s not enough. For there will still be other arms.” For example , . , . . . . . . , . . . . . . . . . . . .


Voodoo Ridicule .

Matches Darts .

Love Banana peel 4 .

Then you can go. -Translated by Arthur Waley BARBARA MORAFF Tune I pace a cold meadow spectral. just tell me. and I shan’t worry about you. Far better come back to my house. my body is warm. the moon in the river following me lots of fresh bodies curved (patiently) in the roselight of nightwind willowing lots of fresh girl-bodies I sing for them 0 pluck my twisted bloom 47 . If there is anything you want. Let us be happy together this one night. If you are cold. Tomorrow the wind will have dropped.FENG MENG-LUNG (died 1646) Song Don’t set sail! The wind is rising and the weather none too good.

encounter with the spirit of human malevolence happened long ago. although it is the inclination of any self-perpetuating order to despise the minority: and children. in an obscure northern comer of New York City which I shall call Trilham’s Inlet. are now shrunken by the sad disciplines of urhanization and the historicity of grislier tyrannies. still pocked with lime. Whether the character of its government has. and which tum up every morning like surprising dominoes on cracked familiar roads to set the sun-slant awry and drum out old singing mysteries with shrieks of fearless summer television-among these only the school. it seems. unpenetrated by any hint of catastrophe or violence in the world. which the fertile Italians have introduced in profusion wherever cattails once nodded in green swamps. The child understands an abstraction like “justice” or “truth” only when it is acted out to his gain or detriment-only after he has seen the palpable consequences of the notion. I do not know. has not altered. That halfrural place and the lusterless octet of those years between 1933 and 1941. He has no collection of experiences out of which he 48 .CYNTHIA OZICK We Ignoble Savages My first. are the first minority Perhaps it is too much to ask of a superintending group not composed of saints that it resist its natural temptation to deceive children. always and everywhere. who do not know they are being deceived. and most impressive. Among all these new little houses-high-stooped and adohe-squat.

no emergency. Insidc.CYNTHIA OZICK 49 can abstract a concept. It was five stories high. and in front. A t a cautious distance you could watch the portcr polish the brass door handles and knockers. We pupils used the side entrances or the yard doors. usually the biggest boy in the class. where no pupil was permitted to set foot.” because there was a kind of evanescence about the incident from beginning to end: nothing fell out on purpose. 71 was perhaps no more than a dozen years old. and so on. I must tell what our school-life was like. To make plain the sort of atmosphere-murky. never the front one-not even for fire drills. frightening. and its one tall window-pole monitor. but only the teachers achially walked through the gate and up the steps and past the gleaming columns into the marble lobby that was rumored to he within. Every classroom had iis three sets of great windows. the furnishings were up-to-date. The height of the desks rose with the grades. the middle grades halfway up. for me.S. a flight of sun-dazzled steps led to an attractive white Georgian portico. its one tall window-pole hooked at the cnd. events settled dreadfully into place with no reference to motivation-what you meant to he had no connection with what yon were-and terror owned a purity and a power to which perhaps only savages are accessible. could he grcat enough to risk muddying that splendid lohhy. above all mysterious-in which I spent my years between the ages of five and thirteen. behind a pronged steel fence. and the school yard enclosed in the cup of the U. the form taken by the Miss Eff OBrien episode. supposodly. so that his first discovery of a hostility hetween reason and action. I have particularly had to qualify malevolence by the term “spirit. At the beginning of the thirties P. though oppressively uniform to the point of confusion ( s o that you had to find your way by numbcrs in the identical corridors). the queer splintering-off of intentions and words and gestures from actuality. At the right of each room was a series of . is as shattering and awesome as a Revelation. and the lowest grades were housed on the lowest stories. with its two rectangular wings joined by a block of stairs and corridors to form a U-shape. Architecturally it resembled many other public school buildings in New York City. of common courthouse-red brick. with a line of white running across the top. That was.

the small “yellow slips. for passes to the lavatory. since it saved them the trouble of signing a great many paper passes all day long. The egg- . it used to rest on the rim of the blackboard. which (even when a mother with foresight sewed in a band) always tore the collar. The teacher’s closet was for us the nearest thing to an idol-except for the flag.50 Evergreen Review b B hI closets.) Beneath the yellow slips were stacked medium-sized white sheets. presided over by the namby-pamby paper monitor. on the top shelf. There were also boxes of broken-off and dwarfed crayons. It was the only place you were likely to see a coat-hanger. a coat-hanger. and it had the added advantage of insuring that only one pupil at a time could be out of the room. toward which our attitude was far more wholesome. Next to the supply shelves was the teacher’s closet. permanent pass. from which you were supposed to dangle it. and below these the dreaded large sheets which were used solely for the frightening Friday Morning Test Periods. the removal of the block became the signal. (Later. was always stained a sort of blue-black from frequent fingering. before the vogue of the unsanitary etched wooden block. Many teachers. which had a shelf for hats. The whole contraption smelled strongly of urine. First were the supply shelves. In the upper grades it was no longer required that you raise your hand for permission to leave the room. The block itself. and through this was threaded a greasy string. on the face of which some boy in Shop class would have carved out the legend “CLASS 6B1-LAVATORY PASS with arty twists and elegances. ruled for Spelling and plain for Arithmetic. Here were kept. preferred the block. always locked. and the teacher. and a huge pile of yellowish drawing paper. the only kind distributed without the usual waming about waste. like clapping chalk dust out of blackboard erasers. and. when the block was introduced as an indestructible. near the door. children. we pupils hung our outer clothing on pointed hooks. It was never washed.” did not seem to mind. It had a hole bored at the top. and there were often barely identifiable chewing-gum blotches on it. a honk for an umbrella. who held a daily inspection of hands because “dirt breeds germs.” used for daily short-answer tests and. the sort of little drudge who liked to volunteer for the niggling jobs. in fact. actually.

even her worst enemies held their sides. perfect quality. I do not recall how we acquired this notion. and at dismissaltime it was an especial prerogative to hold the door so that the mirror on its inner face was slanted towsdd the teacher while she powdered her nose or put on her hat-you stwd motionless. and it was almost as though you were touching the fingers themselves. dress. although an occasional dispute broke out over whether a teacher really had to go to the bathroom: no one. Finally. worshipping scrutiny-but I never knew a teacher who did anything to discourage the rites that accompanied her every gesture.CYNTHIA OZICK 51 shaped brass doorknob. her fragrant wake was somehow beneficent. it was true. overcame-and this was a reality. lost in the delicacies of her perfume.” we would cry. she gave that sheet to a nearby pupil to use. I us and politely said “Excuse me. When the teacher dropped a piece of chalk. afloat. The same dizzying aura that hung about her like an assurance of immortality wafted also from her closet. belt-buckle. our reverence for the teacher’s person. dear. there was a roar of blessings. on her side. She. he considered himself fortunate as he watched the others imitating his prize: for he knew in his heart that there was only one perfectly-folded sheet of paper in the world. but I know’we all believed it. four or five f she agile runners came swooping down at her feet after it. If. after demonstrating how a test paper was to be folded. handkerchief and even shoes each had some holy. rings. covering most of the wall on the right of the classroom. was the long. “Oh. Her perfume in particular was magical in its effects. The teacher’s hair. cautious. with its intricate little keyhole surrounded by calligraphic numbers and letters. was itself enough to thrill you by its cold consecrated touch: her fingers had clasped it. whether we f she brushed against were despised by her or were a favorite. There were no cynics among us. when she passed. narrow wardrobe closet with its ominous sliding . had ever seen her leave the room except when summoned. must have been aware of our primitive belief in emanations-certainly she felt our detailed. untouchable. I sneezed. spectacles. If she told a little joke. teeth. that’s all right!” as if to suggest the stupendous privilege of any accidental pressure from her. and it was his alone. For the teacher’s body was sacred.

however.) In addition. Walk. onr formation divided us by sex. any signs of exuberance immediately jeopardized our chances for a speedy dismissal. would rise. the girls preceded the boys. stand. with the doors closed. Miss So-and-So. we had to form a double line in size places. face front-did I give you the signal yet? All right. required some special ceremony which I used to miss again and again. Seat Three. Very well. do not run. next. “Row Six. Row Six. what?” ”Yes.” We would place our fists. with not a whisper allowed. The biggest and most disobedient boys sometimes had to stand inside in the terrible dark. until at last the teacher’s voice would address the back of the head: “Well. Seats One and Two. tightly. but this was a rare and extreme punishment. farthest from the wardrobe. Then-“All right now. Now-hands folded. Seats One and Two may get their coats. Seat Three. are you ready to join the rest of us now?” Silence. and the tallest “bringing up the rear. for logically it had no meaning for me. For lesser infringements we were sent to cower in a rear comer. (For a long time I was puzzled by these words: as the smallest the long line. you may take your seat. Row Five will place hands on head and remain seated.” The length of this rigmarole would be directly proportional to the shortness of our patience.” which was the official phrase for it. and in this way. and Five. “Do you think you can sit in your seat like a little lady (or little man)?” “Yes. I don’t remember telling anyone to stand. on the edge of our desks.” whatever it implied.” “Very well. When the three o’clockbell rang. burning with the indignity of separation.” The wardrobe. whitely clasped. “Did I say class dismissed? Did anyone hear me say class dismissed? Please be seated at once. Row Four. you may now get yonr coat.52 Evergreen Review doors. across the bleak green inner yard and at last to the doors. we were marched down the staircase. and it taught us to think of ourselves as nameless numbers. the little ones in the lead. served another purpose apart from punishment or clothes-storage: it helped to regulate our physical movements.” “Yes. Nor was this the end. may get their coats. Slowly.” Row Six. stand. out of which we shot thunderously into the street. and I thought “bringing up the rear. (Continued on page 141) . Four. Row Five is very noisy. the head would drop. Seats Three.

And that old photo of you they keep: the 1940 Brenda Frazier hairdo. turn sour in the end? Last night. But a ghost. brilliant. But It Got Too Cold Yes. whose hands on you were & always will apparently be those of a competent surgeon. but something primitive about the way 53 .PAUL CARROLL George Swimming at Barnes Hole. with you. But must it always. talking: as if you always have to underline how you’ve had to traffic with the other ways of dying than the body’s. Joan. And also in the way your he-boned hands thrash. Talking. you seem to take a trip. the talk intense & good as usual: though even at the start there is an intimation of November in your voicebruise of sleet. back to the roots of why you paint: the father. that whithering. Mother.

Who died. . But not the memory of that ecstatic afternoon you spent with him at Barnes Hole on Long Island: dark wet fur bristly with lights as he zigzagged in the grass or paddled about the pool: that barbaric yellow spring you suddenly. there.54 Eoergreen Reoiew those adolescent breasts. I've never seen your New York studio: but I imagine from our talks a girl staring or slashing at a canvas on the wallthrashing hands delicate & instinctive as a dream. perhaps. Joan. an anger at your innocence. that crook of neck communicate spite. And yet. Those hardbitten illuminations in the act of painting-a way. discovered in yourself-unique as an act of love. that afternoon apparently was good enough to hurt forever. to find the guts to face the fact that love is the name we give our terror. Something primitive too about the look brooding on your poodle George.

” But they don’t listen to me. I must go to Africa. I keep muttering: “Mum.. 55 . BROWN Africa I need to go to Africa. R. The fish thought it was bread And they ate it. .P. Small Poem I wrote a poem Then threw it in the river. Dad..

The first faces. . . . we brushed our teeth. . It is as if we had traveled back through time into a past which. displaying the talent of born actors. . Ethiopia! Here we are in a country that differs completely from all other parts of Africa. Hugo C h w . Cortege or procession? To the right is a curious circular construction with a weathervane on the roof-dnubtless a church! The softness of the landscape in the background. and the shupe of its trees. Is the frontier this greenness into which we have moved? February 13. strolling one Sunduy morning through the j7ea murket in Rome with the Flemish poet. magic.CORNEILLE Journal of a Painter in Ethiopia In 1953. though close to us. after waking. I would wander leisurely through it. An ugly and harsh atmosphere with moments of sudden sweetness. . . a green belt has now begun. is still quite disturbing..) We are in the Middle Ages. . . (Gone is the broad white grin of the Negro. I n one corner of the picture is some lettering which I first took to be Hebrew. all so gay and friendly and garrulous! I well remember the frank. February 11. vexations and annoyances of all kinds. hermetic. corporal punishments. . The Negroes loved to imitate us. brightly colored and nuioely erecuted.. the age of strongholds. enthralled. ecstatic faith. are reminiscent of the Tuscan countryside. What makes up for them in my eyes is that these creatures who have come down from the high Abyssinian mountains have a most extraordi- 56 . flat plain of dry.. seared earth broiled and scorched to tints ranging from saffron yellow to russet brown and passing through a l l possible shades of ochre. The painting depicts sixteen figures. uproarious laughter we provoked every morning when. I found and bought a putnting of unknown origin. With my eyes. and one playing a mysterim instrument. After the vast. This of course is quite a change from the Negroes we have so far come across since our departure from Dakar. Here we are met with silence and lowering looks. February 12. but later learned was Amharic (Ethiopian script). For a long time the painting remained hanging above my bed. Glowering warriors down from the mountains raise their hands to their curved daggers-at the slightest gesture we make. We are spellbound. . three of whom are carrying a canopy. . bandits.


" Right: A portion of the fallen ste at Axum.Left: The great stele at Axum. call "the Obelisk. . ConternPoran tombstones of Soul ern Ethiopia.


. the floor. for in this way the monoliths humanize themselves. the walls. hut are humble pieces of carved stone trodden on by women’s feet.60 nary mop of hair. I am overwhelmed by these naive religious paintings-the only example of Ethiopian painting that I had set eyes upon had given me no inkling of its wealth and variety. . the very painter who is entrusted with the task of brightening up the paintings I have .. At times h u m looks like a Russian village. . Some of them rise as high as 120 ft. Evergreen Review are hewn from a single block of extremely hard stone (like granite) -an almost incredible technical feat. I am thinking of a Chagall painting-Vitehsk-with its streets bordered by painted wooden houses. The giant monoliths of Axnm (astonishing remains of an unknown civiIization) tower above the center of the Holy City. The English call these mountaindwellers Fuzzy-Wnzzies. Tomorrow I shall he taken to one of the artists who still paint in the old style. Women here attach a capital importance to all that can adorn them and thus enhance their personal charms. which is never found on the spot. these women with their monumental hairdress look like walking ninepins with their big round heads. . on oddly-shaped cushions. The monoliths no longer point haughtily towards the sky. Today. visits to several churches. niches. the women use these huge blocks for their laundering which doesn’t bother me at all. and . The hours are spent asking favors. “It is through the eyes that love enters the soul. At last the church-doors opened: a real feast for our eyes was waiting for us. I would like to buy a painting. . enjoined upon us by the priests. Countless palavers. . This thatch incidentally serves them as a larder: it is abundantly moistened with (very rancid) butter which has stopped attracting flies and now rather puts them to flight. become useful again since man has lost their original meaning. In order to get the key. . After endless bowing. Axum-I love the sound of this word. Seen from afar. (Oscar Schlemmer used to see and paint his figures just like this. .” said Enripides. uncomfortably. They roll their hair into a hall and then bundle it into a haimet or a muslin square. lopsided planks from which the nails protrude. Inside the churches are covered with paintings: the ceiling. . . interminable visits to wan old abbds. every nook and cranny. built of rough. and this hairy matting is milked like a cow every evening at mealtime. in fact. we sometimes have to go to the other end of town. . February 15. we finally have to sit down. And the river perhaps adds a few chisel marks of its own to them. others lie in the brook. Some are lying in pieces on the ground. columns.) February 16. But these primitive men have an amazingly discerning taste and a keen sense of artistry-they wear Paul Klees in their hair-eacb one with his finely etched comb.

I see everywhere around me this obsessing gaze from under very high. running the dragon through with his spear. yet another pair of eyes. and tradition is still so much alive that an artist can. those gentle. quite often one finds. cold mountain ranges. to pose for a last photograph with my new purchase in his hands. February 21. today we went to see the who received us very Through the intermediary of a young boy. his spouse following him with her tall sunshade of plaited straw. February 17. February 22. at the extreme edge of the canvas. strongly redolent trees.) There is always this proliferation of heads in their pictures. (Thev don’t see or paint themselves as black-skinned. In Ethiopian paintings. I was able to discuss technique and materials with this dignified old man. aloes studded with little orange-red bells-all of breathtaking dimensions. slightly bulging foreheads. carrying their master’s weapons: a mighty sabre and long. And always the same grave. always white ones. which he was keeping in a dark miner of his studio where I discovered it by chance (he would certainly never have shown it to . The landscape before our eyes this morning: high. a great and haughty lord escorted by his equerries on foot. Axum will remain unforgettable for me. George. frequently all on the same level. touch up paintings that are three or four hundred years old. Before we left. finely-wrought rifles. the Ethiopians look like a multitude of white pigeons-they never wear colored garments. strangely fixed gaze. their paintings are not at all realistic. In the market places and public squares. Homer already knew the Ethiopians and spoke of them in the following terms: “Unsullied Abvssinians whose sacrifices are the most agreeable to the gods. George is the patron saint of Ethiopia. which explain their astonishing freshness. on horseback. f i $ z February 18. they daub their figures’ clothes with gaudy colors. and its fascinating monuments.” At 4 P. ancient just seen. with the same dignity. staring out of pale faces. a fiery horseman with blazin eyes on his way to a feast. In the streets. us). and buy from him a picture painted on wood. bristling with giant spurges. without fear of doing damage. silvery. peasant women in a long line.CORNEILLE 61 those obsessive eyes-rows of eyes. its incomparable churches stirringly alive with all their murals. cactuses. Pictures my eyes have gleaned as the kilometers speed by: a nobleman with a black goatee. It is a St. w i t his spear and shield. With its eucalyptuses. bending under the load of big pitchers of beautiful. St. thistles. pressed cheek to jowl. The Ethiopians have no complexes in this respect. the artist consented. These murals are touched up-almost repainted-at regular intervals.M. always .

They have been with us since Dakar. what variety in the color combinations1 Most of the pictures represent the Virgin (Miriam) and Child. squares. yet it resembles a big forest. I dream of a painting which would be like the natural unfolding of the hours here (with the same underlying cruelty). they have a bird-like grace. The flies which our car attracts are traveling along with us. crosses. restores the gray. heavy earth. This never-ending city is as vast as Paris. at war. bracing air of the high altitudes. buried under a green foliage that has been polished to a high shine by ceaseless rainfall. triangles. TOsettes. frightened creatures. one next to the other-a folklore art. drab. The girls spin cotton with quick. scenes of work in the fields. wide empty spaces. shouting with vitality. some seats.64 one finds rotting houses. Heavy warm drops splash against the verdure. skidding. a bed in the corner. The rest are lines moving straight off into space. Addis Abbaha. waiting for the sated lions to leave them a morsel of blackand-white striped zebra. the embryo of a city. which look all the more naked as one emerges from narrow. the merest traces of gardens-to-be. Our car plows through seas of mud. the slow wandering of the clouds over these immense plains. What a delight1 The shapes of the bodies are simplified to the utmost and have a certain stiffness (a little like images dgpinal-popular French color prints). March 3. with her hair rolled into a hall and held up by a silk square knotted at the nape. Small rooms. thatched huts from which rises a very blue smoke. lost in the tall grass into which the eucalyptus trees eternally drain. at a hunt. For several days now the sky has been unloosing its tropical rain. We pass fleeing. has but a few streets dug out of its soil. we no longer cover more than a few miles a day in the direction of Kenya. an orgy of colors on the wall: large sheets of paper are tacked to it. A long street. and circles form a decoration that reaches down to between her breasts. the kids walk barefoot. with their treacherous long rnsset grass where jackals lurk. and adorned with an enormous tattoo lightly drawn around the neck: necklaces. the King of Kings. the villages have vanished. some shield them- . We miss the thin. upward fiights. the Emperor Haile Selassie on horseback. singing. The temperature of a steam bath. always victorious. hut what wealth of invention. listless plants to polished green youthfulness. sparsely furnished: a round table with the inevitable tea-service. One’s feet sink ankle-deep in black. which brightens the colors. descents. waspwaisted lanes. Solomon and his lions. now and then a likeness of one of the ladies of this place (I w a s lucky to be able to Euergreen Review buy one of these portraits). The brothel. light movements. which look like fat tom-cats. slipping. are harassing us without respite. while the heat roasts us properly.

A mural painting in the Church of Tekde Haymanot a t Axurn. .

.I A woman of the Gallas tribe of Southern Ethiopia.

erected everywhere. moons. the plants strain madly towards the falling water. March 6. The rain falls hard. these gravestones are still being hewn. a most poignant melancholy. East and West. wheels and various patterns. Sooth. In the plain. These steles are sometimes grouped in fours-one in each direction: North. the men drape themselves as best they can in pieces of material that are too scanty. they bear a kinship with the abstract art of the Scandinavian Bronze Age. which replaces the orgy of green foliage of these past by Rita Barisse. the tombs of the Arrussi warriors are silhouetted. and twist and entwine in inextricable knots around us. decorated with etchings. . and almost never lets up. in the south of Ethiopia. In all this. -Transluted selves with banana leaves.C0R NEILLE 67 weeks. . . the women wear leather dresses and tinkling jewelry. For me. . They are all decorated with rudimentary signs-suns. Even today.

and never anything but drear desolation.HENRY MILLER From Nexus ‘Why should we always go out of our way to describe the wretchedness and the imperfections of our life. the wind whistled. nor did it matter. and to unearth characters from wild and remote comers of our country?” Thus Gogol begins Part I1 of his unfinished novel. the land of the poor and happily demented. the junkyard where all that was dilapidated. I was now well into the novel-my own-but still I had no clear idea where it was leading me. I had only to cross the line. As I roamed about gazing into shop windows. since Pop was pleased with all that had been shown him thus far. Moreover. abandoned ferry slips. and my brain ever in a whirl drove me on reIentIessly. I thought of the Negroes whom we visited regularly and of how uncoh- 68 . and I was in the familiar world of childhood. no one had discovered OUT whereabouts. I mean. memories. storekeepers long dead. The wild and remote comers of the earth were all about me. the money was always forthcoming. forced me to ferret out streets. the Grenze. Thus I was able to explore the streets at will. which I did with a vengeance because the air was sharp and biting. and germ-ridden was salvaged by the rats who refused to desert the ship. and my chess game had improved somewhat. cemeteries still redolent with the punk of mourners. peering into alleyways. none of my pestilential cronies. only a stone’s throw from the boundary which marked off our aristocratic precinct. buildings. the birds were scarcer now but still they sang. Thanksgiving had come and gone. saloons converted into dime stores. odors (of rotting vegetables 1. useless. we ate and drank well.

HENRY MILLER 69 taminated they appeared to be. They could all play some instrument. the great sewers of Paris. I was ever frantically climbing ladders to pluck a ripe fig from some exotic overhanging garden of the past. More in love with words than with psychopathic devaginations. or anything to hand. I had to be on guard lest he drive me into a comer and pinch my ass. say “The Fickle Type” of Utamaro. or even Henry James. Or I might become interested in sewers. And if there were no instrument they made music with fingers and palms-on table tops. I should add. “the wild and remote comers of our . and our prejudices as well. dreamy fugue of an image and a living colored wood-block. some little known site. let us say-in order to fetch up with a brilliant analogy between the skyscrapered canyons of Wall Street and the congested districts of Rome under the Emperors. The one who owned the collection of erotica had grown very fond of me. these lovable souls. I could spend hours at a stretch with Walter Pater. Vienna. I was still timid. He was a wonderful pianist. as 1 say. or some other metropolis. in the hope of lifting a beautifully turned phrase. their gift of speech. He had that %-pedal technique I relished so much in Count Basie and Fats Waller. The sickness of the Gentiles had not destroyed their laughter. where a Hittite monster of a monarch had left colossal statues to commemorate his flea-blown ego? Or I might dig up an old history book-one of Mommsen’s. yet they remained impervious. Meanwhile. I had introduced no “unearthed characters” as yet in the novel. in the effort to force a bridge between a vague. barrels. They had all our diseases to combat. How work in a cryptic reference to some remote region of Asia Minor. Or I might sit and gaze at a Japanese print. Never did I dream that one day he would he seizing my books too and adding them to his astounding collection. whereupon it would occur to me that Hugo or some other French writer had made use of such a theme and I would take up the life of this novelist merely to 6nd out what had impelled him to take such an interest in sewers. their easy-going ways. for example. The illustrated pages of a magazine like the Geographic could hold me spellbound for hours.

Ah no! Some whom I had dragged in for color were plain schmucks. spare cart wheels and sulkies without shafts. and the handles and ribs of umbrellas . an endless array of bric-abrac all marked “manufactured in Hagia Triada. like a canine’s. crutches. What element there was of the bizarre and the outlandish intrigued Pop no end. None of this did I dare to put into the novel. (Prepucelos) The hero. ethnology. shops from the cool labyrinths of Fez. huge ones.70 Eoergreen Review country” were right to hand. the Sicilian lad. was one. bird cages galore and always empty. often of majolica and decorated with pansies or sun flowers. No. He had wondered-openly-how a young . Some of my most cherished cosmococcic miscreants. It was his function to keep the merry-go-round turning. There were dwellings seemingly transplanted from the shores of the Caspian. I brought my geography. No dreck. the novel I kept like a boudoir. inhabited this land of desolation. Not that all the characters were respectable or impeccable. this budding patricide! At seventeen he was dreaming of getting a job in the Vatican. who in taking an axe to his old man bad luckily chopped off only one arm. the Egyptologist. chamber pots. Patrick Garstin. Francis! Making the rounds from one alkali bed to another. who was also the narrator and to whom I bore a slight resemblance. had the air of a trapezoid cerebralist. When he smiled he showed only two teeth. Now and then he treated himself to a free ride. Why? In order to become better acquainted with St. The architecture teemed with atavistic anomalies. He could bark too. Did an Italian funeral parlor look intriguing I would step inside and inquire the price of a coffin. corsets. . Donato. or sniff and growl like a cur. What aspirations he had. I discovered. (H e had come to look more like a gold-digger than an archaeologist. I had only to stop and buy a bunch of radishes to unearth a weird character. huts out of Anderseds fairy tales.) Donato lived here too. He ate with the dog-out of the same tin plate. . Everything that was beyond the Grenze excited me.“ And what midgets1 One who pretended to speak only Bulgarian-he was really a Moldavian-lived in a dog kennel in the rear of his shack. folklore and gunnery up to date.

and making water. A dog. Despite all the foolery.” Sly. that I would find it impossible. A line from one of the mad Caesars was always pertinent. quadratics.HENRY MILLER 71 woman. though farfetched. when she thought she was well out of sight. to resume the thread of my narrative. My true reason for inserting these creatures of a lower order was to show contempt for certain characters in the hook who had gotten out of hand. such images. Frdken? The cowslips are dying of thirst. I say. of course. Besides. but see to it that they reflect the galactic varnish. on returning to my desk. such a patina. (He couldn’t know. if I wished to ridicule a current idea which was anathema to me. in other words. Or just a sly Hamsunesque quip. properly inspired. as I then conceived it. if necessary. that I was mortally afraid of dogs or that I loathed cats. For every thought that entered my head the hod-carrier or whoever would . Make mud puddles. Some of the goofiest images had been stolen from almanacs. These rambles taken to relax or to obtain fresh inspirationoften only to aerate my testicles-had a disturbing effect upon the work in progress. My purpose was to impart such a finish. all the shenanigans. can make an ass of a queen. was the occasional introduction of a dog or a cat. This was the business of authorship.) But I could make a dog talk. Rounding a corner at a sixty-degree angle. What Pop truly enjoyed. I would hardly have known what to say myself. lift my hind leg and piss on it. came by such thoughts. was to Froken’s habit of spreading her legs. When giving an idiot voice mix the jabberwocky with high-flown allusions to such subjects as paleontology. all I had to do was to impersonate a mutt. And it was doggy talk. Or a curse from the lips of a scrofulous dwarf. I nevertheless managed to create a sort of antique gl‘aze. others were born of wet dreams. It had never occurred to Mona to say: “From another incarnationl” Frankly. the author. no mistake about it. such extravagance. because the allusion. like-“Going for a walk. that every page would gleam like star dust. it could happen that a conversation (with a locomotive engineer or a jobless hod-carrier) ended only a few minutes previously would suddenly blossom into a dialogue of such length. hyperhoreanism. it seemed.

The still life. For example -a few playing cards lying face up on the sidewalk and next to them a toy pistol or the head of a missing chicken. who would greet me from the murky depths but the same pro-Consul! Terror-stricken. when one takes up the pursuit of such chimeras. A smile of gratitude. “God help me if he visits me in my sleep!“ Thus. I developed a kind of painter’s eye. the nose bitten off. as if the touch of my hand had restored it to life. whereupon. . and where I had first stumbled upon it. passing the plate-glass window of an empty shop. not so strangely. I would press my nose against the show-window and stare. say. what sheer insanity. I might be loitering in some backyard gazing absent-mindedly at a marble head with one ear missing and presto! it would be talking to me . There he wasan ear missing. particularly chipped and dismantled ones. it would suddenly dawn on me that I had detected similar configurations in the painter’s world. rambles. Then it would be an all-night task to recall which painting. as I term it. and beside the boot a tattered copy of The Golden Ass pierced with a rusty jack-knife. Then an even stranger thing might happen. Occasionally this sort of bitchery would start up with statues. infests some of the great masterpieces of art. panoramic . And his lips moving! “A retinal haemorrhage. and move on. No matter what answer I made the conversation continued.72 Evergreen Review have some comment to make. forays and reconnoiterings was the realm.. might be an artless arrangement of objects which no one in his senses would have bothered to look at twice. How often I made it my business to return to a certain spot in order to review a “still life” which I had passed too hurriedly the day before or three days before. Or an open parasol torn to shreds sticking out of a lumberjack‘s boot. to discover what amazing trivia.” I would murmur to myself. An hour later. Wondering what so fascinated me in these chance arrangements. it would smile at me. needless to say. talking in the language of a pro-Consul. which painter. It was as if these corky nobodies had made up their minds to derail me. Extraordinary. But the most distinctive feature associated with these jaunts. Some crazy urge would seize me to caress the battered features.

sucker-pieces. Another was-not to think before a blank page. nor could one establish his identity solely through the use of the first person singular. such as morticians. to get the words to trickle without fanning them with a feather or stirring them with a silver spoon. stickers. le roi.. Yes. Man has never lacked for words.HENRY MILLER 73 in recollection. before the Olympian Goethe. Before Abraham was. there was the Voice and the Voice was with every man. Human gestures. the critics called them. who made a specialty of exploiting such idiosyncrasies. the frozen glassiness of glass-yet what frenzy. trim. extra low and overhanging boughs and branches from the good trees and to prune them extra close to the hark . who thought nothing of resorting to a little trick like the whinnying of a horse when they wished to remind the reader of a character mentioned sixty pages back. of gesture. I discovered. in other words. hut the Father within me. and wait the coming of the Lord! Erase all thought. Quite a discipline. Even those of “refined” individuals. What is more still than a mirror. twigs. sprigs. The difficulty arose only when man forced the words to do his bidding. light and shadow. Not I. ministers of the gospel. before the great Shakespeare. Yes. even though the flies were biting like mad and the birds chirping insanely. what fury its still surface can yield! “I wish that you would kindly have the men of the Park Department prune. observe the still movement of the heavens! All is flow and movement. shooters. Crafty. stumps. humbling way I was making all manner of discoveries. like a bird of prey. in my stumbling. low. wait patiently. To learn to wait. lackeys. c’est Ihutondme. Ce n’est pas moi. Craftsmen. . and pare off all the dead wood. Be still. All borrowed from the animal and insect worlds. dirty and shaggy pieces. before the divine Dante or the immortal Homer. or pseudo-refined. major-domos. There were novelists. The way a certain nobody when taken by surprise threw back his head and whinnied would stick in my crop long after I had ceased to remember his words and deeds. One of them was that one cannot hide his identity under cover of the third person. certainly. .

hiding them away. . more beauty to all the surrounding areas. I t knows that all the errors. to be born a writer one must learn to like privation. tumultuous. avenue. . never do it!” (Not Stanley certainly. more air. I t can hide its time. humiliation. that like the hummingbird he will quiver in mid-air and dazzle with iridescent sheen? One doesn’t. images barricaded my way. more natural light. boulevard and so on . Could he not hiss like a snake?) Who then? Or was it that I was still in the cocoon stage. forgetting where I had stored them. place. more. suffering. court. persistent. my treasures. phrases. forgotten pit were buried all the thoughts and experiences which I might properly call my own. One hopes and prays and bashes his head against the wall. a worm not yet sufficiently intoxicated with the splendor and magnificence of life? How does one know that one day he will take wing. Above all. all the detours. rescued from chaos. one must learn to live apart. but which I lacked the courage to resuscitate. steady. . In some deep. And what was it prevented my o w n unique thoughts from breaking out and flooding the page? For many a year now I had been scurrying to and fro like a pack-rat. and thereby give a great deal more light.” That was the sort of message I should like to have dispatched at intervals to the god of the literarv realm so that I might be delivered from confusion. and always searching for more. all the failures and frustrations will be turned to account. freed of obsessive admiration for authors living and dead whose words. To be born an eagle one must get accustomed to high places. borrowing this and that from the beloved masters.74 Etiergreen Review and to have all the good trees thoroughly and properly sprayed from the base to the very top parts and all through along by all parts of each street. which were certainly unique. for h e would disdain to whisper. Like the sloth. When ready plop! h e falls into the stream and battles for life. But “it” knows. lane. the writer clings to his limb while beneath him life surges by. Is it not something like that? Or is there a fair. Had someone cast a spell over me that I should labor with arthritic stumps instead of two hold fists? Had someone stood aver me in my sleep and whispered: “You will never do it. more.

leaves. or as I put my head on the pillow to drown myself in sleep. or more properly is shuffled around. Negation-the absence of things-is unthinkable. nothing more. instead of falling thwack into mid-stream he glides like an eel through sludge. Did I fear. mire. we call laws. as I walked the streets for inspiration. Rearrangement. forces. intertwining boughs. the literary life! I would sometimes say to myself. that if I succeeded in letting myself go I would he speaking with my own voice? Did I fear that once I found that buried treasure which I had hidden away I would never again know peace. waxing. changing-has been so since eternity. branches. The writer rearranges the gray matter in his noodle. and ooze? I had time unending for such vagaries in the course of my daily routine. And all according to inscrutable urges. never know surcease from toil? The very thought of creation-how absolutely unapproachable it is! Or its opposite. which. Impossible even to posit such a thing as the uncreated. it is the ghost of a thought. buzzing. The mild activity associated with my “work not only failed to drain my energy but stimulated it. Chaos! We know nothing of chaos. instructed in his art. waning. unconsciously. the more of light in darkness. there is born the imitation of reality: a book. He makes a beginning and an end-the very opposite of creation!-and in between. when we recognize them. suckers and whatnot. Meaning this in-hetween realm crowded with interlacing.HENRY MILLER 75 smiling land where at an early age the budding writer is taken aside. When and where does creation cease? And what can a mere writer create that has not already been created? Nothing. I was forever buzzing. The problems of life remain. A face may he lifted. the more of law in lawlessness. Everything is humming. Some books have altered the face of the world. Silence! Only the dead know it. never from writing too much. pushing. . stickers. Nothingness! Blow as hard as you like. What a wonderful life. The more deeply we gaze the more we discover of order in disorder. where he shuffles around. chaos. If now and then I complained of exhaustion it was from not being able to write. guided by loving masters and. like poplars they sprang up beside me as I labored in thought. something always remains.


Evergreen Review

hut one’s age is indelible. Books have no effect. Authors have no effect. The effect was given in the first Cause. Where wert thou when I created the world? Answer that and you have solved the riddle of creation! We write, knowing we are licked before we start. Every day we beg for fresh torment. The more we itch and scratch the better we feel. And when our readers also begin to itch and scratch we feel sublime. Let no one die of inanition! The airs must ever swarm with arrows of thought delivered by Zes hommes de Zettfes. Letters, mind you. How well put! Letters strung together with invisible wires charged with imponderable magnetic currents. All this travail forced upon a brain that was intended to work like a charm, to work without working. Is it a person coming toward you or a mind? A mind divided into books, pages, sentences replete with commas, periods, semicolons, dashes and asterisks. One author receives a prize or a seat in the Academy for his efforts, another a worm-eaten bone. The names of some are lent to streets and boulevards, of others to gallows and almshouses. And when all these “creations” have been finally read and digested men will still be buggering one another. No author, not even the greatest, has been able to get round that hard, cold fact. A grand life just the same. The literary life, I mean. Who wants to alter the world? (Let it rot, let it die, let it fade awayl) Tettrazini practicing her trills, Caruso shattering the chandeliers, Cortot waltzing like a blind mouse, the great Vladimir horrorizing the keyboard-was it of creation or salvation they were thinking? Perhaps not even of constipation. . . . The road smokes under your horses’ hooves, the bridges rumble, the heavens fall backwards. What is the meaning of it all? The air, tom to shreds, rushes by. Everything is flying by, bells, collar buttons, moustachios, pomegranates, hand grenades. We draw aside to make way for yon, you fiery steeds. And for you, dear Jascha Heifetz, dear Joseph Szigeti, dear Yehudi Menuhin. We draw aside, humbly-do you hear? No answer. Only the sound of their collar bells. Nights when everything is going wish whoosh! when all the unearthed characters slink out of their hiding-places to perform



on the roof-top of my brain, arguing, screaming, yodeling, cartwheeling, whinnying too-what horsed-I know that this is the only life, this life of the writer, and the world may stay put, get worse, sicken and die, all one, because I no longer belong to the world, a world that sickens and dies, that stabs itself over and over, that wobbles like an amputated crab. . . I have my own world, a Graben of a world, cluttered with Vespasiennes, Mir6s and Heideggers, bidets, a lone Yeshiva Bocher, cantors who sing like clarinets, divas who swim in their own fat, bugle busters and troikas that rush like the wind. . , . Napoleon has no place here, nor Goethe, nor even those gentle souls with power over birds, such as St. Francis, Milosz the Lithuanian, and Wittgenstein. Even lying on my back, pinned down hy dwarfs and gremlins, my power is vast and unyielding. My minions obey me; they pop like corn on the griddle, they whirl into line to form sentences, paragraphs, pages. And in some far-off place, in some heavenly day to come, others geared to the music of words will respond to the message and storm heaven itself to spread unbounded delirium. Who knows why these things should be, or why cantiltas and oratorios? W e know only that they are, that their magic is law, and that by observing them, heeding them, reverencing them, we add joy to joy, miscry to misery, death to death. Nothing is so creative as creation itself. AbeI begot Bogul, and Bogul begot Mogul, and Mogul begot Zobel. Catheter, blatherer, shatterer. One letter added to another makes for a word; one word added to another makes for a phrase; phrase upon phrase, sentence upon sentence, paragraph upon pnragraph; chapter after chapter, book after book, epic after epic: a tower of Babel stretching almost, hut not quite, to the lips of the Great I Am. “Humility is the word!” Or, as my dear, beloved Master explains: “We must remember our close connection with things like insects, pterodactyls, saurians, slowworms, moles, skunks, and those little flying squirrels called polatouches.” But let us also not forget, when creation drags us by the hair, that every atom, every molecule, every single element of the universe is in league with us, egging us on and trimming us down, all to remind us that we must never think



Ecergreen Review

of dirt as dirt or God as God but ever of all combined, making us to race like comets after our own tails, and thereby giving the lie to motion, matter, energy and all the other conceptual flub-dub clinging to the ass-hole of creation like bleeding piles. (“My straw hat mingles with the straw hats of the riceplanters.”) It is unnecessary, in this beamish realm, to feast on human dung or copulate with the dead, after the manncr of certain disciplined souls, nor is it necessary to abstain from food, alcohol, sex and drugs, after the manner of anchorites. Ncither is it incumbent upon any one to practice hour after hour the major and minor scales, the arpeggios, pizzicati, or cadenzas, as did the progeny of Liszt, Czeroy, and other pyrotechnical virtuosi. Nor should one slave to make words explode like firecrackers, in conformance to the ballistic regulations of inebriated semanticists. It is enough and marc to stretch, yawn, wheeze, f a t and whinny. Rules are for barbarians, technic for the troglodytes. Away with the Minnesingers, even those of Cappadocia! Thus, whilst sedulously and slavishly imitating thc ways of the masters-tools and technic, in other words-my instincts were rising up in revolt. If I craved magical powers it was not to rear new structures, not to add to the Tower of Babel, but to destroy, to undermine. The novel I liar1 to write. Point d’honnew. But after that , , , ? After that, vcngcancc! Ravngc, lay waste the land: make of Culture an open sewer, so that the stench of it would remain forever in the nostrils of mcmory. All my idols-and I possessed a veritable pantheon-I would offer up as sacrifices. M’hat powcrs of utterance they had given me I would use to curse and blaspheme. Had not the prophets of old promised destruction? Had they cvcr hcsitated to befoul their speech, in order to awaken the dead? If for companions I had ncvcr aught hut dcrclicts and wastrels, was thcre not a purpose in it? \Vere not my idols also derelicts and wastrels -in a profound sense? Did they not float on the tide of culture, were they not tossed hither and thither likc the unlettered wretches of the workaday world? Were their daemons not as heartless and ruthless as any slave-driver? Did not everything

It was in this wise that Abel begot Rogul and Bog111 begot Mogul. Never would I have it better. or the sccrct codcs imparted to me whereby I learned to read between the lines. the codes and tablets of the law-givers. which I had teased and worried. to hope and pray for the destruction of all existent modes and forms. like a chimpnnz. men of art. flcas. to tread all the wrong paths. small wonder that in the midst of a thought. mind blank. A grand life. lice and pollen? Who conld possibly know the confidences rcvealcd by my idols who were cver sending me night messages. Soon I \vould piss on it and bury it. yinked this way and that. nnless he hugged m e likc a sliadow. who faitlrfully tickled my halls. of what use leaders.ce in the act of mounting another chimpanzee. rchearsod my lines. thc literary life. And the name of the bone was Rahcl. the maxims and counsels of the sage and spat on and shat on. to correct false biographical data and makc light of gnostic commentaries? Nevcr was there a more solid terra firma beneath my fvet than whcn grappling with this shifting. the sordid. who but a “master of reality” could imagine that the first step into the world of creation must be accom- . the mean-to render life more unlivable each day? Of what use the poems of death. striving and cursing. And who. I ask. know the myriads of waste p1. Puzzled and perplexed. a dog of a Zobel with a hone hetwocn my jaws which I coiild neither chew nor grind.HENRY MILLER 79 conspire-the gr. the perfect works as well as the low. I was the last of the line. if the very elements that made up the fabric of life were incapable of being transformed? Only to one who has not yet found his way is it permitted to ask all the wrong questions. twigs. thinkers. I sometimes caught myself staring straight ahead. sneering and jeering. muddled and befuddled. floating world created by the vandals of culture on whom I finally learned to turn my ass.rccs I freqncnted in my search for ore? Or the varictics of birds that sang for m e as I dug my pits and shafts? Or the cackling. or revealed to me the mystcries hidden in pebhlos. the noble. chortling gnomcs and elves who waited on me as I lahorcd. Such tools! Such technic! How conld anyone. a perfect jewel of a thought.

more nearly that than ever since. Spare us further instruction! Are we to make green lawns as we advance from trench to trench? Are we landscape artists as well as butchers? hlust we storm to victory perfumed like whores? For whom are we mopping up? How fortunate that I had only one reader! Such an indulgent one. who. not a vaporous breath of the “impurities” from which it was decocted. our Valery was discussing the art of poetry. let us use them to full advantage. even though it be the sworn and solemn function of those midwives who toil in the name of Beauty. discussing the poet’s task and purpose. primped my hair-do and powdered my nose. evil-smelling fart. I have ncvcr understood poetry as poetry. ye laureates of Satan! If it be cleavers we must fight with. do the fighting. We who babble and froth at the mouth have been at it since eternity.” Iss dot so now? Tsch. the hairy ones. If only he could see me at work. Faugh a balla! Get those greasy ducks! Avanti.’! 80 Etiergreen Review 1 ’ panied with a loud. and so on. Intelligence. For me the mark of the poet is everywhere. not a shadow. avanti! The battle is endless. I never thought. I speak of the poet because I was then. though tender and observing. Form. revealing not a speck. in everything.” Why would I want whores? No. tsch! True. that for me is a meaningless. dear Pop! If only he knew the pains I took to give his novel the proper literary cast. hlyself. From that trench which must be taken there is no returning. as if experiencing for the first time the significance of shell-fire? Advance always! The generals of literature sleep soundly in their cozy bunks. worthless pursuit. nor will it know an end. in my blissful embryonic state. did not attach too much importance to the presence of . What a Marius he had in me! What an Epicurean! Somewhere Paul Valhry has said: “What is of value to us alone (meaning the poets of literature) has no value. We. his roison d’dtre. that “my ideas are my whores. my ideas were a garden of delights. Every time I sat down to write a page for him I readjusted my skirt. To distill thought until it hangs in the alembic of a poem. An absent-minded gardener I was. too. Get thee behind us. It had no beginning. This is the law of literature. as did Diderot.

that intimate rascal. or its perfume. birds. to whom I may speak as if nothing had any value but to him-and to me. How did the flower come to be? How did anything come to be? If I questioned. I was simply out of step. you who cripple the giants. it was to ask-"Are you there. nor even in a fornicating frame of mind. whether through love and adoration or through envy. not even my own wonder. The look of a Rower was enough. I never walked the garden as a pimp. hugs of every variety. spite. You. Nor did I christen any blessed thing. you.HENRY MILLER 81 weeds. which they profess to despise yet cling to like drowning rats? Is it not strange how they who refuse. We discover the footprints of your blundering spirit everywhere. and hatred. I was neither a poet nor a drudge. Neither did I invest it as a botanist. . ideas. this intimate domain peopled with shrubs. Why add-to me? Can he be any other. My only reader. that beloved scamp. . to send it out to work like a whore or a stock-broker-unthinkable. Dick. an entomologist. or a horticulturist. as Rowers of delight? What better work habits than to greet them with a smile each day or walk among them musing on their evanescent glory? True. Who writes for you writes his own death warrant. bees. not to be perpetually inspired. I studied nothing. But to exploit it. thorns. Rowers. It is you who kill genius. Later I will exchange him for the ideal reader. this ideal reader. For me it was enough to have been inspired. but craved only the joy of frequenting this place apart. and Harry? Have not the others this world of everyday. or are too lazy. Heimatlos. to create a world of their own insist on invading ours? Who is it tramples the Rower beds at night? Who is it leaves cigarette stubs in the bird bath? Who is it pees on the blushing violets and wilts their bloom? We know how you ravage the pages of literature in search of what pleases you. . inspirational Rashes. . little friend? Are the dcwdrops still clinging to your petals?" What could be more considerate-better manners-than to treat thoughts. now and then I might make so bold as to pluck one for my buttonhole. blossoms. nettles. than my alter ego? Why create a world of one's own if it must also make sense to every Tom.

Horse is coming. Issa-San wrote that.82 Little sparrow. in a When Volume I1 is published I shall have reached the end of m y ‘‘autobiographical romances. Nexus will be published from Paris. mind out of the way. Mr.” beginning with the Troplc of Cancer. probably by the Olympia Press.] . which is the third and last book of The Rosy Crucl#ion. Tell me its value! Evergreen Review [This text is a fragment from the first volume of Nexus. n unexpurgated edition-in English. and working counter clockwise to Ne*us.-Hmm MILLER. Mind.

I mean I’m not particular. PB / 1956 . I have made a sirventes against the city of Toulouse and it cost me plenty garlic: and if I have a brother. but to be in the Midi now that rain is here. Henri. to be sitting in Toulouse the slop tapping in the court for another year 83 . As for me.PAUL BLACKBURN S irventes Un sircentes ai fach Contra’l ciutat de Tolosa On m’avia pretz ostalatge D u n sen salvatge e famosa Del mons . I’ll tell him to stay out too. jowels wide & yowels not permitted to emergeor even in emergency slopping slivovitsa tliru the hrlog in the luk. or a second-cousin. . I’d rather be in Espafia pegging pemod thru a pajita or yagrelling a luk jedamput en Jugoslavije. say. or a cousin.

The Hallowed halls the ivy-covered walls the fishwife calls & the rain falls BASTAL! Jove. how not? Remember Leda? I swan. it bawls. . you never felt old. you would understand. Your shower of rain at least was a shower of gold. & Boses (by dose is stuffed) by the balls of the livid saviour. heaver. must I? Whole damn year teaching trifles to these trout with trousers tramping thru the damp with gout up to my gut taking all the guff. thc whores in Barcelona are beautiful. The bulls in Barcelona are beautiful. otter. she blows.84 Evergreen Review to stop typing just at ten and the wet-rot setting in and the price is always plus. sweet jesus crypt. A gentle white bull with dewlaps. lead be back hindn eegypt-la-aad before I'b canned for indiscihlidnary reasons. please. god of the he brews. bull. 0 god. flame. god of tourists. Jove. ant. I mean. Weren't there Europa and Io? and Aegina twin-sister of Thebe both daughters of Asopus? and Maia and Antiope and Niohe of the Thebans? Eagle.

the body of beauty. o deranged master of song. hard-hearted. some . down-river. that the more you hear it the more it’s meaningless & without feeling. complacent provincial town. . you old thief. A leech that sucks the blood is less a lesion. Julian. the hands of heresy. in the street I piss on French politesse that has wracked all passion from the sound of speech. The peel is off the grape and there’s not much left and what is left is soured if clean: if I go off my heam. Speech! this imposed imposing imported courtliness. patron of Travellers. louse-ridden. mi des mercey! Who else invoke? Who else to save a damned poet impaled by a betteraue? Mercury! Post of Heaven. too changed. are themselves as brave. who once stole this town. the legs of the individual spirit. the heart of song! That mad Vidal would spit on it.PAULBLACKBURN 85 need no persuasion. master of the viol and the lute master of those sounds. deliver me from this ravel-streeted. where they have forgotten all that made this country the belly of courage. St. thinking your wife’s name enuf reason to . I join you in public madness. gutter-sniping rent-gouging. that I as his maddened double dotoo changed. . My old Guillem.

Apollo. keep my song from the dull rhythms of rain. Jove. cleanse these abysmal farts out from this dripping cave in the name of Love. Poscidon.86 Evergreen Review small vengeance would be sweet. father. a glaive of light. . inundate this fish-bait! Hermes. something definite and neat. hurl your darts. cast your bolts and down these bourgeois dolts! Raise a wave. say total destruction.

The first. cut lip. We are off. “In a white Lincoln. “What does the Good Book say about that?” ‘‘I wonder. “What was you fixin’ to say?” Willard Moss said.” Clearboy said.” Clearhoy said.” The clown stood up. “I bought a white Lincoln.” “Wonder no longer my boy... all watching another bronc man.” Clearhoy said quietly.. with a clear bourbon. replacing this. listening hut not quite catching until Clearhoy removed a battered cigar.. Colorado. The clown pounded the table for attention and embarrassed everyone in the cafe.” ‘Where to?” “To Gunnison. He had a sign on his hack and he waved his arms as though he might fly away but before he took off he would make a speech. “A white Lincoln. then he held the fragmented cigar and the empty bourbon glass in either hand and confronted the others with a pure. to keep those sharp raging hooves of the bronc or the needle 87 .” the clown said. cajole or pull the Brahma hull or the bronc horse off the rider after the rider has been thrown. watching and listening. We will he the first cowboys to ride from hlontrose to Gunnison in three hours including a two hour stopover at Maria’s.. W I L L I A M EASTLAKE Three Heroes and a Clown Two bronc riders and one clown were sitting in a cafe four miles out of Montrose. Ralph Clearboy. blank stare.- . “What about it?” “I bought one. to a bright. . “And we will pay a visit to Maria’s joint.” Clearboy remained seated.. “Where else? The rodeo’s at Gunnison. A clown seems to be only the comic character that entertains you between the rodeo acts but actually his main purpose in the arena is to entice. a professional bronc rider. . The clown was talking to Clearboy.” “And what is the moral of that?” the clown said.

His name was Morg or Morgan Beltone and all the stuff he said and did at the show was written for him. Willard Moss. the colored bronc man who rode in the rear seat of the Lincoln is not quite so good as Marvel Rogers hut Willard Moss is very good. His entry fee and his card in the R. What was most appealing about the clown was that. said it and stuck one foot ont the window whilst the white Lincoln was going one hundred miles an hour. it is only his entry fee that allows him to compete for the money anyway. Abe Proper sat near the right window alongside the clown and Willard Moss in the back seat. different from a bronc rider. At these prices you can’t ride with a better man than a contract clown. The colored cowboy’s name was Willard Moss.ary.A. The white Lincoln used a great deal of gasoline. Ralph Clearboy was the best. Moss is the only colored cowboy who belongs to the R. “You don’t get paid for anything if we don’t make Cunnison in time. and Clearboy. as a contract man he drew a regular sal. Ralph Clearboy.C.” Abe Proper said. outside of Marvel Rogers. where you go over Blue Mesa just before Cimarron between Montrose and Gunnison.A. a contract man. The cowboys got a union too. forty-one cents a gallon in Aztec. If he draws a good horse Marvel is worth the admission price. the Rodeo Cowboys Association. Hi-test Flite-fuel. including a colored cowboy and a clown. “We are doing one hundred and ten miles an hour. The clown is.” Ralph Clearboy announced to the saddle sitting beside him in the front seat.C. Together with the finance company he owned the Lincoln. “I don’t get paid for this.. of course. but he was still the best. He drove and owned the Lincoln and was the best. “Do you know this cowboy’s got a sore rear end?” The clown did not say this. The clown never said anything funny. A bronc rider shows up at any show he shows up at and if he shows at no show it makes no difference. .88 Evergreen Reoiew horns of the bull from killing the cowboy. Four men on a trip to Gunnison in a white Lincoln.” Willard Moss said. They were in the white Lincoln now.

hang there in the quiet. Except the clown who had a sign embroidered on his shirt back announcing Lee Rider Wear. and Cheyenne.” “If we don’t make it into the Gunnison. “One hundred and twelve miles an hour.” Ralph Clcarboy announced. The white Lincoln mounted by four cowboys from the Spanish Trails Fiesta at Durango.” “Like as not what?“ Abe said. “Like as not-. their flowing chrome horse a high. mounting a white Lincoln. from the Monte Vista Roundup and back to Durango and then Albuquerque and now bent for the Cattlemen’s Days at Gunnison. nine years ago. but he was pushing Ralph Clearhoy for total points or total dollars earned for the All Around Champion Prize. to zoom out in flight.” “One hundred fourteen. from Butte.WILLIAM EASTLAKE 89 That made four cowboys in the car plus a saddle that couldn’t fit in the trunk with the other saddles. maybe because he was brought up in New York and found making them exotic. “Too late!” The white Lincoln did not even try for the turn. But no one expected it to last. Proper had not gotten into bronc riding until he was fifteen. Four cowboys in hat-winged hats. white streak on dark Blue hlesa above the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. high sky an endless moment before it . from the Rodeo de Santa Fe. “The turn!” Willard Moss said. Actually Abe Proper was ahead right now since Montrose where Abe took first money in the second bareback go round.” the clown said. “Like as not. He was the only cowboy in the bunch who rolled his own. Proper did not expect it to last. from Colorado Springs. orange and red shirts. a badge. Montana. did not even seem to know its front wheels were turned but continued to go straight. Abe Proper made a cigarette at a hundred and ten miles an hour. even to gain some altitude.” Clearboy said. an accomplishment. They all wore tight Levi’s and tight bright Miller shirts and twisted Stetsons and Justin boots. “we’ll make it irito Gunnison okay.

Proper wiped the blood and tobacco from the side of his face. even vibration-.” Clearboy said. “We’re not even at Gunnison yet. then the white car fell off on her lcft tail fin. Now he said gently.” . “No one move.” “Oh?” “Yes.” Clearboy whispered.” “Did I make a good ride?” the clown said. then slithered to final rest in weird and abrupt silence at the exact edge of another black cliff where there was a fall to infinity to the river. not as though the car were not made to fly but as though the pilot.” “If we could.” “I reckon we missed. We missed a turn on the road.” Willard Moss discovered now that the Lee Rider ad on the back of the clown’s shirt was being vandalized with blood. crump crumped into some scrub oak.” “Why?” “No one even talk. the last slide down into the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. began to clip clip the pointed spruce trees with an awful whack whack whack. “It’s back here.” Abe Proper said. had quit and lost control and she went into a long slanting dive down the mountain. “You’d think I made a practice of trying to fly this thing.” “Why?” “Because this thing is balancing on the edge of a cliff.” “One of us should take lessons. “Slip out each door without almost breathing.90 Evergreen Reoiew began to fall off on one tail fin. Ife ceased suddenly however his attempt at humor as he made another discovery. “I was just fixing to make a cigarette. Proper’s blood. “Is everyone here?“ Clearhoy said. “Any movement.” someone said. The white Lincoln hung there. “I think the clown stepped ont. made a weak attempt to become airborne again. “Again?” the clown said. “Without a chute?” Clearboy felt around for his saddle. “And I’ve found the clown under the saddle. the cowboy at the controls.” Willard Moss said.” Willard continucd gently.

WILLUM EASTLAKE 91 “But the clown’s in the middle. “Get out!” Moss hollrred to the clown.” “You yellow?“ “I still can’t move.” “No.” “She’s going. reading something.” someone whispered. “She’s going to go!” The clown looked up from his reading. a seesaw with the clown sitting in the car on the pivot.” “She’s moving. “Then suddenly.” “Something broken?” “No.” “Listen. “We will all grab the car and try to hold it. Get out.” Willard now tried to think of something else. Get out. “If you touch the car the car will go.” “Thcn relax.” he said. Kind of frozcn.” “Everybody out!” They all tore out and fell into the oak brush except the clown.” “No. Scared. They’re waiting for you in there. get out. The car moved slightly then hung delicately on the final edge balancing lightly.” The clown and everyone else were silent for a while and then the clown said. “I can’t seem to move. They’re waiting for you in there. “Thc car has just drove u p in front of Maria’s joint. All climb out suddenly. He stayed put. Forget where you are.” “I can’t get out.” “If yon don’t get out you‘re a dead clown.” the clown said. “You mean you’re hurt?” “No.” “Don’t! Don’t torich the car!” the clown said. waving there. “Relax. scared. “I can’t get out.” Abe Proper said holding up a red hand. If I move I know the car will go. The car has just drove up to the front of hiadison Square Garden.” the clown said.” Willard hioss said. Come on. I seem frozen. “I can’t get out. “Clearboy was driving fast because h e didn’t want to get to Gunnison because he knew Proper would .” “I think it’s beginning to move.

“For Gods sake get off Clearboy and get out of the damn car before she goes. “If you’ve got any nerve. “That’s why I never took up bronc riding.” Clearboy was down on one knee searching for his hat. And she was too.” Clearboy said.” Willard Moss said.” “I started riding you in Durango. .92 EvergreenReoiew take him at GuMison like he took him at Durango. Now he found the remains of a hat and looked up at the clown.” the clown said.” Clearboy said.” Abe Prop= got up now from a scrub oak and said. didn’t know he was trying to cash out the easy way hecause he’d lost his nerve.” the clown said. Never thought of riding War Paint. He didn’t know he lost anything until suddenly he was going one hundred fourteen miles an hour and he didn’t really know what he was up to then. “Clearboy lost his nerve at Santa Fe when War Paint nearly killed him hut he didn’t know he’d lost anything till Proper took him three in a row.” The clown could not resist adding. very slowly at first as though the seesaw car were being tilted downward by an invisible hand toward the invisible void.” “She’s going. ‘‘I was just saying-and there I was left talking to the air. “Properly. “I started riding you when you stopped riding horses.” “I never had any nerve. The clown in a white car down a black canyon as in a dream or a very slow motion film with no reality at all except that finally now the car and the clown were gone. “just get out of that car before she goes. Now the car picked up a slight momentum then it hesitated before it made the long slow bounce down the cliff as though in a dream. Everyone was quiet and then the clown said. “I saw the car enter the water. like he took h i m at Santa Fe. and without the clown --clownless and breathless too. never thought of riding War Paint.” the clown said. Jumping off a building either.” the clown said evenly. The three bronc riders were left standing there on a lonely slope horseless-carless anyway.” “You started riding me in Montrose.

“I see a path down. “Yon want to take all the blame?” “Yes. “Without my car.” Clearboy knelt down to study the canyon wall. he was.” “Yes.” “All of us.” “I mean a purpose.” Clearboy said. without any car to protect him.” “I been drawing had horses.” “Believe what?” “That the clown would do it.” Clearboy said. maybe I’m not doing too good myself but that’s not why I tried to kill the clown.” “Oh?” “Yes. was?” Clearboy said.” “That’s impossible.” “That’s true. well. “Like as not-. “I am fixin’ to ~o down and get him. It’s one and the same thing. and then he spit and said quickly. “And die to get away with it.” “He didn’t.” “I don’t care how he did it.” .” Abe Proper pulled down the shapeless remnants of a cowboy hat. “You mean he’s still alive?” “Of course he is.” “He didn’t call yon a coward. I can’t believe it.” “But why don’t you spur them out of the chute?” “Because I don’t want to make had horses look worse. you have been looking bad lately. Clearboy. he did it. Well.” Clearboy looked down carefully into the dark shadows of the canyon.” “He said I lost my nerve. “And yes.” “He was quite a clown.” “It’s impossible that anyone can call me a coward.” Clearboy said.” ‘‘Well.” Clearboy said.’’ “Oh. yes he did. without no river at all and without a car. into only fifty gallons of water.WILLIAM EASTLAKE 93 “And like as not.” They all thought about this a while.” “What do you mean. “I’ve seen him dive off a high platform without a river.

“But we can’t get to it.” They all followed behind Clearboy nntil he got to the path he had spottcd and then they continued to follow him but far hack and cautiously.” . It was your sub something.” “But you can’t. invisible and canyodost. “It’s all those books the clown reads.” Abe Proper said.” “Yes. I was only trying to get to Gunnison on time.” Clearboy said.” Willard said. “The deer or whatever made it must have quit here.94 Evergreen Reoiew “Well. “because he was riding me.” They could make oiit. After fiftcen minutes of awful descent. “It’s only abont a fifteen foot drop. “I reckon we hetter get hack up.” Willard hloss finished.’’ There was rnshing noise and then a splash. My car. the clown thought I was trying to kill him particular. “He made it sixty feet in my car. climbing up ahead somewhere to the sun. Clearboy suddenly halted and they all hunched into him. “Yes. “Out there and down there. “In my car. after studying ahead and down. “The car. lost down there. a white car shape all right. a funeral. “And he’s reading one of them right now.” “Yes.” “Yes.” Clcarhoy said. Something to-. I was not trying to kill nobody.” the voice of Clearboy said from somewhere. hidden from the blaze of noon above.” Abe Proper said.” “Or committed suicide.” “He said you didn’t really know it. “We better get back up and hold some kind of a funeral or something.” the voice of Abc Proper said.” Clearboy said louder.” the voice of Abe Proper continued. his voice quickly lost too in river noise. invisible and hushed.” Clearboy paused.” ‘We didn’t have to jump to prove anything.” Clearboy said. “Something nice.” Proper paused.” Willard moss^ said. “But he did. “Your subconsciousness was driving the car while he was riding you. “Something to make it legal. “This is as far down as the path goes.” Clearboy stood up.

He felt a saddlr. watching Clearboy dismount. Hc had made it down okay by wedging himself in a ball between the front of the rear seat and the back of the front seat before the car took its first bounce. “And you didn’t lose your hook. “What?“ Willard said. IIe was hanged up quite a bit and was bleeding red from his ear but the clown was okay. greeting the torch of noon with upturned face.” “All we’ve got to do. He went through an opcn door. only now . The book he held was an awful mess.” Willard Moss said.” the clown said. you haven’t lost your nerve then.WILLIAM EASTLAKE 95 “No. He was sitting on a sandbar fifty yards below the car holding the unreadable remains of a book. Abe Proper tried to pull his remnant of Stetson over his eyes. “I just remembered. “Where?” “Down here!” Clearboy started to drop off the car and drift down to where the clown was sitting but the car moved until it got stuck again on the clown’s sandbar. No cloivn.” They lay down on the mesa top as though thrown there on the dark igneous rock.” “Oh. Clearboy. He went out through the open window of the other door and got up on the roof which was well ahove water to think.” Willard hloss said and then he said. nothing more.” Clearboy said. “And.” Proper said weakly. felt all through the car including the front seat. “Amen. laying a dark hand on darker rock and \rincing quickly.” When Ralph Clearbov hit the water h e hit just ahove the car and allowed himself to drift down to it. oh God-. \\’here was the clown hiding? The clown was not hiding. two bright-costumed and beaten cowboys beneath a wild sun.” “What?” “Both of our saddles are buried down there. “Down here!” the clown hollered. “is to hold something to make it legal. “Well.

” Clearboy said.” “You think so?” “Of course we’ll get to Maria’s place. Evergreen Review “I didn‘t know I had it.” Clearboy said. >> -Except-.” “I guess you’ve done everything. Even when they were sitting on the dry boat landing he still regretted it.” the clown said.” the clown said standing up. letting it drop. The clown thought about Maria’s place and then he looked up toward the tall canyon wall he had come down. beginning to warm in the sun. Do you understand?” . Let’s get down to Maria’s place. The moral is you ride a horse when you have to ride a horse but you don’t invent a ride to please a clown. The moral is you don’t follow a crazy clown to prove nothing. his teeth chattering from the icy water. “I wonder what happened to the other two cowboys?” “Willard and Proper?” “Yes.” the clown said. uninfluenced by nobody. War Paint and himself would make it together.” the clown said. Until he met War Paint agnin Clearboy would settle for this. still iced and chattering.” ‘Well. The clown paused and added. He regretted following a crazy clown. “It’s not too far down to a boat landing near Maria’s place. I guess.” the clown said. “How do you guess we are going to get out of here?” “I’ve fished below here.” “I guess.” “They’re probably having a funeral over us.96 barely able to see the clown.” And Clearhoy did and regretted it. “You will ride War Paint.” “You still riding me?” “No. “the next guy who has a funeral over me when I’m having had luck is going to be tied to War Paint and throwed in this canyon. “Except what?” “Ride War Paint. “It was only something to hold on to. then you will be the first dead clown to ride down the Gunnison River on a horse. “Follow me. I’m not.” Clearboy said. “Now I guess I have.

raising the glass.” Clearboy remained sitting watching with a blank. watching as children must watch an empty gondola emerge from the tunnel of love. “there’s the car. placed a yellow square of tobacco into his square. .” Morgan Beltone said. To all those cowboy heroes and to progress.WILLIAM EASTLAKE 97 “I think I understand. across the mahogany bar. watched Clearboy guide the white car onto the beach. The clown had a button nose and small red cheeks and now.” Clearboy said. moved o “Here you are. ’That makes us the first two cowboys to go down the Gunnison River in an automobile. The clown thought about this a long while without being able to top it. standing all oozing wet with his Lee Rider ad running red. her wide Spanish face puzzled. That makes us t clown paused and stood up.” the clown said. The clown. “We decided to fly in the car to Gunnison this time and we came down near here a little bit ago.” Clearboy got up. T o all the bronc men I saved from getting killed in the arena and never got DO appreciation from. Here I am all alive because a cowboy got the nerve to jump down a canyon to rescue a clown. ” the have freed it and brought it down. They sat there on the dock in the sun.” “To rescu-. slow-turning object. Morgan Beltone. “My white Lincoln. poured the drink. Will you give me a drink?“ Maria. “Someone’s been praying for me. “Here you are supposed to be at the rodeo in Gunnison and here you been swimming. he pointed his finger to the sky.“ the clown said. He decided no help was needed and f f toward Maria’s place. resting and nursing their wounds. hard face still blued from the water and began to wade out toward the huge. Where’s Clearboy? Where’s Roper? Where’s Moss? Whereb your partners?“ Morgan Beltone wiped some water off his face. “Look. enchanted fixity where the clown watched.” Clearby finished.” the clown said weakly. The current must h .” Maria said. “Anyway I reckon we was the last ones down in a white Lincoln.

perhaps some day I will be appreciated very much. save it for the show.” The clown drank the drink down and looked plaintively through the window at all the big world he had not conquered. An exhibition of his work inaugurated the art season in the lobby of the National Philharmonic Hall in Warsaw.98 Evergreen Review “Today I have pioneered a new route in a new kind of machine. The clown-and so wrongly so. in the spring of 1958. cutting off half the distance across Blue Mesa. . “Honey. “You want another drink?” “Why not?” the clown said.” Maria said. After employing many media including tapestry and stained-glass windows. Henryk Musialowicz graduated from the Warsaw Academy of Fine arts in 1947. Why. he has settled on what he calls “black and white technique.” which is a synthesis of painting and drawing. Morgan Beltone thought-had never been loved or appreciated very much.





and to propose some tentative classifications of these “points of view.BRUCE MORRISSETTE New Structure in the Novel: Jealousy.” Much remains to be said on this subject. This compact.” “he. or the more disconcerting its structure.” or other verbal reference to self. radio scripts) for 103 . the more necessary and important the critic’s task becomes. the reader is able to find his bearings fairly quickly in a narrative of the “first” person which contains not a single “I. requires and descrves the closest scrutiny. Why? What does this highly unusual novel offer? Rohbe-Grillet himself has described (in a statement printed on the back of the first French edition) the general form in which the narrative content of Jealousy is orgmized..” and the like in novel technique. Guided by this author’s statement. from vantage points in his banana plantation house. by Alain Robbe-Grillet It is exceptionally difficult. Yet the more resistant to analysis the work appears to be. in reading literature (which is never an easy undertaking). the subsequent success of a namative “you” in Michel Butor’s prize-winning A Chnnge of Heart led certain critics to start an investigation of the problems raised by the use of “I. the presumed lover-is “narrated by the husband. and research will undoubtedly show popular antecedents (e. Alain Robhe-Grillet’s Jealousy is a case in point. suspiciously keeps watch over his wife.” “me. which has already marked a decisive step in the development of the French Nouueou Roman or New Novel. a tropical planter who.g. surrounded on three sides by its wide veranda. The serious study of the fictional use of narrative pronouns has only begun: following the appearance of Jealousy in France. to isolate and examine the basic aspects of an unusually complex work. The story with its three characters-the husband. the wife. powerful narrative.

) which might conceivably be used to study the novel. in turn. in the case of this fundamentally anti-chronological novel. images. it is through concepts especially applicable to this structure that the greatest clarification may be achieved. it is by first construcing a “linear” rkurn6 of the plot that we can best penetrate into the labyrinth of its structure. or the article by Jean Onimus on “The Expression of Time in the Contemporary Novel” in the Reoue de Littbrature Cornparbe (JulySeptember. most of which. The difficulty is that this idea of structure proliferates. the repetitions and the variations. etc. the role of “formal themes” and objects. Readers interested in a general survey of the variations in the use of time in twentieth-century literature may consult Temps et Roman by Jean Pouillon. the “flashbacks” in Ulysses’ story-telling in Homer). The chronological novelty of Jealousy fits into the framework. Since it is apparent however from the start that what dominates everything else in Jealousy is the structure of the novel. travelling shots. of many trends in the treatment of chronology i modem novel. it has been neglected by French critics. n the moreover. While the “point of view” is a well-known concept in novel analysis outside of France. the use of “objective psychology. A few words of caution are necessary: this method is in no sense a proposal to “rectify” the chronology of the plot.” the apparently chaotic sequence of scenes. under examination. What is involved in Jealousy is not a retreat into the past . camera angles. The narrative orientation of Jealousy-its use of what one would term the je-ne’ant or the “absent I”-is one of several conventional headings (such as description. except those concerned with the esthetics of the film. not an “explication” of the novel. disintegrates even. 1954).” and so forth. who write of little else than points of view. It is a laboratory experiment in analysis. Paradoxically. go back to the beginnings of narrative literature (cf.104 Evergreen Review many “recent” developments. rejoining other categories from which it resists separation: the plot and its “chronology. use of dialogue. vocabulary. its excuse is solely that it provides a means of studying a new novelistic technique. etc.

etc. hears. who. nor the use of interpenetrations of past and present (Huxley. at the risk of oversimplifying the novel. nor the construction of multiple duration (Gide. or to rearrange the order of his themes (always. sees. that the work attempts to create. of course. Dos Passos. the “experience” which is the novel itself. through his dynamic imagination. Graham Greene). and risks falsifying the true essence of a literary structure made not of the materials of music (sounds organized by rhythms and expressed in harmonies and discords) but of forms of language. But.BRUCE MOHRISSETTE 105 (Proust).) bearing an analogy to musical strncture. and imagines. lives. Sartre). in terms of the musical integration appropriate to the composer’s style). suffers. a rigorous line of development in the direction of progressive psychological tension. the mental content of a jealous narrator: what this man. The result is a great formal freedom (variations of scenes. like all analogies this too is inexact. developments of episodes. a few weeks a t most). on the basis of the interior order of a man’s vision-that of the jealous husband. during a rather short and concentrated period of time ( a few days. as objectively as possible. as we shall see. in which the composer may feel free to return at will to any previous theme. nor the now-conventionalized mixhue of past and present made familiar by the flashbacks of the movies. though he may . Jealousy is composed or structured. nor the construction of a false time to prepare for a surprise dbnouement (as in certain detective stories). During the “time” of the novel the protagonist observes. phrases imbued with psychological reminiscences and incrusted with semantic layers of meaning. reiterations of themes with shifting emphasis. If one had to state briefly exactly what is involved in Jealousy. or psychological chronology pursues. and remembers the events of the plot. then. touches. the formal liberty of Jealousy is primarily a matter of its apparent or exterior chronology. though he may “progress” in time. interior. that is. one might say. metamorphoses of external elements and objects. and makes of them. nor the blending of several chronologically ambiguous plots (Faulkner). Furthermore.

We must constantly separate ourselves from this jealous husband that we become as we read. a perfectly coherent artistic unity. Two levels of action may in general be distinguished: the l e d of the scenes whiclr-apparently at least-“happen” at the same time that the narrator presents them to us (without. in which events and objects are caught and reflected. To salvage and place. later. their forming a chronological sequence in themselves). . and the level of the scenes which the narrator (in accordance with principles to be examined later) recalls. Admitting this. and which seems to reach a dead-end in the fourth of the nine parts of the novel. re-examines them. recreates. or even imagines. whose perceptions and ideas haunt us. This implies no setting in order. troubled hy anticipations and recapitulations. But it is a linear progression which is almost immediately intcrrupted. with any degree of exactitude. at the same time re-lives other episodes. that the text presents). when it has served its purpose. then-the tcxtual order of scenes-is in reality. compares them. twisted by repetitions. sidetracked by reversions into the past. no rectification. . directs new questions at them.106 Evergreen Review live the episodes that he describes (or better. the crisis of jealousy that is reached in Part VII. After Part IV we find nothing really “new” in the plot-apart from the absence of A. What may appear to be chaotic. the tool will be laid aside. and transforms or metamorphoses them by the action of his imagination. who h a g s us with . What is involved is forging a tool of research and investigation for an enterprise of understanding a difficult fictional structure. it becomcs necessary to see clearly in the distorting mirror of the hushands vision. is attained only after further astonishing and brilliant developments of already familiar materials. Yet the high point of the novel. however. we may without prejudice to the work extract from it a linear plot. the “facts” of the plot of Iealotrsy in chronological order. There is an over-all linear chronological movement from a beginning of initial suspicion towards a final appeasement following the apparent failure of the affair between wife and lover. . whose tormenting emotion we share. and is in turn followed by a diminuendo and coda of exceptional beauty and virtuosity.

its veranda columns that function like a kind of sun dial. or an effect of timidity in the narrator?) But when A . .BRUCE MORRISSElTE 107 him into his eternal cycle of obsessive visions that annihilates all chronology. Franck‘s wife. a neighboring planter. in Jealousy? * * * The book unfolds in a tropical banana plantation. or upon some sector of the plantation. as she reads. It becomes necessary. in a veranda chair. . having become a man sick with jealousy. . Fragments of conversation accumulate: Franck talks about (Continired on 11. the husband’s anxiety concerning his wife’s actions is felt in tbe manner in which be watches A . for the reader. the geometrical arrangement of his banana trees. . His energetic manner disturbs the husband and seems tn impress his young wife. . . . as she hastily orders removed from the dinner table the place set for Christiane. in the sense fields. the smallest details of his exterior world. . This man at the center of the narrative. 164) . taking all necessary precautions. : As she writes a letter. to be brought back to normal. turns her head towards her husband. . in a word. A . directs this scrupulous attention even more minutely at his wife A . then. but not in Africa (though the description of the region in many ways suggests Africa rather than the Antilles). who never refers to himself (does one refer to himself in his own thoughts?). . the latter no longer dares look toward her. . stopping on a baluster of the veranda. to be cured of his disease. when Christiane (who suffers from some vague illness) fails to arrive with her husband. From the beginning of the novel. . of a narrator or pseudo-narrator who from the first sentence trains upon everything that surrounds him the most minute attention: the form and structure of his square house. What linear plot do we find. perhaps in the Antilles. W e are installed (after a few pages no one can doubt this) in the mind. seems to listen with special attention to Franck‘s conversation. (Is tliis absence of the complete name a kind of psychological short-cut. a novel givcn to her by Franck. and the text that we read “whirls” immediately in another direction.

(At the same time other people were reviving other aspects of the Twenties like Chanel heads. As for wine. Must I remind you again that the whole night hos been comecrated to Priapus. and it w~lsfine Falernian at that.. have been made of gold. buried in a mid-Western city called Chicago. H. may or may not he Mr. Mrs. published by the University of Michigan Press. when Quartilla said: “No sleeping. like its neighbor on tex1 The Satyricon. began a 2%month. At the time (circa 1955). who was then director of architecture at The Museum of Modern Art. the building. Samuel Bronfman. by Petronius in his Satyric0n-e. Mr. solid gold (not gold-anodized aluminum. copyright by William Arrowsmith 1959. should. FRIEDMAN The Most Expensive Restaurant Ever Built The best writing about the Four Seasons Restaurant was done almost 2000 years ago. 1959 is more subtle than that of Nero’s Rome: The hnildiug is bronze. dixieland jazz. to handle such necessary humdrum details as adequate elevatoring and toilet facilities-succeeded. Inc. which was widely publicized. and perhaps persuaded. with its testicles hunched to the East on 52nd and 53rd Street.71 For “Priapus” read “Seagram House.. the principal stockholder of Joseph E. then 69. blazers and racoon coats. She discovered Mies van der Rohe.” Rising 38 stories from its sterile plaza on Park Avenue.” For ”Seagram House” read “money” or “power. EWS B . we were fairly swimming in it.) Mies and Philip Johnson. with the help of Philip Johnson. The consumption is inconspicuous. decided to build a monument.g. cross-countq talent search. of course. hut the vulgarity of’New York. Bronfman. and the meal began with sumptuous hors d‘oeuvres. in 108 . Seagram & Sons. his long-time disciple and propagandist-with the architectural f i r m of Kahn and Jacobs. gentlemen.: We were invited to take our seats. ington Avenue). Lambert. by his daughter Phyllis Lambert. cloches. encouraged. Trimalchio. After several more courses we had begun to doze sleepily off.

) 109 .Bar and portion of gill1 room looking down main Stairway t o entrance lobby. Miro t a p e s t r y partially visible on lobby wall. (Photo by Ezra Stoiler. Scuipture by Richard Lippald over the bar. courtesy of Restaurant Associates.

The credits are almost complete.000. ever built ($43.000 gross feet. a very strong and close one. Johnson. and then in hold bpography (perhaps designed by Antonuccii: PRODUCED AND DIRECTED BY RESTAURANT ASSOCIATES. axiomatically in this school of architecture. where Wall Street lurks in the background but seeks no public credit. known to Seagram. graphic artist. . This plum was given to Philip Johnson. horticultural consultant. the most expensive --restaurant ever built. Karl Linn. interior designers. The building proved. per square foot. . Eleanor Charles. lighting consultant. and to almost weryone with an expense account. as the operators of The Forum of the Twelve Caesars. landscape architect. too. It is with The Museum of Modern Art. Dr. . or 550. The next step was to design what would be the most luxurious -and. Bronfman. that “less is more. the screen darkens for a few seconds. Richard Kelly.” though not in the sense that Mies originally meant his famous words. So enter Restaurant Associates. As with Hollywood movies. New York * YU 8-33 I . uniform designer. Garth and Ada Louise Huxtable.000 net). once and for all. Wesley Davidson. 0. but he did have the help of a few experts: William Pahlmnnn Associates. The wedding of talents is like an incestuous eangbang. a Cadillac“ representing GLADYS WERTHEIM BACHRACH ROBERT BUCKER LILLIAN COlTON WILLIAM CLUTZ SACHA KOLlN I FRANK MASON PEETAR MONK ROBERT NUNNELLEY GEORGE TERASKI PENNERTON WEST and others 24 E. The Four Seasons has its anonymous institutional tie.Evergreen Review designing the most expensive skyscraper. solo. Lambert. industrial designers. 67 ST. INC.000 for about 850. Emil Antonucci.

The Forum restaurant was designed by William Pahlmann and ". silverware and appointments are imported from Italy and modelled on Renaissance Rome.B. The table linens. 89 East 10th St. N. They look too heavy to steal. The typography is in a BRATA GALLERY . whoever he may he. GR 5-9240 . dining chairs in red leather studded with brass tacks. The entrance and bar are paneled in cherry. None are any more distinguished than the paintings. FRIEDMAN style restaurant which opened on the south shore of Rockefeller Center in 1957. where there is also a Roman mosaic mural. and from which it was expected a Rolls-Royce could be forged. is bound with purple faille. The salt cellars are supported by pairs of elephants. who were inspired" by twelve bigger-than-lifesize 17th century portraits of the Imperial Caesars. banquettes around the perimeter of this room in dark brown leather. The menu. look first at The Forum. CON EMPORARY ART . N. The paintings are attributed to Cnmillo Procaccini. H. and not quite as interesting as the curtain of colored beads covering the bar windows which front on 48th Street. his associates. The walls of the main dining room are covered in red Italian Fortuny. printed on handsome creamy paper. much to do with decor. Twelve bronze busts of the Caesars echo the theme in the bar. and those in the center in beige leather tooled in gold. They have nothing to do with art.V.V. and then watch the evolutionary process at work. To understand the orientation of The Four Seasons. held together by gold sealing wax (with staples underneath)..

rosewood.more than original works of simieic Pate with Wild Boar. The men’s and womDUM’” as “Double Cutlet of en’s rooms are palaces: the former Meadow Veal.75”. paintings by Miro would have cost Filled with a Puree of Oysters ten or less years ago. 2 5 . and as much as the original GREAT FORUM ARTICHOKE. “THE fifty. and gold For“BIRDS-WILD AND OTHER. a cool womb.Miro tapestries.ican home. On the walls garlands in gold and gray. Wonderyou.00”. with various decorative The Four Seasons. “Bel. rounded by bulbs. This entrance 1.ble shelves containing ashtrays adEDONIAN VINE LEAVES.cost more than the average AmerBUS NON EST DISPUTAN. The art it as ‘An Ocean Perch Aflame houses does little to raise the temon Rosemary Herbs. as elsewhere in the restauWhitefish Broiled with Mussels. The Four Seasons is supposed to glected to install a gold (or be art. and the L O G U E items as “King Crab. Sauce of lar size by any living artist under Damascus Plums 3. The detailing thronghGinger Sauce 3. An almost free-standing traverin Hot Ashes 9.112 Evergreen Review heavily seriffed Roman style. such “PRO. “a fun place. rant.” on one of those moderne lucite pedestals. As you walk up the stairs you wonder how they neIt works.g. and fail. Lemon perature. are a midget or willing in-town and out-of-town customers. The OLYMPIAN Butter 4 . there’s a sculpture by Hadju. to crawl.65”. and five kinds of coffee. two of which are whelming--e. The bar is a square island. ing.” a place to entertain unless you. such Portas. no bar is an island.00”.tuny.95”. There are marCLEOPATRA-Wrapped in MAC. Facing you right to your table. The art hits you as you bronze) escalator or a king-size enter the lobby east of Park pneumatic lift which would shoot Avenue on 52nd Street. Sauteed with in Bardiglio Fiorioto marble and Smoked Salmon and Gruvere. such phone booths and private switch“SUMPTUOUS DISHES FROM board operator’s room must have ALL THE EMPIRE ‘DE GUSTI. You try.) It is There’s a placard at the base which defined above by a canopy of states that the piece was selected clusters of square gold-dipped brass . The Forum is supposed to be dining rooms.They are reported to have cost CULLAN FANTASY 2. is clinically perfect. and three kinds of crepes. you enter the bar and grill. called “La T$te Blanche. meat and Pink Caviar-A LU. black by the Museum of Modern Art for and red. tine stair invites you to walk around it before climbing to the etc. the latter in Rose HELVETIAN CREAM 4. Baked joining each stool. (Well.other almost seven feet square. etc.about seven feet by eight.. and such “A HARVEST lobby is a spacious travertine FROM THE SEAS and RIVERS” womb. Macassar ehony.50. with theatrical vanities SUIWISE’’ as ‘‘Truffle Stuffed Quail. and “Planked out. The of the entrance lobby are three variety of dishes listed is over.

But neither up close nor at a distance do they work as sculpture. they become delicate and airy. by MI. both have a surprising visual density-intensely illuminated. and not quite equal to that of a Gothic cathedral. about equal to that of a Metropolitan train station. They become simply another “good design” appointment. The ceiling is about 20 feet high.B. main banking floor. This scale is emphasized by the simply detailed interior walls. of varying lengths. which for the comparative area of the bar and grill (or the main dining room. Paintings hy: Norman Bluhm Paul Bra& Naseoe Daphnis Jasper Johns Robert Rausehenberg Ludwig Sander Salvatore Scarpitta Frank Stella Cy Twomhly Sculptures by: Gabriel Kohn Marie01 Sky Columns Presence NEVELSON~ to nov. and undulating upward because of the draft from the floor- LEO CASTELLI 4 E . Over a section of the grill mezzanine there’s a smaller. and particularly the floor-to-ceiling windows at the perimeter of the building. and in this context they are overwhelmed by the scale and opulence of their surroundings. the windows are covered with three tones of gold-anodized aluminum chain in the style of Vienna curtains. designed hy Richard Lippold. . These chains. They don’t even have the power of the Caesar busts a t The Forum. as brilliantly illuminated as the Lippolds. Spaced about five feet apart and separated by vertical mullions. as they are. Y. At a distance. There is no sense of emotional content or of spacial conquat. 21 I . when we come to it) is roughly equal to more than the height of a typical Wall St. When one walks closer. rather. as decor. or sits at the bar. Kelly’s lighting. They work. FRIEDMAN rods. related piece by Lippold. 7 7 S T . and almost iovisihly supported by fine wires. H. N.

I asked him if J & B was the scotch most in demand. where the bar scotch was Martins 20-year-old.” A woman who was drinking a “grasshopper” several seats away held a cigarette to her mouth. though quite sentimental. It is “neo-classic” Picasso. except for the price which is supposed to have been considerably in excess of $100. as in the bar.000). The bartender got to her fast and lit the cigarette with a grand flourish. The main dining room is at the same scale as the bar and grill. The work. and green vest (summer uniform). and the golden aluminum waterfalls are still flowing upward. “I’d hate to run on that.) Feeling the sca e of this space.” pointing up at the Lippold. travel.” he replied. one realizes again. and then a very large Picasso. This main dining room. but the bar Scotch-White Horse-is more popular. was originally executed by Picasso for Diaghilev’s Ballets RUSSES production of “Le Tricorne” in 1919. fianked by four fig trees that almost reach the ceiling. upside-down on anything. It’s even moderately successful as seen from the lob? of Seagram House through e glass wall of the narrow passage in which it hangs. “it’s quite popular. But it is com letely unsuccessful when seen as c ose up as one must see it in the passage.1 1 4 level air-conditioning convectors (reportedly an accident). “barefoot.” At a loss for a reply. which might just as well as have been signed F’rocaccini. Somewhat off center there’s a marhle pool about 20 feet square. It has no interest as a painting per SE. and little as a sketch drawing. whose orderly image is reflected in a mirrored wall. (Might just as well. gives something like the effect of a series of upside-down waterfalls. and theater reservations. with no consideration given to use. nature’s ift to nude art. said to me. A familiar-looking bartender. “It’s called for. Suddenly I remembered where I had seen him before. He had worked at Chambord. On the w x from t k . fist. literal and unemotional. (Ficus decoru. That’s what I was drinking and I had beard several other people ask for it. Nor does the next entertainment: a wine “cellar” (above ground and behind glass). on a stage curtain about 20 feet by 22 Evergreen Review feet. upsidedown. to human need for intimacy. Even the distraction of sleek alabaster fioor fixtures doesn’t help. that an existing space was taken and turned into a restaurant. a walnut honeycomb filled with perfectly arranged bottles. is not intended for people. The space is P P . a concierge. like most architecture of the Miesian school. I also remembered that White Horse’s American distributor is Seagram. I passed. bar and grill room to e main dming room. People become insignificant in these sumoundings. as he may say to everyone who sits at the bar. except that I would hate to run barefoot. wearing a raw linen mess-jacket. in another travertine womb (this time a small one) who handles such things as hotel. The view into a bull ring may have been successful as a stage curtain seen from a low and fairly distant seat in London’s Alhambra Theater.

y. All is angular elegance: Mies’ 1930 “Bmo” chairs (less familiar than his “Barcelona” chairs. If you do.000 and had to be upped to $4. and “Crisped Shrimp Filled with Mustard Fruits 1. and “BEEF MARROW in Bouillon or Cream 1. Hot Anchovv Dressing 1. The menu will remind you that you are eating . service wagons that are engineered like sports cars (with gas burners fed from pressure cans). and for the Vogue models who will ultimately pose here. which was originally $Z.65”.500. n.B.SO0. .85”.75”. selected rawhide panels on the interior walls set in French walnut. Y. etc.c. and the typography and layout are as hi0 as the latest Container Como&ion ad. hand-loomed carpeting.on the other side of the 1 BETTY PARSONS ! GALLERY Kenro Okada Alfonso Oosorio Thomas George 15 East 57th Street New York. and for fumiture. specially designed china and glassware. sort of Japanese. The paper that this menu is bound in is rather more fashionable.65”. and for fig trees (that organic touch).. you needn’t for long. but even include not meeting the budget. France. and Italy. which are downstairs in the lobby). But there’s “BOUQUET O F CRUDITES. N. FRIEDMAN 115 designed for a pool. About everything is done according to the official rules. 15-Jan. You are at a good design show at the Museum of Modern Art. It seems as though you have left the world of The Forum behind-and mayhe you miss it. and “Rack of Lamb Persill6 with ROBUST II Dee.000. flatware and holloware imported from England. H. same coin. banquettes designed hy Philip Johnson. These are not only esthetic. THE SCHOOL OF NEW YORK I stable gallery I Some Younger Artists 924 7th ave. and “Small Clams with Green Onions and TRUFFLE 1.

seven feet by six.” Since then Rothko and. But. in 1959. before chain (also owned by Restaurant the concept of “museums of mod. no dollar signs. density.dies by the same token. It will Royce? It’s the sort of question be a surprise if he. there is one With so much at The Four Seawork that is clearly art. transcends decor. ern art” existed.Associates) was for the ’Thirties. Jackson sons. From the point of And also. would he its rich.Four Seasons”) would he the Modlock‘s painting. It coffee (seven. It have musicmusic.taste: What is the real difference mented paintings can hardly exist. icans show in 1952 was: “A picand “Avocado with Sliced WHITE ture lives by companionship. Part of a colpius at Trimalchio’s banquet. not turns out that this painting was Muzac. In has played his own distribution short. everything hut Van Gogh’s close to the vest. want often to ponder a question of Rothko’s more recent and regi. into the world. that is. It is fee. and statement Rothko made for the “Stuffed Breast of Chicken with Museum of Modern Art’s 15 AmerTARRAGON. and six kinds of eyes of the sensitive observer. hut it is not impossible to guess why it was given to him: his lieve this restaurant is a culminatposition is considerably more 06. as often well Rothko will fulfill his commisas my money lasts. in the ecclesiastical atview of such museums and that of mosphere of The Four Seasons. I t is impossible to know at this time how (and Mies) must like it. Pol.their supper. . This one i s challenging. But where are teen. carefully. ecstasy supposed to be. Demi-Deuil 4. which is listed separately and therefor a risky act to send it out priced 25c more than the hot). Across from the main dining Well see.116 Evergreen Review HERBS. between a Cadillac and a Rollsexcept as historical symbol of the ’Fifties. exRADISH 4.25”. as percia1 here and now. picking his spots ear. room on a mezzanine.em Jazz Quartet. again. The waiters and scale for the space presently in their green vests go off to disoccupied by the Picasso. The place is silent. I the architects approved by them.and almost empty. would he perfect in shape they? The lights dim. any more than which might have intrigued EnLippold. its humanity. complexity. propriateness. including iced cof. the way Johnson -in short. and three kinds panding and quickening in the of crepes. Today’s equivalent of a rented from a private collector by small string orchestra playing VivSeagram until a commission by aldi (though not necessarily “The Mark Rothko is completed. for Two 13. I want to return often. of course. the way it is ness. more tant corner tables where they eat important than its architectural ap.85”.00”. it is surprising they don’t Pollock‘s Blue Poles (1952). because I besion. than fect for its time as the Riker’s was Picasso’s in 1919 Paris.

has turned in Billie Holiday for possession of narcotics. the block‘s smallest kids are happy-screaming through all the back yards. where they’ve always wanted her and almost always had her. Billie. Louise dear you are going to have to keep the scallopini under control for maybe another five minutes. come on. Tonight as I came home I read the newspaper crossing Seventh Avenue and saw Ted Poston’s story about how it was for him personally at Tallahassee. you’re gonna kick the bucket anyway. where’d you get it. come on. I have just heard you express. dear cops. come on. after a couple of years in the (almost) clear. if you don’t think they do it you don’t deserve to think. you might as well make it easy for yourself. how. because I know. she’s on her second vodka tonic. who. or close to it. that’s heroin. I’ve (question mark) matured. right hack where they want her. I don’t usually use words like drag in what I write. a little powder in her purse. experiment or no experiment. the cops have booked a charge against her (by telephone) and have posted a guard around her room and are giving her the good old business. where. this Negro. I am so dragged by this information. and can once again feel good and clean and right and thoroughly coplike about it. and now over the radio comes the news that some poor miserable misbegotten angel of mercy at Metropolitan Hospital. that I simply don’t know what to do about it except to work it off in the writer’s usual noble and vicarious manner. somewhere inside himself has the balls that I or you shall never have. dear nurse. and while the Lady is dying there. man. the second or third hospital she finally got into after damn near dying like Bessie Smith while being kept out of a number of other loving Christian joints in New York City in 1959. who brought it in. Lady Day. 117 . so says the radio. the depthlessness of your nausea too Over this latest immediate little turn of events in our heroic life and times. at closing 40. I’m on my second vodka tonic. my wife Louise is making the big first experiment with veal scallopini on the double hot-plate. who? So there she is.JERRY TALLMER Bye Bye Blackbird I am sitting here on this lovely late Friday afternoon early evening. by sitting here and typing down come what may what I think of the gutlessness of this lovely age into which. that’s twice I‘ve used usual in this sentence. dear reader. that’s criminal. dear Harry F. that’s practically Devil’s Island. the way it always is for him at those trials he. sister.

” along about 1938-37-38. TD. (Photo by Gin Bnags. until closing. and I am still not quite yet able to get over the all-around attractive electoral manhood of Battling Bob the Boy Mayor in (among many other things) the oh so nonessential inconsequential case of the Erosive Shakespeare of Central Park. She and I were both then something like 20 years old. let me wdk with you and talk with you. crooning to it. friend or foe. Then some years later I finally made it (another new phrase) to 52nd Street. no one feels your singing the way I do. stunning. old Holden Caulfield right down to all but the hunting cap. melt. big. cursing it. I went back and back. she a year or six older than me. stumbling over it. Billie. she reached the steps the canopy and the sidewalk. and want to grow up. but now it is completely the end of afternoon and the radio is blasting and the kids are yelling and fading away home as their parents herd them in. white or Negro. And I can remember this difference between Billie’s and all the others: the others made you glad to be young. and I do believe I must have stood there in the night and looked at her and silently implored: Wait.) . it’s 3 in the morning. Or maybe it was just a late break between sets. but hers just ~ Evergreen Review made you shiver. I am now on my third vodka scallopini several hundred thousand light years later. Let me think. when Lucille Kron made me listen to “Strange Fruit” and “Fine and Mellow. the real thing. I like your dog. no one thinks you’re as beautiful 11s I do. making love to it. myself the gawking CaulGeld not excluded. I would suppose. Anyway. fourlegged or two. to go and covet and in the morning on the other direction across the avenue I read about how that great and insightful literary expert and Chevvy salesman our postmaster general had searched his insides and come up with the Truth and the Word and the Position on Lady Chatterley’s Loner. Billie. the whole hit (a word not known then). when I like Lucille aud all the rest of us was 18 going on 18. But that was only the first discovery. leading it up those stairs-and in any and every event very clearly selecting and preferring it absolutely over any other animal on earth. following it. and hold hands and talk sophisticated and neck and dance. I like you. BG. and up and out of the place there came along with her this great huge shaggy gray oaf of a dog with Lady half towing it and half in tow. the tenth grade or so. and every Friday or Saturday night in those years we would all go to one another’s houses and play the records. just as I reached the steps the canopy and the sidewalk. and there she was. Billie. smack in the teeth of the Depression and the sit-down strikes and the onrushing war. I don’t know. let me take Billie Holiday a t Loew‘s Shenam. alone. of Lady Day. if I can. adoring it. and I am forced to exclude all of these and think only. and sometimes I went back alone. I first discovered her. male or female. One night I stayed late. wait. thrilling.118 Amlinger.


M. ready or no. then to the dog she said: “Let’s go. a w u d e of summers ago. P THATMUCH did I write. 90 miles an hour. It was Louise who finally did so and said: “Look at it.120 you somewhere quiet off these streets. not mine. Ctn% . and . the only real word of them all. so I put it back down. at 44. up the Turnpike from Philly to Ewergreen Rewiew here.” I looked at it and thought about the way I wdd see I must have been planning. a Greenwich-Village weekly newspaper which I help run. eastward. let postmasters cops sheri5s mayors congressmen generals doctors nurses put that in their pipes and smoke on it until Hell freezes over and kingdom come. my own sort of (unplanned) experiment. But I prefer to remember the powderblue Chrysler. and dark where she lies on that crank-u bed. and I somehow still fee and have the pride to feel that I sensed.’’ and with a rich secret giggle she went careening off with it. and what Louis said in Philadelphia and the Lady said in New York at the two ends of that crazy dash. decided to co-sponsor a Saturday- - . and died. and the little chihuahua jittering in the back seat. already almost boring. into the dark. an overeducated uneducated young fool alone on an emptying sidewalk. They were great. She threw me one splitsewnd. and that shaggy dog I spoke of shrunk to a tiny little ratlike widget. We take you now Mr.. but now the vodka was out of me and the anger was too mngealed. intuited. honest to God the only one I ever saw that close or sat in or drove. in Metropolitan Hospital. once again at almost 3 in the morning. The next morning and all the Following mornings I let it lie. they are putting her into the ground. Billie Holiday slipped back from her gains and suffered a relapse quite possibly as a side-effect of withdrawal symptoms. maring at 80. . And then. and Mrs. all the whole story of the 20 years that were hers. Louise I shall stop this soon girl great singer of our age stylist entrailtwister and artist. even then. three weeks later. to end it. wholly summarizing glance which cut me instantly down from 20 years old to 10. not daring or wishing to pick it up. and no not becopped beautiful nigger slum singer songstress already prostitute lesbo dope addict big star and idol ofay-hating whorewme bitter done dead learned made placed hip (new word) hep they are repeating that bulletin it is 7 P. that day. I am not exaggerating. on a lovely Friday afternoon and early evening perhaps a month or so ago. At which point a fuse blew and the scallopini had to come out. And it is getting dark outside this window now too. Two summers aeo The Vilhge Voice. North America some 20 years more or less into the future which is some two or three years into the immediate past. sugar. Today as I come back to t h i s machine. and I am now in a 1958 powder-blue push-button Chrysler. through the -night. with the vcdka and the anger inside me.

Jimmy Giuffre.50. Andre Hodeir. Paul Oliver. THE JAZZ REVIEW is edited by Nat Hentoff and Martin Williams. $8. foreign postage $1.00. Muddy Waters. Horst Lippmann. There have also been interviews with Miles Davis. Box 128-E. Sample copies available for 20p handling m t . Stanley Dance. 2 years (24 issues). Larry Gushee. Willie “The Lion” Smith. Y. John Lewis. Bill Crow. Muggsy Spanier. Dick Katz. Bob Brookmeyer. Jelly Roll Morton. Ralph Berton. Blind Lemon Jefferson. Garvin Bushell. Glenn Coulter. $4. Orrin Keepnews. the first analytical study of the music of Errol Gamer to have appeared in print. and John Coltrane. Regular features of THE JAZZ REVIEW include “Reconsiderations’’ of celebrated recordings. New York 14. Arrigo Polillo. Jimmy Rushing. Roger Dodge. selections of blues lyrin. Art Farmer. the stories of Walter Page and Buddy Tate as told by them to Frank Driggs. reviews in depth and at length of the work of Miles Davis. Copies are Sop each. Joachim Berendt. a continuing series by Mimi Clar on “The Negro Church. Bob Wilbur. and many others. Sonny Rollins and Cecil Taylor by Gunther Schuller. adoertisment . Village Station. Duke Ellington. THE JAZZ REVIEWS initial issues have included analyses of Thelonious Monk. N. William Russo.. George Russell. and “Jazz in Print” ( a critical report on the press) by Nat Hentoff. Tupper Saussy. Louis Armstrong. King Oliver. Write: THE JAZZ REVIEW.advertisement NAMING AIMS! T H E J A Z Z R E V I E W ’ S contributors include Gunther Schuller. Guy Waterman. Dick Wellstood. Julian Adderley. Its Influence on Modem Jazz. Frank Driggs. 1 year subscriptions (12 issues). Horace Silver. Benny Green. enclosing money order or check.00 extra. Billie Holiday. Hsio Wen Shih.” an appraisal of the Count Bask Band by Andre Hcdeir.

00 from Philadelphia to New York.268 pps. The star and main attraction would be Billie Holiday. as long as she gets up to the Sheridan some time between 1and 2 it11 be E . There was no edict. The Village is full of middling-young people with long memories or very young people By Chang Chen-Chi with unfulfilled nostalgias and a deep wish to find out.” with along about as smoothly as YOU what will surely be can ever hope for on such occathe most sought-after sions. Art said: “Yes. And then Art D’Lugoff. isn’t it? And what car?” CHARLES E.Evergreen Review midnight jazz concert at hew’s Sheridan. mean by car? It’s about two hours $15. from fetch her up from Philadelphia? Early Masters to t h e Modern I said: “Philadelphia?” and Art 5 5 prints in faithful color. and THE HOKUSAI SKETCHBOOKS np until the morning of the night c a l l e d “the most e n t i c i n g a n d of the concert everything moved graphic work of the year. a 2500-seat movie theatre a few blocks from ow o6ce. 934” x 12%” x 2”.and reached me. however. bar or night club by police fiat. We knew she needed the break and the money and that. she’s booked through prints in black and white. even if they said her voice was going or gone. we knew that just the name of Billie Holiday would ack the Sheridan. come what may. TUTTLE COMPANY Tokyo.. Vl. by car. who for the past decade had not been perillustrated by bans mitted to sing in any New York from the Chinese. The JAMES A. called my office. she would put on a hell of a show. Jamon Rullond. and said: “Who’s going to JAPANESE PRINTS. the entrepreneurial half of the sponsorthe most appreeioted Christmas Gift Book ship. 202 said: “Yes. hoond in raw 11 o’clock toniFht in a night club i n Philadelphia’ and I said: “YOU silk and hoxed. and we knew t at we ourselves were dying to hear her in person once again. which would prevent her from taldng part in a concert in a theatre. MICHENER tickets went like wild6re as soon follows the triumph of as they were placed on sale.

. $1. By Katherine Mansfield. .. . from up here.. . Boston 8.. “see if you can’t work it out somehow. 1650.. ... He meant Jack Coleman... By Edward Eggleston A HISTORY OF MECHANICAL INVENTIONS.. From England to America in the 17th Cen$1. he wasn’t sure.65 ORTHODOXY IN MASSACHUSETTS. . $1... $1. By Gertrude Stein. Jack came in a little later.. Mass. And how’s your driving?” I said okay... 1957. we’ll put the other musicians on first... State ... $1.. By Mark Van Daren.. I said yes.. 1630. By Perry Miller.. . . . the paper did have a car. I said uh-uh..JERRY TALLMEH 123 “Doesn’t Jack have a car?” Art said. . the then advertising manager of The ViUage Voice... . $2.. and I’ll try around.. . BY Abbott PaYSQn Usher..” Art said. ..58. not the O l d s a n d as a matter of fact that was one of the wisest things I ever said. By Charles R. . $1. . $1. G.. . and I didn’t have any confidence it would make it up from Philly in two hours if at all.. 54 IIIustrations. CQUltQn.75 MUSIC I N THE LIFE OF ALBERT SCHWEITZER. and all right. By G. .. I think it was. Edited by Margaret Mayorga.. . $1.75 For complete catalog. .... write to Beacon Press... how many people would he coming up from Philadelphia? And Art said Billy and her husband and her accompanist Ma1 Waldron and maybe one or two others. and anyway it wasn’t very big..95 PICASSO. too.. . With Selections from his Writings. . an extremely instinctual type. but have you ever seen Jack‘s car? And have you ever seen Jack drive? “Well. blazingly entered my head: that the one thing in all this world that I most wanted at just that moment... ..95 LIBERAL EDUCATION. Preface by Charles Munch.. . .75 NOVELS AND NOVELISTS.. . hut it was one that was formerly my own ’49 Olds.. . Address Zone .25 INPUlSlTlON AN0 LIBERTY. $1.. . . . . . the Olds suddenly and positively gave up the ghost for good. Name City . I did not say what had suddenly.. doesn’t the paper have a car? I said yes. THE BEST SHORT PLAYS.. a handme-down then and falling to pieces now.25 RELIGION AN0 PHILOSOPHY IN GER. . and would go on wanting. because less than two weeks later. beacon paperbacks for fall THE TRANSIT OF CIVILIZATION. .45 MANY’ By Heinrich Hein‘.95 tury. . 25 Beacon St. Joy. was for it to be me and nobody else in this world who would drive down to Philadelphia and bring Billie Holiday back for our concert. So I offhandedly said I would iry around and I said good-bye and hung up.. .

95 I 1y A. a dozen distinguished Paperbounds fromYale Yak U"I"OldltY PWm ezu Haven 7. Whitney ORISWOLD: Liberal Educationand th.e:Qmomtic ideal I 1.95 I Now. con*.95 .1 1 Erich FROMM :Paychmnulysis and Religion .95 I Paul TILLICH: The Courage to Be . .46 I Hmry Steele COMMAGER: The Antenca?t&iml I T h l r m n ARNOLD' The Folkloreof Captaltsm 1risMURDOCH:Sartre 1 Eugene O'NEILL :A Touch of the Poet . for the first time.

Everyone agreed with m e . since I’d last seen her: sooner or later I would have recognized her. and I went out for coffee. “I’m McKay. 15 anyway. I had seen her in the offices though I hadn’t ever actually met her. he had the car (though not much of a better one than the Olds) and I had the far greater advantage as a driver. At the wheel there sat a girl named Athena who sometimes hung around the offices of The Voice.I couldn’t have been cooler in putting the case-thst if Jack tried to rush her hack from Philadelphia we would very likely wind up one advertising manager and one great singer the less. and her mouth was still that incredible combination of open wound and jungle flower. Have a drink. A Negro who seemed to me to he about eight feet tall and three feet wide-I am not s h o r t a e tached himself from a group at one of the tables. It was the whole 20 years. all her wonderful cheek-lines and jaw-lines squashed and broadened. the husband and manager from whom Billie Holiday was later to he separated-until he flew to her side during her final illness. going slack and apathetic between bursts of voluble dispute on some subject under debate within her party. heavy in the jowls and shoulders. there sat this great big powder-blue automobile that had obviously just come off the assembly line. but it too was heavy now. aren’t you a friend of so and so’s? That your car? How would you like to let me run it down to Philadelphia and hack tonight to bring Billie Holiday u p for the jazz concert?” And that’s how Jack Coleman never got to bring Billie Holiday up from Philadelphia.” he said. At 11 o’clock she got up to sing. and on the instant you could tell that it was tiue: her voice was all but gone. of course. but it would prohably have given me a half-hour of puzzlement if I hadn’t come in knowing she’d he there. I walked over to the blue Chrysler and said: “Hello. and worn and bleared. I asked around for Louis McKay. Beneath them lay the hones. at moments almost wither- within two seconds we understood each other perfectly. fine and handsome still.” Then I saw the white gardenia and the glittering dress and Lady Day herself at the far end of his table. I hadn’t met Louise then. however. It was ten of 11. I had better say. Even Jack agreed. cracked. Or the several other potential and anxious candidates I’ve eliminated from this narrative for the sake of brevity. It was rough. I asked McKay for the time. not a had place but pretty dead and pretty . hoarse. at the curb. He kept talking.JERRY TALLMER 125 empty. Right in front of our building. She had been a big glorious-looking girl. now she was a big hulking-looking middle-aged woman. We both wanted to he the one to go. wouldn’t be getting to meet her for some months yet. “She’s got another couple of sets to go. either. Following Art DLugoffs instructions. behind his eyelids. And yet it wasn‘t gone. THE PHILADELPHIA night club was just OE the main drag. sandy.

Nor should you forget Athena. and what would we h w e if we ever did. finally ending up for keeps on the lap of its mistress. Billie’s young accompanist. but now I began to sweat again on the double grounds of would we ever get there. It was almost 11:30.” (This was Ma1 Waldron. He gave me the name of a hotel I had never heard of just west of Columbus Circle. The little dog w a s passed back and forth between her and Mal’s girl about ten times. now the leader of his own combination. Louis . glass in hand. halfempty night club. then Louis McKay carrying the bags. Ma1 and his girl go with you. “We’ll get her out of here. over some of those soul-twisting spmngmelody transitions produced for us by only one female voice in our time. We got out of there about a quarter past 12. huh?” I said yes. and now and again it still vestigially slid and melted. me in the lead to run out and bring around the car. I had stopped even thinking for a while about all those 2500 people waiting up in Loew’s Sheridan.) “I’ll finish u p business here and come up later. a winsome young beauty. He stood over me as I sat and looked me u p and down and then straight between the eyes. Then he said: “You get her to the concert. to change. McKay brought me another drink. the girl in question.” he said. Our engine was purring. but then it would keep coming back and back to hit now and again on just a few of those huest chords of loving agony we in our lifetimes shall ever have heard. much as it might help the scallopini situation to do so. Mal’s girl carrying Billie’s evening dresses. “right after the next set. the owner of the car. she had to go hack and change once more for the ride. Our departure was like a departure for the crusades. After the second set. Billie was gabbling in outrage in the back seat against the local management’s having kept her by contract to her very final set. and Billie herself in the rear clutching her glass in one hand and her Chihuahua in the other. Ma1 carrying other bags and bursting portfolios of music. two hours to the north. whom I cannot in pure fact drop entirely from this story. and his face softened for the first time as he smiled and sat down to finish his own drink at my table. as if in distant shadow play. She finished the set to desultory applause and whipped out to a dressing room.” McKay said. our push-button gear-shift at the ready. Once at the curb. it took us a b u t 10 more minutes to load u p and get Billie in and settled and satisfied. is now his wife. Nuther half hour. all of ns trooping in a parade through the smoky. He said: “You see they give the money to Mal? You see he gets it?” I said yes. He said: “You see she gets from the concert to our hotel in New York? You see to ~~ Euergreen Review that? Yousee she gets to the hotel?” I said yes. H e paused and looked at me very hard. I thanked whatever powers there be for that big blue boat of a Chrysler rather than any heap half its size of Jack‘s or mine.126 ing or choking away to nothing.

I had my own door open before her feet touched the sidewalk. Halfway up Walnut Street. right?” Again I said yes.” He touched me softly on the shoulder. But the instant our wheels touched the asphalt of Manhattan Island. Double shot of anything. We piled back into the car and once again accelerated rip to 70 as we headed up Sixth Avenue. It’s the law. She did not wake up when we got lost trying to find the entrance to the Turnpike.” I said: “I know. and off to the right there was a red neon glow. You gotta stop.” she firmly announced. Lady Day moaned: “I gotta make wee-wee. you get us there.” I said.” and hung up. “Where are yon?” he asked. Jerry.” I said: “Wait for me in front. through all the red lights.” “There’s a 3 o’clock curfew. “I’ll have her there in five minutes. Loew’s AirConditioned Sheridnn. shoulder to shoulder. Billie Holiday said loudly: “What’s this coucert we’re going to?” I said a concert sponsored by my newspaper. a dissimulation no longer to he considered or bothered about by adults. at the first bar.” Then I cnt back toward the phone booth and dialed WA 9-2166 as quick as my prickling fingers could make it. “I‘ve got to make wee-wee. Art came on the line.” said a disembodied voice at 2:3S in the morning. he’s going to stop.” he said. and headed at 70 miles an hour up Varick Street. She said: “What kind of newspaper’s that?” I explained as best I coidd. Billie slapped the bar-top and said: “Gimme n shot. Make it qriick. We were flashing past Canal Street. and then Greenwich Avenue. How’s the crowd holding out?” “Fine. gulped my double shot. She said: “What’s your name?” I said Jerry Tallmer. gone and forgotten.” and she immediately dropped off into a heavy sleep. Lady Day said: “There! You stop there. “There all here. “Art D’Lugoff there?” I snapped. MeKay came to my window and quietly said: “You get her up to that hotel.” he said. and away we went. made Billie down hers. and she did not wake up when we roared for the next two hours up other highways and eventually the Turnpike itself until we finally made it to the Holland Tunnel approach. threw down some money. hoyl” I made one of those decisions of a lifetime and . “Saturday night. Billie was clamhering over Ma1 and hlal’s girl and had the door open before we stopped rolling. Do something about it.” The barman looked at her and me and I said: “Same for me. “Canal Street. Lady. waiting. Double. sounding preoccupied. and dragged her out by the elbow. “Good evening. I ran out to the bar. The whole issue of the wee-wee was tacitly ignored by both of us. “You stop. not panicked. boy. The Villoge Voice.JERRY TALLMER 127 screeched over to the curb as in a gangster movie. She said: “Okay. We exploded into the bar together.” I said nothing. Billie Holiday suddenly sat bolt upright and awake. we’ll he up in five minutes. and she did not wake up when we roared through that tunnel at the same 80 miles an hour as Ma1 Waldron’s watch was nearing 2:30.” Ma1 said: “Okay.

Then. getting Billie ready to go un. Ma1 grinned and thumbed an indication to a newsstand-and-candy-store still open. This was not the old Billie but it was not the present Billie either. it’s been taken care of. He said he and his girl would probably like to go. late. and I took the car around in back and let them all get out. A little later he said she wanted to go too. halfway down the block. I said to one of the people from The Vuice: “What ahout the curfew?” He said: “Don’t worry about it. scratchy. I went up and asked if they had seen Billie. came around and said: “There71 be a party at my place on Christopher Street. and they’ll let her sing if she starts by 3. greased. it was some sweet and marvelous mixture of both. announcing: “Ladies and gentlemen. Everybody was talking to everybody and I was talking to somebody when all of a sudden I noticed I didn’t see Billie Holiday anywhere. I heard Art. They didn’t look nervous. I a u l d not believe my ears. and nod. she picked up. At the right. I saw Ma1 re-count them. They all ran into the rear of the theatre and I went off alone to park the Car.” It was ten of 3 and Billie and Mal and Mal’s girl were off on the side in a little cluster. It was quarter to 3. sure . I walked down to the store and there she was. Then.” he said.128 Art was slowly pacing back and forth in front of the box ofice of the Sheridan. Billie Holiday is now in the house” -a great cheer went up-“and will be with us in a moment. and nobody felt cheated when it was over. Ed Fancher. No- Evergreen Review body left before it was over. Then I went over to Ma1 and told him about the party. under a lamppost. “Go around to the stage door. ix S e did her set and another set and they held here there for about five encores. The party was a typical good. the same thing I had heard down in Philadelphia only now further impaired by further exhaustion. As I made it through that stage door myself. Lady Day was back in New Ynrk. Think she’d want to mme?” I said I’d see. out in front of the movie screen. bit by bit. Then it was over. publisher of The Voice. On the sidewalk I looked left and right. with a sinking stomach. at 4:30 in the morning. Or Ma1 and his girl. and the audience picked up with her. crowded Village party. From behind the screen. Ma1 and his girl were close together cuddling. wobbly. weak. She began slow. carrying somehow in gravelly pnrout over 2500 breathless heads. I searched all the rooms and the bathroom. I ran downstairs. as well as Billie.” At 3 sharp Billie Holiday stepped from behind the movie screen with Ma1 Waldron for her first major appearance in New York in over a decade. I watched Lady Day and Ma1 Waldron come back and watched from a respectful distance while I saw Art DLugoff go over to Ma1 and count bills into his hand. Most of the musicians from all the other groups were there. and shake hands with Art. but he’d have to ask Billie what she wanted to do. on the corner.

Massachusetts . BERNET KEMYERS. A lavish. paperbound $25. principles. ' U JONES. Mr. not a decorative adjunct to letter writing. held by Confiieiiis to be necessary to the educated man. the Ilecnmeron of Eastern $4.00 Ancient Indonesian Art By A . Five parts. $22. . this reproduces a rare printed text of the Bolor Erike or Chaplet o! Crystals. and early Islamic art.r bookseller. With a Foreword Iiy Sir Herbert Read.Ages Ago THIRTY-SEVEN TALES FROM T H E K O N J A K U MONOGATARI COLLECTION Transluted and edited pointed. and practiceas a fundamental art. $6. ourhor o j The Silent Traveller books. Cambridge 38. The 305 cidei of the Classic Anthology me the living tradition in Chinese poetry. Japatradition. these arc the Western language-a new and Indian folk literatnre. Hindu-Indonesian.50 Bolor Erike MONGOLIAN CHRONICLES BY R A s i P u N c s u r Edited by FRANClS W O O D M A N CLEAVES. An explanation of Chinese calligraphy-its origins. more than r mere translation.00 Chinese Calligraphy AN INTRODUCTION TO i T s AES- THETIC AND TECHNIQUE tly CHIANG YEE. Over 350 plates portray prehistoric.00 The Classic Anthology Defined by Confucius Tmnslrrted b y EZRA POUNI). written in the eighteenth century hut preserving a number of little known recitals relating tu CinggiJ O a r an and his life and to the history 01 the mongola iindrr tlw Ming dynasty. $5. 1. by S. Sophisticated and first Konjako tales to appear in a ny remarkable blend of Chinese.00 complete Through you. eotnprehen~ive pictorial survey of the best art of Indonesia. or 79 Garden Street. makes these early mysterious poems spring to life and seem as eontempurary as modern verse. Third in the Scripta Mongolica series. including many newly discovered treastiies. Pound's work. Copiously illustrated.

And in all that night I had never seen Lady Day look so wlnerable and soft. anyway. “That old Lomy . I pushed and pulled her down to the Waldrons and pushed and pulled the three of them down another block to the car. but the comer of her eye as well. almost incoherent. still happy. A grizzled. or of having ever laid eyes on me before in her life. pushing her before me. ‘Whwo-eee!” she shouted. for the first time since. We went out onto the street and there were Ma1 and his girl still under the lamppost. or so attractive. as if trying to decide whether to take the one. Lady hummed and reached for her purse and knocked it to the floor. and twice as natural. which in case yon didn’t know it is one of the dominant types in Greenwich Village. or both at once. The only thing I could think of to do was to plant my own feet as wide apart as possible and sweat it out. let’s go. his glance traveling avariciously hack and forth between the singer and her purse. ice-eyed type straight out of the Mafia. his hack to the door and now sidling over to block the door. I thought I’d better keep on standing. big as life. In all this time she hadn’t given the least flickering sign of being aware of my existence. I heard Lady Day utter a word not in song. or both of us together. Evergreen Review Painfully. still cuddling. we had stopped at that bar near Canal Street. Billie had put her purse down on an upturned crate. I had never seen anyone buy so many candy bars before. so relaxed. and then I made the second enormous decision of that long. taking it all in. long night. She seemed almost nnconscious. as they say. They got in hack and I got in front. And I waited. giving the guy the back of her head. for that matter. the other. The man stood there planted on his two feet. Then.130 enough. I wondered what good the slender Ma1 would he. so feminine. Lady Day looked neither this way nor that. Then I realized I wasn’t the only one who thought so. she stooped down to scrape them up. and at the very last instant the man at the door broke and turned away with a grimace and gave US the room to go through. picking out her candy bars.” and I marched as cooly and as arrogantly as I could straight for the door. She finally got everything back in her purse and made a big play of collecting and paying for her whole huge armful of comic books and candy bars. now. “Whweeel That old Jerry! That old b y ! ” She gave an immense gurgling giggle. I reached down to turn on the ignition. I wondered if Ma1 would bear me if I yelled. weathered. I felt placed exactly in the category of the thug by the door. She was stumbling all over and humming happily to herself and loading her arms with comic hooks and candy bars. I said: “Okay. hours earlier. I waited until she was all square with the little-old-lady store owner. In the same tiny store. there stood a heavyset man of about 50. Lady Day kept stumbling and mumbling around the store. she had definitely yet to look at me. its change and compacts spilling out.


through 20 years of her life and mine to her hotel on Columbus Circle. May those who throughout 44 years helped take her from this life-those including herself, myself-now rest in peace thoughout eternitv.

tell that old Jerry to get me to the hotel, and that old Jerry h e make God damn sure I get to the hotel. That cruddy bastard ie the store think I didn't see him lookin' at me; he think all sorts of things, But old lenv he come in, he remember L h i t old Looey say, he just stand there and look at that bastard and he take me out of that store. Hey, yon1 Jerry! What the name of that newspaper you work for?" I told her the name of the paper, "Well, you send me a copy of that newspaper, you hear?" said Billie Holiday, and I turned on the ignition and started the car and headed it once again into the dark, away from Christopher Street, away from 52nd Street. and north

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Notes Written on Finally Recording Howl‘
By 1955 I wrote poetry adapted from prose seeds, journals, scratchings, arranged by phrasing or breath groups into little short-line patterns according to ideas of measure of American speech I’d picked up from W. C. Williams’ imagist preoccupations. I suddenly turned aside in San Francisco, unemployment compensation leisure, to follow my romantic inspiration-Hebraic-Melvillean bardic breath. I thought I wouldn’t write a poem, but just write what I wanted to without fear, let my imagination go, open secrecy, and scribble magic lines from my real mind-sum up my lifwomething I wouldn’t be able to show anybody, writ for my own soul’s ear and a few other golden ears. So the first line of Howl, “I saw the best minds etc.,” the whole first section typed out madly in one afternwn, a tragic custard-pie comedy of wild phrasing, meaningless images for the beauty of abstract =try of mind running along m&ng awkward combinations like Charlie Chaplin’s walk, long saxophone-like chorus lines I knew Kerouac would hear sound of-taking off from his own inspired prose line really a new poetv. I depended on the word “who“

Fantasy, Spoken Word Series.

Copyright 1959 by Fantasy Reco r b . Inc.


to keep the beat, a base to keep measure, return to and take off from again onto another streak of invention: “who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars,” continuing to prophesy what I really knew despite the drear consciousness of the world: “who were visionary indian angels.” Have I really been attacked for t h i s sort of joy? So the poem got awesome, I went on to what my imagination believed true to Eternity (for I’d had a beatific illumination years before during which I’d heard Blake’s ancient voice and saw the universe unfold in my brain), h what my memory could reconstitute of the data of celestial experiences. But how sustain a long line in poetry (lest it lapse into prosaic)? It’s natural inspiration of the moment that keeps it moving, disparate thinks put down together, shorthand notations of visual imagery, juxtapositions of hydrogen jukebox-abstract haiku sustain the m stery & put iron poetry back into t l e line: the last line of Sunflower Suha is the extreme, one stream of single word associations, summing up. Mind is shapely, Art is shapely. Meaning Mind rac ticed in spontaneity invents orms in its own image and gets to Last Thoughts. h e ghosts wailing for body try to invade the M i a of living men. I hear ghostly Academies in Limbo screeching about Form.

P -



I11 was conceived and half-written same day as the beginning of Howl, I went back later and filled it ont. Part I, a lament for the Lamb in America with instances of remarkable lamblike youths; part I1 names the monster of mental consciousness that preys on the Lamb; Part I11 a litany of affirmation of the Lamb in its glory: “0 starryspangled shock of Mercy.” The structure of Part 111, pyramidal, with a graduated longer response to the fixed base. I remembered the archetypal rhythm of Holy Holy Holy weeping in a bus on Kearny Street, & wrote most of it down in notebook there. That exhausted this set of experiments with a fixed base. I set it as Footnote to Howl because it was an extra variation of the form of Part 11. (Several variations on these forms, including stanzas of graduated litanies followed by fugues, will he seen in Kaddish.) A lot of these forms developed out of an extreme rhapsodic wail I once heard in a madhouse. Later I wondered if short quiet lyrical poems could be written using the long line. Cottage in Berkeley k Supermarket in California (written same day) fell in place later that year. Not purposely, I simply followed my Angel in the course of compositions. What if I just simply wrote, in long units and broken short lines, spontaneously noting prosaic realities mixed with emotional upsurges, solitaries? Transcription of Organ Music (sensual data), strange writing which passes from prose to poetry & back, like the mind.

Ideally each line of Howl is a single breath unit. My breath is long-that’s the Measure, one physical-mental inspiration of thought contained in the elastic of a breath. It probably bugs Williams now, hut it’s a natural consequence, my own heightened conversation, not cooler average-dailytalk short breath. I get to mouth more madly this way. So these poems are a series of experiments with the formal organization of the long line. Explanations follow. I realized a t the time that Whitman’s form had rarely been further explored (improved on even) in the U S Whihnan always a mountain too vast to be seen. Everybody assumes (with Pound?) (except Jeffers) that his line is a big freakish uncontrollable necessary prosaic goof. No attempt’s been made to use it in the light of early XX Century organization of new speech-rhythm prosedy to build up large organic structures. I had an apartment on Nob Hill, got high on Peyote, & saw an image of the robot skullface of Moloch in the upper stories of a big hotel glaring into my window; got high weeks later again, the Visage was still there in red smokey downtown Metropolis, I wandered down Powell street muttering, “Moloch Moloch” all night and wrote Howl I1 nearly intact in cafeteria at foot of Drake Hotel, deep in the hellish vale. Here the long line is used as a stanza form broken into exclamatory units punctuated by a base repetition, Moloch. The rhythmic paradigm for Part

death. $4. Philip Roth. John Phillips. original talents you'll enjoy "discoveriny" for yourself. In Back of the Real shows what I was doing with short lines (see sentence 1 above) before I accidentally wrote Howl. 1960). Later I tried for a strong rhythm built up using free short syncopated lines. me at desk scribbling. sum of earlier experiments-Baggage Room at Greyhound.Evergreen Review What about poem with rhythmic buildup power equal to Howl without use of repetitive base to sustain it? The Sunflower Sutra (composition time 20 minutes. Mac Hyman. no fixed base. fear. Last. Ending with a hymn in rhythm similar to the synagogue death lament. P. City Lights. Jack Kerouac-are already well known through their novels and plays. it surprised me. single breath remaining the rule of measure? I didn't trust free flight yet.1 . completely free composition. measuring groups of related ideas. Some of them -Samuel Beckett. Kerouac at cottage door waiting for me to finish so we could go off somewhere party) did that. one long Who. grouping them-a method of notation. Others a r e fresh. short and long breaths mixed a t random. so went back to fixed base to sustain the flow. OUTTON & COMPANY 1 . the Proem to Kaddish (NY 1959 work)-finally. sex. Europe! Europe! a prophecy written in Paris (Kaddish. Passing into A 14-course b a n q u e t f o r l i t e r a r y gourmets- (1 BEST SHORT STORIES I1 FROM THE )I PARIS REVIEW W i t h an I n t r o d u c t i o n by William S t y r o n Thew fourteen outstanding stories from one of today's most vital "little magazines" present the major aspects of life-love.00 r r t nli b o o k s t o r r s E. After that. religion--as they are viewed by the most perceptive young writers of our day. a regular formal type long poem in parts. America. the long line breaking u p within itself into short staccato breath units-notations of one spontaneous phrase after another linked within the line by dashes mostly: the long line now perhaps a variahle stanzaic unit. Next what happens if you mix long and short lines.

Fate tells big lies. & spits on Blake. edited by dawid sladen and michael horovitz. denies man. A word on the Academies: poetry has been attacked by an ignorant and frightened bunch uf bores who don't understand how it's made. America will be discovered. and the gay Creator dances on his own body in Eternity. except perhaps to make it shut its trap & listen to the music of the Spheres. Number I contains departures of quality from Samuel beckett patrick bowles Deter ferauson john fuller Charles hamblett piero heliuer dennis keene bernard koDs john mcgrath philip o'connor victor pasmore hurt schwitters stevie smith stefan themerson franciszka themerson and N u m b e r s 2 & 3 include new work from john beckett robert beloof john cage gregory corso alan davie j p donleavy allen ginsberg michael hamburger eugene ionesco nrn iudy spinh raymond queneau ion silkin and many new writers. Who denies the music of the spheres denies poetry. which ran fmm Oxford tor tour years: we hope to bring it Out quarterly. & the trouble with these creeps is they wouldn't know poetry if it came up and huggered them in broad daylight. tho with scared love.ALLEN GINSBERG dactylic? says Williams? Perhaps not: at least the ear hears itself in Promethean natural measure.or $1. All these poems are recorded now as best I can. it's become more a trap & duty than the spontaneous ball it was first. please pin our subrcr8ptran list ~ 4:. I have quit reading in front of live audiences for a while. A word on the Politicians: my poetry is Angelical Ravings. artists and composers: designed by anna lovell. not in mechanical count of accent. I began in obscurity to communicate a live poetry. The universe is a new Bower. & Buddha. NEW DEPARTURES is an ambitious revival of the fine magazine of literature and the arts. are no use to this world.00 NAME ADDRESS . and has nothing to do with dull materialistic vagaries about who should shoot who. The secrets of individual imagination-which are transconceptual & non-verhalI mean Unconditioned Spirit-are not for sale to this consciousness. but in Order to do this we need all the support we can get.00 POI1 t r e e two years 30W or 17. Christ. Meanwhile have a ball. imperfect to an angelic trumpet in mind. Who wants a war against roses will have it. DEPARTURE. Shelley.

” At about the same time. was rediscovering an emotional basis on which jnzz could continue in the same kinds of sources from which it had originally sprung. he rose up and shouted to his contemporaries-even to h i s elders-that jazz would not ahnndon the other side of its unique emotional or technical heritage. in the face of the fad for cool jazz i n the fifties. Silver sounded something like a compromise between bop pianist Bud Powell and an “elementary” blues man like “Speckled Red” or “Cow Cow” Davenport. the lines of demarcation between “hard hop” and “funky” jazz were nut long in blurring. of progress and immaturity. with constant allusions to the accompanist at a Sanctified church as well. With both Brown’s style-and-feeling and Silver’s feeling-and-style as sources of inspiration. of course. it turned out to be “hard bop. Variously associated with both of these men was drummer Art Bliikey who has emerged as the drummer of the mid-fifties. an Eastern pimist-composer named IIornce Silver. And the style acquired a name. But Brown could do that “cooking” improvising of his only at a few medium and fast 136 . The question is how healthy and how lcgitimate the offspring. He will he in them because. his best single L P is probahly Prestige 7038) show him extending brass technique heyond anything previously conceived poss i b l c s o m e t h i n g each successive generation of jazz trumpeters has done. jazz has experienced some kind of re-birth in the midfifties. Clifford Brown’s w a s a curious combinntion of virtuosity and technical limitation. when the style Brown encouraged acquired a name. His recordings (sessions with Blakey are un Blue Note 1526. Silver quickly acquired his imitators and his following. Appropriately enough. Brown announced that jazz was not to lose its way in the temporary dead end of an increasingly tepid cool style hut could find a crucial rebirth in a modified version of the hop style of thc forties--n style few Eastern musicians had ahandoned hut one which decidedly needed new life. As a man who seemed to he interpretiiig the innovations of Miles Davis through the manner of Dizzy Gillespie and Fats Navarro. by digging around in the “gospel music’’ of Negro chnrches and in a kind of blues playing that had matured as long ago as the late twenties. Obviously. The answcr seems to be that Brown and Silver were superb godparents hut that it takes mow than god-parents to raise a child.MARTIN WILLIAMS Funk for Sale Trumpeter Clifford Brown will surely have a place in all future histories of jazz. and not for the usual reason that he died young. “funky”-a term borrowed from Negro argot for a certain kind of body odor.

he was becoming a cohesive soloist. he usually failed. who succeeded as a soloist by avoiding it. now of the Modern Jazz Quartet. may not go as deep as has its use by some other men. and as long as he attempted Brown’s kind of virtuosity. Once hassist Charlie Mingus had turned his back on pseudoacademic pretentiousness and allowed the church idiom to affect his music directly and deeply. he became one of the most promising soloists jazz had seen for years. Perhaps it was Silver’s function to affirm the idiom and tempos-a fact which often led him and many of his follows into an embarrassed double-timing in slow ballads after a very few bars. Brown has two direct heirs on trumpet: Lee Morgan.MARTIN WILLIAMS 137 beginnings. he produced such astonishing things as Pitlrecanthropus Erectus (Atlantic 1237). Silver’s use of the gospel tradition as such. Aside from the general inspiration he gnve the eastern jazzman and the revisions he brought about in the styles of some of his elders. Mahalia Jackson (Columbia CL1244). And by the time that both jazz and nrhan blues were ready to turn to it for emotional replenishment. January 1959) that this current elaboration of church music really goes back to the mid-forties and vihraphonist Milt Jackson. Also. and Blue Cee and Haitian Fight Song (Atlantic 1260). when Horace Silver was doing it so was “rock and roll”. who succeeded in meeting Brown’s challenge directly. this maturity first showed itself when he played in Horace Silver’s Quintet (Blue Note 1589). and Art Farmer. Brown was dead in an automobile accident in 1956: he was twenty-five. At eighteen. almost half of the hit records of the past four years are clearly indebted to a kind of bowdlerized version of gospel song. gospel had produced one of the major artists in all NegroAmerican music. My own feeling is that. But not only such naive or commercial gimmickry was involved in this phenomenon: adaptations from the gospel style have clearly re-vitalized the urban blues style through the work of a really excellent performer like Ray Charlcs (Atlantic 8025). Farmer had been Brown’s section-mate in one of those hands Lionel Hampton forms periodically. Morgan was an astonishing technician and by the time he was a member of the Art Blakey Quintet (Blue Note 4003). whatever its importance. Significantly perhaps. a music growing out of “their” experience. British critic Bruce King has suggested ( J a z z Monthly. And his ideal as an improviser seems to have been the rather elementary one of keeping things going a t a sustained emotional pitch with as little apparent monotony of ideas and phrases as possible. When he began to draw more directly on the lyricism of Miles Davis and on his own melodic and spontaneous compositional gifts. The fact that Silver turned so directly to the “gospel” idiom as a basis for his music was not an isolated phenomenon even in its . Clearly it became for at least some Negroes a way of reclaiming jazz as “their” music.

rapid succession of harmonies which threatened to become a matter of a chord changed on every beat. In so doing. N. and to depend more and more on interpolations--one solo is partly a disjointed string of several bugle calls. and he freed the soloist. Y. and it leaves unsaid the fact that his work has had a further and very important effect on jazz. Y. Silver opened up what had been a its content. YUGEN 6 Robert Creeley Charles Olson Tristan Tzara Ray Brernser Gary Snyder Totem Press 402 W.) New York 17. jumping from one chord to the next with stock phrases. throwing the emphasis in jazz improvisation back onto scales and larger melodic patterns. Silver himself is a limited pianist (indeed. he is known to many as “really a tenor saxophonist”) and his passionate solos seem to have become less and less fluent and COhesive. N e w York 36. Ask for o copy of our A u t u m n Winter CURRENTS listing the choicest of our specialties. Art Blakey is a crucially transi- .Evergreen Review Midtown Paperback Book Shop 759 Third Avenue (47th St. In simplifying the hop style. All of which is hardly to say that Silver’s music is unemotional. N. Y. 30 PAGES Our fabled basement does overflow upstairs: come i n and browse. Small wonder that Farmer found his maturity while with Silver. Plaza 3-4758 Send for free 59 page cataloque o f paperbacks. he opened up a style that had become increasingly boxed in. N. the bop accompanist had somehow got the idea that he should actually make all the chords the soloist implied in passing. and those as musical director of a sextet which was really Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers of the time (Blue Note 1518). it was left to others to be more abidingly affected . JAMES JOYCE CATALOG. Silver indirectly exposed many of the adept fakers who merely “ran the changes” in familiar keys. 20th Street New York 1 1 . GOTHAM BOOK MART 41 West 47th St. Silver’s style as a player and composer has changed little from his first records as leader-the trios on Blue Note 1520.

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H e shouldn’t even have to follow them at all-they should follow biml . and a strong if seemingly understated emotional content (Coral 57230. functions the pianist Bill Evans. By the fifties. drops the rapid successive chord changes. As tenor saxophonist Bobby Jaspar has pointed out ( T h e luzi Reciew.and Webster offered an LP which. And another is the re-birth of tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins. He says that a soloist should not have to be inhibited by any chord changes that a pianist and bassist are making. Hear especially Blue 7 on Prestige 7079. Blakey’s style has been even further developed by his “pupils” Philly Joe Jones and Elvin Jones. he had a firm and personal style. again based on a simplifcution of that of a bop musicianthe brilliant Max Roach of 1947. is as nearly perfect as any art can get (Verve 8274). an important jazzman since the mid-twenties and a man who seems to renew his powers about every ten years. earlier a betterthan-good be-bop soloist. The fashion for this “hard” tenor style and its rougher tone has also led to some interesting and perhaps significant rediscoveries from even earlier generations: Coleman Hawkins and Ben Webster. at least for his part of it. He. by now probably one of the most significant born soloists in the history of jazz. Atlantic 1317).140 tional drummer for jazz. There have been times when Blakey seemed to imply that the way for a drummer to inspire a soloist is to coerce him loudly. February 1959). and it is largely because of Rollins that it Evergreen Review is. a fine pianistic technique. One of the most original young soloists in the idiom is an alto saxophonist. Taking a hint in part from Monk. If anything is really happening. has outstanding rhythmic and melodic gifts. “Don’t worry. who works not in New York but in California. The tenor saxophone style is by now probably the best known facet of the hard hop idiom. almost a polyphonic drum-line. like Silver. however. responded with his best recording in years (Felsted 7005). who sometimes seems to want the rhythmic style of jazz further subdivided into sixteenthnotes and whose ear for harmonies is quite advanced. The former. Ornette Coleman (Contemporary 3551. In the midst of all this sometimes affected shouting and moaoing. you’ll hear it!”) The most provocative thing in Blakey’s playing is that at times it has almost ceased to he an “accompaniment” and become an interplaying percussive part. (But he has said. Prestige 7123). It already has an exciting and exasperating innovator in John Coltrane (Blue Note 1577. Blakey’s is only one of several rediscoveries that the by now fashionable swing to the hard bopfunky style has brought about. Another is the re-emergence of pianist composer Thelonious Monk (Riverside 12-226). and Blues For Philly Joe on Blue Note 4001. Riverside 12-291). and commands the listener with melodic and rhythmic ideas. Rollins disciplines both his techniques and his melodies to improvise solos of many choruses of a continuity and developing M)hesion previously heard only in certain pianists.

We were. more studious. The girls. for example.” separated by the center aisle of the auditorium. I was one) were required to sit in the rear of the auditorium for an hour or more. precise. what is SHEEE . girls! Keep it going. The pupil who was chosen to mpy an exercise on the blackboard was always a girl. sim ly because everyone understood it was innate in the young male to have a dreadful handwriting. perhaps because their superior ranks in- gat . consequently. that isn’t like yon a t d l I can barely hear you! The girls never let the boys get ahead of them. super-legible and astonishingly mindless penmanship. For instance. do yon now?” and there would follow a feverish bellow. .’* Then the sustained screech of fity very young sopranos: “THAT a l l her swains com-MEND herrr . . more intelligent-looking penmanship of men of the same age. as opposed to the more individual.” And the second teacher. each with a baton for goad. For some reason the girk were always declared the winners. we were exhorted to save the honor of our sex by singing louder than the other sex. he would have been ridiculed for it by everyone. The teacher admonished me again and again not to grip my pen so tightly. do they? Open your mouth-0-pen”-exhibiting an oral cavity of remarkable dimensions. four. accustomed to ardent contests. keep that rainbow growing!” But the boys were never similarly encouraged. The two music teachers. . Although (Continued from page 5 2 ) We were divided by sex in other ways. (This practice must have retarded my enjoyment of all music for at least ten years. the girls to the right. by the teachers.)-& consider the matter of penmanship: “PALmer says swing one. were cleaner. while the boys. In “assembly. if not actually invented. uniformly developed a large. eschewing the principle of harmony. On the other hand. the boys to the left. whipped us into the competitive fury of a cockfight: “All right. no boy ever volunteered. beginning in the primary grades. five! That’s right.) Here was another art in which I was incompetent. Girls. with our right forefingers set s a y against our mouths as a badge of caste. (I suppose this explains why so many women in their twenties and thirties produce identical childlike characters. musical or social. the teachers themselves came to believe it and could make scientific predictions based on it. “ W H O 0 0 is SYLLLviaAH. . girls.CYNTHIA OZICK 141 cluded fewer “listeners. followed the normal bent of their nervous systems. the boys believed it and were bad. The girls believed it and were good. slanted. the so-called “feminine” handwriting. a hostility between the sexes was certainly encouraged. use your whole ARM and ELhow. SWING two. considered hopeless to begin with and left to themselves. and better-behaved than boys. three. everyone knew. boys! Louder! You don’t want the girls to get the better of you. would cajole. “Oh come now. No propaganda was ever more successful.” A listener was a poor unfortunate who had been pronounced totally unable to sing: we (alas.

And it could not have been more simple or more obvious. The trouble was that I had waited so long to learn to write. it lodged. peculiarly. more insidious because it lurked within our o w n system. learned to make white sauce in the very hour that the boys. whichever was true.142 I did use the Palmer system for the Palmer exercises. she wore her power (chiefly to suppress talking. to be able “to put down my own thoughts” all by myself. that the words themselves threw me into a frenzy of delight. Four hours a week. which was forbidden. you may wt copy your composition on the blackboard. Leadership became a habit with her. The new teacher would ask. and knew that nothing would change. however. in fact. aeon upon aeon. whiIe it woul be against nature for our resident not to have been a gk. Nevertheless. For years our class had the same president. It was taken for granted that the president of the class-appointed. were fashioni r l s are more ing wooden artifacts. But the president was a kind of assistant teacher. W h o was president last termY’ and then Haniet would be appointed to succeed herself. But there was another and more interesting contradiction. in their homemade aprons and caps. a co-disciplinarian. I learned laterbut it is a question whether 6er queenliness issued from the demands of her ofice. in the cumculum. The Palmer method did not allow for pleasure. however-“Shamel Look how you hold that pen! Do you want to grow up with your finger all deformed?” (I did. but the office was merely honorific. pressing the pen point down hard in plain joy. in shop class. said the canon: but boys are more “mechanical. B P . Roosevelt was President of the United States: this. a girl named Harriet. the stability of the presidency (we had long ceased even to hope for rotation) crystallized our miniature world into a rigid caste society: the timid remained timid. For one thing. “handier. at the same t h e Mr.) And. We all know you don’t try to write like a girll” Female superiority was acknowledged in another way. and I would forget all about forming the letters. there were severe contradictions.” Hence the girls. once t h e e were over I unhesitatingly reverted to my peculiar cramped hold on the pen. or whether the officewas bestowed cn her because of her natural authority. The vice-president did nothing at all. G studious than boys. therefore. cutting cloth. Yet within the matriarch). worst calumny of all: “No. Certainly she was physically more mature than most of us-she Evergreen Review married at fifteen. side by side with the established values. it had esca ed our notice that.” better skilled with tools. The vicepresident was usually a boy. said the code: but boys are more intelligent. Girls are more artistic than boys. Nicole. not electedwas always a girl. we girls were instructed in the arts of threading needles. and to keep our marching-lines even). with an air of long-used grace. and knew their place. was an external affair and did not touch our lives.


and there were degrees of punishment for each offense. and the supercilious monitor would pass through. We knew we would never know. the most ancient of their species. and rip! begin it again. the hems clinging to their shins. You could not plead ignorance before the law: the law hung on placards. very careful of them. like a crowd of cataleptics. taking . I must make clear. When at last we were freed from that bleak lace. her eyebrows basted to the rims of her spectacles. and dart. whispering. the woodworking. All this-the sewing. turn red. nudging. accompanied by the Fife and Dmm Corps. eighthgraders of thirteen or fourteen. Miss Uhlein was infallible. We had to he very. down and back. the deepest silence. fearfully and tenderly our feet went rocking on the treadles. carrying her red felt banner inscribzd with “71” in white letters. down and back. rumors of certain magics would reach us in an underground murmur: the boys had seen an “experiment. halfzombie-like. we covered infinity in precise mws“Here she comes1 Here she mmesl” covertly cried. But we had been long trained in the art of enduring the inscrutable.144 and wearing thimbles. they croaked knowingly of paramecia. limbs “at attention. we knew we were not horn to know. ready to award it to the class with the stiffest posture.-While we sewed (what did we make? graduation dresses. her needle-nose pricking after error. we were of course curious. Four stitches instead of three before hack-stitching. inst beginning to show their breasts. in black letters. the secret of the paper that could change its color. We proceeded through the comdors in a fashion half-military. I fervently despised these yard-moritors. as well as every other pursuit-as. they all walked with a kind of haughty s h d e . The symmetrical rracks in the concrete governed our position: square on square. the straightest lines.” queerly stiffened. Talking. with Miss Uhlein. frayed and grimy when the day finally came). taught by a male teacher. Congregating in the school yard after lunch. and they wore the narrow skirts of the thirties. the boys ‘’had’’ Science. they whispered of protoplasm. the sewing teacher. glaring over us. sign-language of the subtlest sort. worse yet. tuck. A tremor in an otherwise even line. conducted in the strictest silence. in order to “march up”to afternoon classes. and the creaking Singer machines. loomed squat and imperious in the comers of the dim sewing-room. glimpsing now and then a hunsen burner. note-passing-they were all forbidden.” they had seen something called litmus paper turn blue. We girls never set foot in the laboratory. the cooking. selvage. on all the walls. and were initiated into the rites of hem. They were usually “old” girls. and rip1 you were likely to have two pieces of cloth instead of one. joining the boys in our “o&cial” classroom. even under a free and patent sky we dared not utter an unscheduled word. ankles aching. begun two years ahead of time. hut only within the limits of possi- Esergreen Resiew bility. bias. she was just.

At the last instant my voice revived-“Can’t I use my own spit. Like gargoyles they leered at us from their stations. and the carillon with its bells. rarely. a merciful teacher would declare a “five-minute talking period” while we put away our coats and settled ourselves. fill up that space1 Come on girls. about eleven.tHble. and glorious will to destroy. and wicked as we were-we possessed some secret. and the drums. the demon was silenced. It was as though-small.” My eyes closed too. stopping. The most innment whisper brought a preventive fury on OUT heads. their wails flying up and down the cramped. And now the vigil of the monitors was really under way. spun out the roll of sticking-tape. how coolly and how slowly her fingers. Next the Pledge of Allegiance. I can this moment see it: the two inches of tipe measured off. Then the bugles would start. ‘You may go to your seat. inferior. We ignoble savages were suspected which some potent combination of spell-making syllables might accidentally conjure out-hence OUT perpetual lust for waggling our tonyes. one on each landing. when I was much older. the 1A teacher (she of the straight bright teeth and the plum-back bun). Miss Vokell’s pink-and-white moist tongue undulating over the glue.” My shoulders were as high as the desk-top. I was once sent tn the Detention Room for . “Close your mouth. “Come here. a few steps. breathing briefly into our straining at-attention faces. so feared. keep it moving1 Hurry up you. bubbling-wet and loose. snipped off with the scissirs.-Miss Vokell. whipping us with suspense. our mouths. Her hand passed over my mouth and caressed the paper smooth.” the banner would be received by the triumphant class. T h i s discouragement of communication began early. and the whole school singing the Star Spangled Banner. unacc0ur. could not have felt the lively yellow heat ol the hlay sun that stage-lit her desk. long-nailed and oval-mooned. and dnunming up a din.CYNTHIA OZICK 145 of harboring demons in our lmdies. girls1 No taking1 Shut up1 No pushing1 Hurry up. please?’-but it was too late. flung back at us in thunder-phrases from the echoing bricks: “I PLEH JALLEE JENSTOTHEFLAH GOVTHEEYOLJNIGH TEDSTAY TSOVAMERICA -” And finally the Corps would slide into “The Minstrcl Boy to the Wars Is Gone. Nevertheless. gray. in the first grade. the girls’ section swallowed up by the girW staircases. busy stairflights: “Quiet. felt evil and powerful. where. no talking nowl” until with relief we filed into our classrooms. acd yet snmehow I saw it.” -I was sealed up. Then it was my turn. and rowdying. half-faint with fright. and the “‘march-up” would begin: the boys’ half of the yard flowing through the narrow neck of the boys’ entrance. the cold sticky aper was pasted across my numb yips. unwinding it like a terrible white worm1 I was near tho head of the summoned row of children (five and six years old). and the fifes. For our own safety we had to he sealed up.

” Lucille. Up front Miss Munsell was turning the pages of a novel. there were no signs of anything of the sort. I had imagined some kind Evergreen Redew of physical punishment. I t was very quiet. Vincent. I could neither read nor write sensibly. Little by little the trembling ceased. It seemed very long. Miss Muusell glanced up without anger or interest: “The soaner you finish. it struck me).” she told us (in a rather indifferent tone. hut since no one asked me the nature of it. I came in and sat down in a rear seat. “Write a composition on that topic. For the rest of the afternoon the impending incarcerarion weighed on me. my hands shook. I did not know how much time had passed.” when we were parading from one class to another. I did not explain. During “changing. “God bless you. alerr for whispers. and then pass your papers forward. it isn’t so bad after all. pleasant woman who wore what seemed to be the same black dress every day. the sooner you may go.” She put a D-merit next to my name and instructed me to report to Miss Munsell that afternoon in the Detention Room. all the teachers seemed to know that I had to go to the Detention Rrrm. the teachers would stand between the moving lines. There were very few offenders that day-three or four hardened criminals (boys who had been detained many times before and were more bored than frightened) and myself. as a starter. then took some chalk and wrote on the hlackboard: WHY WE MUST NOT TALK IN THE HALLS. and spoke with a lively brogue. Certainly I would never have dared protest my near-innocence to Miss Uhlein. Worse. Miss MunseIl was a stout. My heart was still rapidly fanning. I had just vacantly hegun to copy the words from the blackboard. Even the bad big boys were laboriously zigzagging their pencils. It was my misfortune to be just passing Miss Uhlein when Lgcille Behrens sneezed. arms folded. handing out the paper-“Write until you are finished.146 talking in the corridor. something like the stocks the Pilgrims had. I said. you could not plead etiquette before the law. I crossed them out excitedly and m e instead: WHY TALKING IN SCHOOL SHOULD BE ALLOWED. The infmction seemed to me extremely minor.” So far I had written nothing. One of the boys mumbled something in a voice that was heavy and already man-like. Miss Munsell called the roll of the offenders. I looked all around. I had plenty of time to run home. but. . I picked at the pencil and tried to think what to say. glancing up just in time to refrain from answering. charged all at once with a rebellious inspiration. I thought. There w a s no clock.” For a few minutes I sat without moving. This happened before lunch. Then I heard Miss Uhlein: ‘Who is the president of this class? Give me your section-book. pausing to scratch her head. when. flickered a warning. and announce that I would be dismissed later than usual. eat nervously.

. and hastily folded the bundle of sheets in half. I started for the door. withal. They boys had disappeared. At the same time it was not a doubledealing fraud-i. Staring back greedily to catch the first rays of Miss Munsell’s astonishment. and so on. I went for a fresh supply of paper. then in irregular mouse-teeth shapes. reflecting that my style had never been more magnificent. for she was a very genial. first in long thin strips. falling more dead than any dying leaf into the green burial-month of the wastebasket. I flourished every verbal gesture. and. Miss Miinsell. the significance of talking in the psychology of children. an innocent. and grew dizzy with a messianic poetry. Miss Munsell and I were alone. which pleased me. and suddenly they came flowing down like a whirring snow. . a t first spellbound. It was only fitting that the spark for such an insunection should have been lit in the Detention Room. woman. sheathed by the waning light. “It’s after four.” . She stepped forward. . New advantages and pleasures continued to stream into my head: the improvement of health thrmgh absence of restraint.”) Transported. . Then. Ianguidly glowing. would he converted on the spot (for I had read that poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world): and the reform would begin. seeing me-“Well? What are you standing there for? Do you want the janitor to come and sweep you out?” This was her little joke. I invented marvelous conversations for the incessantly talking Utopians. “No-almost. saturated with fraud. I can’t wait around here the whole afternoon. as we always did. (Its principal characteristic was what was at that time customarily deprecated as “flowery-ness. a paragraph or two: they had scribbled them off and left early.. I conld just manage to see. although we were meant to he deceived. the contribution to social understanding. I saw Miss biunsell struck dumb by the glory of it. I buttoned up my sweater. Miss Mnnsell reached crisply for the sheaf and placed it on top of the other papers. The boys’ compositions were. she had the papers in her hands still. score of ornate adjectives. then persuaded. the members of which. very short. logically and from the beginning. It was the best composition I had ever written.CYNTHIA OZICK 147 She had her coat on and was tugging at the hrim of her hat.” I nodded and scrambled for a quick triumphant altitudo to end with.-And sure enough. I saw her presenting my composition to the Board of Education. unhusked . that they had been gone a long while. hly pencil galloped. It is not an exaggeration to say that the a priori world we believed in was for us. the words all rent and lost. for it meant she would read mine first. “Aren’t you finished yet?” Slowly and wonderingly I pulled out of my trance and came hack into the room. we Radical1 Splendid1 Utopian! The possibility had never struck m e before that moment. I fell ecstatically into a projection of a mythical school where all the students chattered salubriously. I felt. with mine on top.e. somehow.

every single one. not even the selfsufficient-was safe from the vague terror of the haunted. It could happen to anyone. that yesterday’s truth is today’s lie. feeling along the frayed edges of fraud. exactly. you divined that something was not quite straight. it explained less. had he done? Who was he? What were they going to do to him? We never understood. ominously. with no notice. it described little. the nature of the offsnse. your mind shut fast: what you felt as duplicity was only the axiomatic Mystery in things. and the entire congregation . believing only that we could believe in very little. A haze of accusation of unknown. “The next boy or girl caught doing that is going to he even more severely punished.148 could never know we were being deceived.” The criminal’s identity. unexpressed. it may have been a trick (with an obvious purposeto create busywork. we were lectured.” But it was not so simple as it sounded. The kind of trickery that was happening all the time (because we were miniature. If I thought it cruel that anyone should require me to write a composition which she had no intention of reading. not the heroic. there were delusions. terrifying Mystery. For days after one o f these mysterious incidents. But what had we done? Evrntually we grew used to this communal guilt. not a fraud at all. even un-human.’’ we would be told. to punish) : but it was. In a school-wide assembly it no longer surprised us when the proceedings were interrupted. There were always tales of someone who had gotten into trouble. admonished on account of what? I t was never explained. or mystifyingly. We were evil little animals. There were other mysteries. If. we had no morality. “The guilty ones know who they are. When you are unaware that a fraud i s being practiced on you. “Getting into trouble” was only another amorphous phrase. We were scolded. The silent nddle of our faces merely evoked another riddle: “You all know the rules-obey the rules and you will never get into trouble. it is. we wme admonish&-scolded for what. Hence. The whole school shared in them. we would feel the teachers’ repugnance for us. for none of us could ever have seen through it. defenseless. “Never mind what it was they did-the ones who did it know”. ineffable. unreasonable. We did not recognize either injustice or irrationality because we lived in the heart of both. from your point of view. I certainly did not think it irrational. We were all guilty. guilts Evergreen Review veiled us. a Mystery. sententiously. or. To imagine that things are not what they seem would not have heen heresyit would have been insanity. the form of the punishment. What. It may have heen a fraud. the premise and foundation of our lives. all remained undisclosed. lectured about what. black with original sin or touched with the grace of inexperience: dependingon the teacher’s philosophic attachment) was self-contained and safe. It was the First Cause. Every discrepancy ended in the bosom of mutable. without explanation. A great filthy cloud of wonderment settled over us. primarily. No one-not the popular.

or had it happened across the aisle? Whom had we offended? How? No reason given. and those who were all for the white slave condemned to ten maddening. the third. was the woman? Any fool could guess that! She must be inside. as I remember it (I must have been seven or eight at the time). it must he me. out of rage and fear. It was built right up against the wall of a small brick house. the fourth. What disturbance? Had we ourselves committed it. now it is absorbing and claiming you“Let me look! Let me Iwk!”-until you are pushed aside hy the next nervous viewer. Well-dead or alive. corpse ar mysterious prisoner? The increasing multitude of investigators split into two schools. you turn your head up to the sky and shriek like an animal. This shack. passed. It must be me. hut it was well sealed at all points and there was no door.” I am s t i l l not clear about what it was.” We all lowered our eyes.CYNTHIA OZICK 149 into the tiny orifice. with a rusted piece of tin for a roof. steady. T k e guilty ones know who they are. slowly and waveringly and silently the Thing hegins to glow. One by one it happened to us in this way: we stared. little by little. The first look is agonizing. I can no longer recall exactly what prompted the investigation. With your cheek flat against the scratchy wood. lidless. and. it must he me they mean. a real and corporeal eye. you are disappointed to begin with-nothing in there hut an absence of light. Where. before the first warning bugle sounded in the yard for the marchup. One time I was in the very center of the enigmatic “trouble. utterly idle minutes of silent standingat-attention. not a knothole. as a penalty for some disturbance in the auditorium. was pot together out of old boards and slats. All the paint had long been washed out of the boards. The next day it was still there.” And somehow. coming horribly to life. It ain’t no spook. where we often played during lunch period. The eye leered out at the second peek. as the day. trembled. black and formless. then. and I suppose the shack had been standing in the comer of the lot against that house for a good many years before we children “discovered” it. always with the same sinister luster. but I know it had something to do with a certain shack that stood in an empty lot across from the school. Inside. steadily gleaming. It is an eye in there-an eye. It’s a woman’s eye. human. waited. or any visible way of getting into it. and the crowd of children pushing against one another to peer . or who it was that found the hole in one of the hoards -an irregular slit. Then. as your vision grows accustomed to the woolly darkness. the size of a penny-but I remember the first suspenseful scream of recognition. we accepted the notion that the eye was indeed a woman’s. screamed. those who favored bloodstains and a body. hut the group of explorers had swollen to a large crowd who had come to verify the chilling rumors: “What’s in there? “It’s an eye!” “Is it real?” “I just nuw seen it myself. they were so weatherbeaten. staring through the hole. and now you are seeing what the others before you have seen.

“John Bornholdt!” “Yes?” “Yes what?” . hating. Mr. When h e left us. MI. Hairs on end. when MI. but hardly a familiar one. shivers up the spine-we had begun innocently enough with these. Each look at the eye was eerier than the lastand did someone hear a coughing from within.“ “Sir. Irc would almost explode with pleased excitement. the faintest hint of a moan? and had the eye not shifted its angle? was it not recessed farther into the hut. wc would lrenr the sinners pleading -the ‘giants of fourteen and fifteen who had languished. w a s their special target: hardly a day went hy without a tack in his tire. straining balefully toward the viewer? Did it not seem bulbously enlarged. It was too awful for that. evil. which we never saw in our classrniim. But Mr. we were committed to seeking out the eye as smely as it was condemned to glare pitilessly back at us. No matter how far from school he parked his antomobilc. and Anthony Ahearn would b e importuned to draw astonishingly lifelike tigers on the blackboard. Frenzied. Now tell 11s what a paleontologist does.” “Fossils! Fossils. He was a disciplinarian so formidable that he could make even the most insolent of the bad big boys cower and clamor for mercy. please. In less than a week the shack had become an institution. sir. as though animated? or shriuelcd.” He was burdened with all sorts of major administrative duties. I believe. sir. childishly. in return. He was the assistant principal. Joan Kuntz would amaze us by her sudden analyses of his little arithmetic tricks. Going by his offi. Until onc afternoon. no.” “FVhat do you want to Ies.150 trade. And he. an energetic. He knew everyone’s talents Evergreen R e v i e w by heart: hence.” “Ah yes. the eye remained. sir.” “You don’t say! What kind of hunes?” A n d so on.” “Bones!“ “Yes. it WIIS somehow always found and molested. or come forward. don’ call my fadder in. for it is still a joke in Trilham’s Inlet that the principal himself was scarcely ever cold sober. like a merry Socrates. please! You don’ know ‘ I . PIE?” “A paleontologist!” “Paleontologist whut?‘‘ “A paleontologist. like that (presumably) of a dying person?-But no one had imagincd the eye. Laufer. and cause us inadvertently to learn from one another. sir. but now we were deeply in the affair. as long as any one could remember. Still. He would shout his questions and wait impatiently for the answers-“Well? Well? How ahout you?”-and whenever he got the right answer hastily shrieked back at him by some bright boy or girl. and suffnsed the world with a taint of de:ith. is it? Now what do you suppose fossils are?” “Bones. accusing. rcally was what is called a ‘!horn teacher.ce. intelligent man who. in fiE’-“No. or a broken bottle beneath his wheel.somehow found time to come into o m classroom. W e felt toward it as the Ancient Mariner felt toward the crcatures of the sea. Laufer entered the scene. a paleontologist stndies fossils. Laufer . and fright lurked in the marrow. disgust and horror enshrined it. W e were involved with it. Laufer had another side. we would be breathless with exhilaration and infomation.

It was this second Mr. H e had never appeared less genial. and that would account for its dreadful expression. demands. and surely it was the eye which had caused the shame and the trouble. their implorings. and no one in this school is ever to go near that place again . I don’t ever want to hear of any boy or girl hanging around that lot again. even after school hours. at any time. o r even a piece of mirror? In that case it would be the reflection of my own eye I would see. the one in the lot across the street. Even the floor boards had been torn up. swooped to the middle of the stage and stood motionless. tensely pulling at the ears of their white handkerchiefs. Laufer’s vardstick being administered to a Aprit’s rump or head. clasped his hands behind . now and again the ceiling lights flashed like semaphors over the grim surface of his rimless spectacles. At last he began to speak in a voice so subdued and taut that we sensed at once the danger we were in. But MI. “It is being torn down. that little wooden building. so that almost every day some faraway pupil in the midst of a recitation would jump violently at a sudden thump! thwack!-the sound of Mr. Laufer. “There is that little building. seemed to know what was coming. He was as imnatient with the cruel and the spitefilly stupid as he was charming toward the virtuous and the intelligent. What trouhle. in the mood of thump and thwack. H e had not even mentioned the eye. and again and again he threatened us with vague dishonor if ever we ventured near that snot. threats. and then again the noise of their deafening sobs-all this drifted menacingly around the bends of the hallways. their loud yowls and incongruous deepthroated weepings. a yard of that shack raise their hands!” A few arms were timidly elevated. or a bit of glass. “All those who have zone withi. Suppose there were a broken bottle in there.’’ and. he told about trouble and shame. “you all know it. with not a splinter left for a relic.” he said softly. he’s gonna get the hose and tear my skin off. supplications. “Good!-You may return to your classes. “Is that all?“ he sneered. I still do not know. and it is being tom down-” He stopped. . And the eye? W e never knew. cackles. Laufer bad told us nothing. H e mounted the platform with the rapid walk of a short man. slapping his palms for emphasis. hissing hushedly and appallingly. “Now-is anyone in this room ever going there again?” No one moved. who late one afternoon called a special assembly of the whole school.” and suddenly the assembly was over. and half the auditorium hecame a forest of reluctant sleeves. and from afar we could see only a square of dark empty weedless soil. I swearl” Their elaborate entreaties. As for the principal’s my Sadder. . shame and trouble. what shame? At dismissaltime that day the shack was gone. although a sensible explanation has since occurred to me. Not even the teachers. waiting impassively for the rustles and coughs and shnfflings to dwindle.CYNTHIA OZICK 151 his hack and teetered forward.

even though we often took advantage of it. blonde. This was Miss Margaret OBrien’s Art Room. implausible MIS.S. her blouse was somehow always smeared with paint. nothing was explained. and she went ahout with a vaguely distraught air. Still. not a single riddle ever vexed us here among the untidy tables and the unregimented stools and the wide free paintings. Perhaps they even owned the lot and the shack.152 taboo. like the handsome algehraical Mr. It was the precise opposite of everything else in the school. But all this strikes me. voices disputing. by the bare hone of of a mystery not invented by the teachers of P. warned by a mild cry of “Ssh! Sshl” sent forth without conviction Evergreen Rcview or hope of enforcement by Miss Em OBrien. the perpetual din of our random peregrinations. just that once. In the context of thc rest of the school her qualities. as though she could not quite “cope. which hahitually shed their thumbtacks and came crumpling down over the head of some passer-by. and yet I am convinced that we were touched. instead. humming. one place where our pervasive fears could not penetrate. She was not arrogant.) And Miss Em OBrien herself had none of the stiff untouchability of the other teachers. (She was so called to distinguish her from the other O’Brien in the school. as too rational to he true. like her classroom. Doherty. of conrse. variously motivated. I have no perspective from which to judge her age at that timealready there were ribbons of white in her orange-scarlet hair-hut I remember that we thought her beautiful. Not a fear-speck. admiring. whom we referred to as Miss Eff OBrien. Occasionally the clamor would suhside. The room rang with a dozen happy noises: the slurp of brushes being washed at the sink. however. and the shame. hrilliant in the sunlight. she spoke to us as though we were her friends. who wore a black velvet bolero and highheeled patent-leather pumps that flashed and clicked like a tapdancer’s. all of them pleasant negatives. 71. were full of contrasts. not the pale-lipped faked impatience of the other teachersfailed to unsettle us in the usual way. There was. She had not a trace of personal vanity. Laufer’s susurrant warnings. not a murkiness. Cockerill. like (for instance) the young. It is not faithful to my memory of Mr. her lenses usually sat askew among her Renoirtinted features. and it was a simple charge of trespass they had put against the school. But even her rare fits of anger-genuine human anger. In childhood the plausible may he transmogrified into the grotesque. we pitied her and reviled ourselves for our heartlessness. who concealed his hierarchical ambitions behind a Scott Fitz- . as with everything else. That would explain the trouble. from group to group. Her imperfections only impressed us with her humanity-for instance. and the shudder that echoed them. even now.” an attitude which we thought oddly charming. would he ours. Miss Florence. I suppose the people in the brick house had complained ahout the noise we made milling around in the lot.

who would pull your hair. whcn. The signs and gestures and whkpered laughter went on about us whenever we came into the presence of more than one teacher: it was an overworld of their own they had. and was something of a wit: ‘Why doesn’t the hunter. she loved the mddy-skinned Irish lads best. and the privileged among us escaped at last into the free principality of Miss Em O’Briens Special Art Class. But Special Reading. a tall red-haired woman grown stoop-shouldered from tw frequently crossing her arms. and Doherty was its name. To be eligible for this (it was organized for the seventh and eighth grades) you had also to be eligihle for Special Reading.” Miss Mwney brightly reveals against the anticipatory laughter. followed by Oliver Twist. and made a hell for anyone who dared contradict her. consequently. a chosen number o f us who could “draw” were excused from the Dickens m o n and allowed to join the Snecial A r t Class. and another was M i s s Keams. deep from the roots. she was fond of games o fd e believe. all of which I was too immature to care for. At ten years old it was something of a trial to have put aside the Blue Fahy Book for an endless duty that lay in David Copperfield. the physical education teacher. M i s s Eff O’Brien-a cluster of them in the mrridor l i k e an asterisk pointing to some significant notation in a language we were too depraved to fathom-were crowned heads met in continual crisis. did not universally claim her with that sly camaraderie. go after the monkeys too?“ Various guesses. We had every reason to be grateful. which she used to clap on the I d of her latest favorite and send him through an underbrush of cbalkdust after an imaginary lion. who dected a drawl and required that you learn where the commas s t d in her vocabulary lists. “Be cause. at lea& gerald mfile and a demeanor which assnr the worker of wery equation that there was but one s u p nor x.which we pupils often discerned ammg our teachers-Miss Donovan. for example. just barely raising a shoulder as a friendly sign to the venerable hut giggling M i s s Cnmmings. if you could not give a roper account of Horatius at the%ridge. her colleagues. a “progressive” class for advanced readers.CYNTHIA OZICK 153 herty. MI. far above our understanding but not above our Demention of it: M i s s Donovan. i s s Nor did she remotely resemble M Mooney. “how czn he shoot faces just like his own?“) M i s s Em O’Brien was free of all these offensive hits. M’b C L i n g s . or if you forgot who led the Etruscans against him. It was suddenlv h s i b l e to be. One was the tough and tiny Miss Hammer. who bad been to Africa once and had m e hack with a Jungle Jim helmet. although it offered the pleasure of choosing books from the school library at will. Do- J . the rigorous and ratha odd Geography teacher. who likes to shoot elephants. We skirted them curiously and without question. had catsin disadvantages. therefore. at twelve. if not happy. expressed in a kind of secret gesture-language not meant for our comprehension. (Also. followed by Hard Timap.

I always had the lowest grades in Arithmetic. they had taken me into the Color Guard! The Color Guard uniform was almost the same as our daily one: white shirts and red knitted ties for the boys. Teachers n. I hnd still another impressive change of fortune. hut instead of the navy blue trousers and pleated skirts that we wore every day. an accoutrement which the others coveted.YIS an unaccustomed taste of privilege.” the Overture to William Tell.154 not unhappy. The Swan). I liked Art Class far itself. A foretaste. Stars a n d Stripes Foreocr. for soon after my admission into the Art Class. morning and afternoon when all the rest of the school was yawning vver Graded Teats of one sort or another. the eyes watery and at the same time piercing-Miss Donovan’s derisive gaze quickly summed me up for a nearsighted weakling who flinched at turning a somersault. propped in a special holster buckled aronnd his waist. I was called up for the Color Guard. It seemed as though after long repression and anriety everything blissful was happening a t once. I was Ecergreen Reciew incompetent at cooking and sewing. the Color Guard would march down the middle aisle of the auditorium. but I liked it also because of the prestige of having been exempted from Re. I could never remember which countries exported hauxite or what was the good of pig iron. It V. hlr. lliss Em OBrien suffered winningly through Pither phase. . I was equally dimihfonnded. I had the wrong generals winning the wrong battles. The strongest boy carried the flag. the Art Class became a bedlam of mural painters or an elysium for idlers. the Color Guard boys had white trousers with a red stripe running down each side.irling. and we girls wore white skirts and socks. of course. as it turned out. And in spite of these multitudinous deficiencies. and I went slxaLvling on the dirty mat again and again. Dnherty’s sneers and my own petrifaction in the face of a “problem” convinced me of the hopelessness of my Case. hlernbership in the Color Guard was an honor based on seholnrship. and Special Readw a s immured in Rlerrk House. Thus arranged. Miss and Saint~Saiins’ Donovan. half-paralyzed with fear of failore and shame. and lo! suddenly it was so. for I knew I mould fail it ( I could recognize only two “pieces. and occupied myself with lavish portrayals of Gulliver and the Lilliputians. her smile Hoatiug like :in ineffectual sun over 3 sea uf tiirbrilent paint. began now to beam at me and to mutter their astonished congratrrlations. with her knees looking fleshy below her maroon gym bloomers and above them her face red. the boys preceding the girls. and white middies and red silk ties for the girls. and the rest of us followed in il double line after the colors. In the long Reading periods. I player1 hookey in order to miss the \Insic Appreciation test. mutedly. while the F i f e and Drum COTS played. and it seemed incredible that I had qudified. I could hardly believe in my good luck.ho hefore had not been aware that I breathed. and that only by its connection with the Lone Ranger.

just a grade ahead of us. the dramatic action of which cnlminated in a Dance of the M o lars. or n minstrel from the Police Department. devotcd t(i the grandeur of their Ale. for the new recruits must he taught first the technique of a lively pace. to reinforce the mood. the other Cleopatra’s Xeedle).. smiles of acknowIedgcment. in addition. ~rliile the Color Gu:trcl retired discreetly to their seats of honor in the front row. then mounting it proudly :und stariding at attention. marking time on the stairs on either side of the stage. a \‘ague notion of the sinfulness of sonrething called the League of Nations. holy.” The chief task. which followed in a procession of its own. call? in the monring our song shall rise to Thee. marking time. To the Color Guard. the d~izeudazzling marchers stood ennrihlcd. with the Color Guard gloriously in the lead. Preparation and drill began months in advance. Shewas also the teacher of . caming u p the aisle like n flock of brides. watching enviously.35 who hadn’t “made it. poised and dedicated. a song led by Miss Fry. the h i d l i k e soprano tencher of Music and Word Study. it will I i e l p yo11 live longer. TVc had learned from an amorphous \liss Loonam (unto whose name the obvious punning epithet 1x1s speedily attached) about Egypt and the Jeivs (one gave the xorlcl monotheism. to strum out cnldelyrhymed safety songs on a guitar“Cross only at the comer.” Nrrt. executing a complicntcd military turn at the foot of the aisle. a class playlet in which the characters were always named Clean Hands or Toothbrush. the cues for starting nut. and about the Dark Ages. indeed the very first performance. fashioned to inspire or admonish. a hymn: “Holy. which we pictured as n long. of a newly-formed Color Guard was an appearance at the most important ceremony of all -the graduation of the outgoing eighth year. a Iagesse of envy. moonless. and second. occasionallv n speaker sent down from the Fire Department to warn about shutting up oily rags in closets. separating into t5r.4merican History. Then came the Anthem. wc knew ahout the hoy watching the ships frnm the Grnna pier. The director and coordinator of this vast enterprise was \liss Eff OBrien. xve had. and t h m . the heralds of every Friday assembly period.o lines. Otlirnvise.CYKTHIA OZlCK 1. Before coming under her tutelage we had presumably absorbed all the hoary events before 1776. tossing self-confident haughtv . a lecture.. holy. a t their poor dumb classmates . and w e were of course re- . keeping step briskly but self-consciously. and w e knew ahout the admirable prig of the c h r r n tree. Lord God Almighty. spoke the Pledge. the complex winding pattern of the march. halting. rounding a difficult corner-and all of this must lie rehearspd together with the Fife and Drum. a teacher at the piano who would give the opening chord.” And finally the recessional. at which date history really began. that moment of its recitation on the platform w a s anything but secular. and the graduating class itself. guardians of flag and country. and nnmztdphorical night. while thc whnlr school.

She had n . . Miss E rapidly approaching. able in her defense of it. the United States was the best country in the world. she would turn general again. demand adulation.156 lieved that we had been saved from joining it just in the nick of time. I let the door swing shut and walked on. her ankles crnssed. but the final impression was the same. she looked slender and attractive. was her civilian behavior-the facade of an officer metamorpliosed into a prilitician. there was the premise and conclusinn of our unshakeable patriotism: the United States had never lost a war. Her generalship was masked by a civilian demeanor. She would sit familiarly on one of the front desks. I happened to glance behind m e and saw. hlilitary tactics was. Finally. her forte: she was an aggressive campaign plotter. I hesitated: ought I to hold the door for her? Thinking she was so far off that she had not observed me delaying. indeed. flash her emblems. Faced with the smallest irregularity. her eyes bordered by innumerably tiny fnlds of smiling skin. I cannot say that we noticed these contradictions. her white freckled arms benignly resting one o:i the other. ergo. On the one hand there was the Melting Pot. whom we had long despised). in fact. Beneath the portrait of George Washington with its strange comer cloud. conscinus of her rank. extracting from 11s maneuvers arid dates of maneuvers.t w o swinging doors in an empty corridor. and underlying the whole collectinn. She would occasionally become angry over the impressment of sailors during the War of 1812 (a thing to be expected of the birrbarous British. expect fleet action on the heels of a whim. through . but her real enthusiasm was for the Battle of New Orleans. and put the force of fond concentration into battles and dates. passine . wore the aspect of hlars. and had the soul of an rindiscovered eeneral. we would sooner have. and on the other hand it WAS perfectly plain that the Chinese couldn't have citizenship-they were Orientals. Clio. She gave us. and who was second in cnmmand under Major So-and-So. miscalculated. and issue endless orders. Once. condemn indecision. Miss Eff OBrien did nothing to palliate these early jingoistic notions. in which she drilled us minutely. and falling suddenly into a panic of shyness over having to walk part of the way with her. at a great f f OBrien distance away. Shifting on the desk top. after all. for her. She mappcd the movements of armies and navies inch by inch. Luckily. She believed in her dignitv-And she was unnredict. The upper-grade textbook treated what we had learned of old with greater thoroughness. . of course. blasphemed outright than have doubted the infallibility of American History. her gray hair was becomingly bobbed. I I Ecergreen Recietc a history unencumbered by philosophy. not to resist a Dun. . This is not to imply that Xliss Eff OBrien's classes were more unpleasant than most. I had. Bnt this. heap scorn on bunglers. hliss Eff OBrien was not much interested in debatable social or political questions. her frequent unlipsticked smile was even senatorial.

hliss Eff OBrien was patently suited to he in charge of the Color Guard. calling out the names of the new members. and therefore refused to repeat them. to be held always a t the same hour on certain days. We owed the Color Guard all our loyalty. She made us proud. I concentrated on a part to the detriment of the wholestepped fonvard too eagerly at the opening chord. as some of her favorites did. She gave directions slowly and clearly. a favorite of hers. was “to obey orders. I was determined never again to cross Miss Eff O’Brien. Since I could not woo her by making flirtatious little jokes. energy. (Could the easy pleasures of Composition. “Take it again. a t the first rehearsal.” Miss Eff O’Rriun would call out wearily. :rround and around. my only course . we practiced relentlessly. equally w e a v . turning smartly. diligence. to get everything right the first time. but also cautious. lining up dorniuo-fashion. studying the angle of the palm in ii sahite. grasping my astonished collar and muttering in a voice funous but controlled: “You purposely shut that door in my face. I had not been very good a t it. and it hecame even more so as. trotted too quickly or glided too slowly. we were marched back and forth. Grammar neutralize the grim hard duty of Arithmetic and the Battle of New Orleans? Was it a mistakc?) From the very beginning my eligibility \vas suspect. S o r did lliss Eff OBrien expect that I would be good at it. that odd register of miscalculations. and to he a model marcher. the alternate. “Are you here?” She looked helplessly at Joyce. Under the m3100n velvet draperies of the empty auditorium. up and dowi. she had been startled at my presence. You purposely insulted me.” hence my ambition was to obey orders better than anyone else. Like mechanical soldiers. who must certainly (said her glance) have had a better average than 1. Nothing was more important than that the Color Guard should perform hrilliantly on graduation day. seen me. and as usual anticipating no success. however pressing other obligations appeared. After the incident of the door. and warned that no one should dare absent himself.. and the brisk drill would bcgin once more. I was eager to court her favor. obedience.CYNTHIA OZICK 157 was to win her b y the excellence of my performance. Reading. But there were initial obstacles. Who do you think you are. The creed of the Color Guard. lost count. if you made a mistake you had only your own stupidity to hlxme. In a few moments she was upon me. She demanded symmetr). precision. There was nothing I dreaded more than Miss Eff O’Brien’s scrupulous stifled rage. week after week. more than that. Word Study. under X l i s s Donovan’s eye in the gymnasium. mind and conscience. we were told. promptness. She issued a schedule of rehearsals. and the chord would sound again. you little thing?”and put down a D-merit in the section-book. perfect in every detail. obsessed with perfection. She impressed on us the responsihility and the honor of our position. I had marched before.

fore gradnatian. hardly aware of the big clock on tlir wall.158 At last we were perfect. w:is only a few days away. Carrfnlly and neatly I dipped my thick brush into black pxint and began printing FLOUR. with its attendant excitements. Repetition arid familiarity had apparently relnxed me. a n attitude nnwad. A-ow iind then I stopped briefly to survey them with satisfaction. \vhen one of my cl:rssm. the i ~ a m aliout u s somnolently. looking perplexedly around the UIIruiy classr(~oni.and set me to w o r k i t ) n chintz apron at one of the coiinters. “Finally I’ve found you! \ \ h a t are yon dning’? Xliss O’Brien’s h e m Ionking for you all morning . burst 1iie. The cookine ” ruom \\‘as a c t u a h a completely furnished apartment with an oversized kitchen and an excess of large w-indows through which the light flowed generously. fret from me.rtcs. glimpsing me Iichind the \\-rt-glrnming canisters. Pulling my latest painting from its folder-it w a a representatiirn of faityland-I hecinie invare of the little wr. llanrnreiiiig in sonit. IIon. and from next door came the drowsy voices of the Spccial Reading session.ALT. hly job was to freshen the p d e and peeling lettering on :in n i d l r s s row of tall round metal cont. and I could march as well as anyone. It was half an Iioiil. \liss Sollivan greeted me cordially -“So you’re my wiist!’’. as it l~nppcned.imped.rys inme and more usual with me. and my \nist was beginning to feel a little cr. had scarcely blinked at m e . but iilr tlic most part I worked diligently.isped. stirring a cop of red paint. \liss Sullivan wants a faY Ecergreen Reaiezc: vor. in hold square ch:trauters. BAKING POWDER.ill. ) I was hlcnded: I “cuunted“: I belonged. Miss Sullivan was the cooking teacher. when it little girl with an en-andpass came quietly into the room. (hliss Donovan. nrriving during a rehe.I f i s Em O’Brien. “IVlierc’s the teacher?” she asked. I probably could eveti have tunied a samersault 011 demand. and it had a holiday effect on us . It \KLS i i splendid spot for painting. “ h I i s Sullivan! hIiss Sullivan! Is Siculr here?” Then. S. The little girl I ~ L Lover I to her .irsal to review the troops.mcI-girl standing transfixed not tw. ii yirl iiiimcd Dorothy Kd.” said Miss Em OBrien.hrfiirr lunchtime when 1 was finishing the last of the cans. VN the sidrs of the cans. loose tacks on the upper part of the x:iIl. I was no longer tlie sore thumb. for the debut of the Color Guard. “She needs someone to paint the canisters for her so they’ll be nice and fresh for tlie new term. descending nimbly. I t was one of Spccial Art’s less sun hreathed noisy dxys. smiling at me. Enrlv one mornine not lone be~..iincrs.-Whrr wants to go? You can take the whole morning. w:is teetering on a table-top.about von?” she finished. I w a s in a state of liappy self-confidence. I was standing in a trimgle of sunlight in the Art Class. reciting vocahuliiry lists in highfrequency buzzings like a conflu? of mosquitoes. she g.ithlessly into the Aitclieii. one by whispered a few ~vurds. “Class. SUGAR.

I at last c. where bliss EfF 0BI-it. The little yard just outside the auditorium was c r r n ~ l e dwith double lines. m.” 1 leaped up in agitation atid a y penled mutely to \Iiss Sd1iv. “You-sneakylittle-linr. The Fife and Ilrum! I squeezed m y way to the doors and peerrd through the glass. of sonic expl:inntion. “You’d bettrr Iiurrv. I tl&d crinfosedly to tliini.ipping. The grad~~itirig class! Some phrases of Tlic Jlarch from Aida came drifting out.” I \1-.ige. sensing some terrible complication.CYKTHIA OZICK 159 “I 1 1 ~ to 1 ~ talk to \liss O’Brien. swinging her legs a r i d cl. \Vlrnt had I done? I had i. but still not coml”eliending. I recognized some of the faccs. She sent me down here. Iler f x e \ r . Joyce! . but lion. ~ s a mockery of sweetIICSS: her eyes lind disappeared behind their creases.illing ont.” I st. don’t you tliink?” Slie took hold of my shoulder. \Yell?” “I K ~ I S in tlie cookioc room.” “No. drawing it out t o g i w it :i full fla\ 01 uf snrcasm.pupils traveled Innisiirg me \vith slow disgist. “She told nie.” said the cooking teacher.m “I don’t know n thing about it. “ S e w r d lroors ago.” I \\ -she wants you right away!” Surprised. d rehearsd!” She giive me her lowliest smile. \liss Cimmings w a s posted on the other side of the door.thing of \\.” she said.lint \ m s happwiny t o me. It \\.iilec1. You‘re through.irching 08 backstagr.iss. But Dorothy Kach w a s tugging at me dutifidly. Dorothy eilllle an<l-” ‘Tes. I started tr. sick with anxiety. Miss Ef UBrien.liere do you tliink you’re going?” . 1-oo \yere pniiitirig n e x the end of a re1ie. but I <lid not pvrcvii-e \vhxt tllerr \ w s to r x p l i n .” “Rut she just sent for me-” “1-ou’re it little late. “\\.1s stiiiiiird.n !\-as sitting on the edge of tlie platform. Yoti c m see slie‘s busy. The Color Guard w a s m. “Hold that flag higherit’s not straiSlit! Eettrr now! Thtit’s it good riglit-. She sat silently \vatching mr.” “In the airditoriirm!” I went hurtling downstairs h v o at a time.wril :it her. I studied Dorothy’s wide awed face-to-face with Miss E5 O‘RI-ien.” “Riit I didn’t know tt:ere was a Chlor G n . Slie hns enough t o du \~itlir. I nnderstnod abr d r i t r l ) .ingle turn. “It’s no me.rl.? “1 \\-as in the cooking room. not hliss Ern O’Brien. run drnxn the aisle toward the st.” she sneered. She’s awful mad. Are UOLI in tnlrlble!” “\i‘hcre is she?” I asked tremulously. “In the auditorium.’’ “Don’t you d. “That’s silly! She knows where I nm. I know.ut listening to your Irining.\I1 right!’’ -But \liss Cummiirgs \viis blocking the aisle. “Ye-es. “Yori srnt fur rne-\Iiss OBrien?” I stamniered. and coldly waited f u r me to speak. no\v and then c. .ne disturb her. Tearing out of her wstr~tiriing g a s p (the first time I IIXI ever “disobeyed”). no.

Kindled into heightened excitement. Everything w a s meaningless and irrational. intending to explain eberything. Some of the Color Guard members passed me by without speaking. “Don’t be brazen with me!” she cried.” Marcia haughtily reminded me. and waved me away. Miss OBrien. when you stay away from the lust rehearsal?” “I didn’t stay away. she had gone to all the trouble of rounding up the memhers of the Color Guard for an unscheduled special rehearsal.” Marcia said reprovingly. would she not then readily absolve me? But she would not listen.” “I said get out. blankly. talking to the Fife and Drum captain. I belonged nowhere. No wonder Miss Eff OBrien was livid with fury-so far as she knew. I said miserably. Miss Eff OBrien had disavowed me.” “Please. hearing the truth. and I alone had failed to ium up. The graduating class had already been dismissed. I was completely alone. You’re no longer needed. The Color Guard had just broken ranks. But I had simply done what I had been told. “Don’t come to me with made-up stories. perhaps no one realized that I had been sent there.” “Neither did anyone else. The Corps began to pack up its instruments. looking at me coldly and indifferently.” “What else do you expect. At the time of the announcement I had been working away in the cooking room1 No one had thought to direct the messenger down there. I didn’t know there was going to be a rehearsal.” “So am I. please let me tell you what happened.” I tensely probed. “What do you mean?” Evergreen Reuiew “Miss OBrien called it the last minute. I was near hysteria. She came into Special Reading to announce it. gone where I had been sent1 I was innocent. o f wurse. “What happened to you?” Marcia Zaretsky whispered curiously. as though I were an idiot or an outcast. “I just got kicked out of the Color Guard. Permanently. “I never want to look at you again. Joyce has taken your place. “She sent a messenger into Special Art. I sought out Miss Eff OBrien once more.” “But I’m in Spwial Art. You had your chance. At that moment not a single teacher was responsible for me. I wandered stupidly up and down the emptying auditorium.” She had turned her back on me and was several yards away. She tightened her mouth into a stiff impatient wisp of straw.1fXl said again. but she would see that it had all been a mistake-an amident-and.” Soddenly I saw it. She . She would still be angry at the inconvenience.You’re out. “for graduation day?” “Weren’t you listening to me? I said I won’t have the likes of you in my Color Guard.” “But not. Terrified.” “But it wasn’t my fault-” “Get-outl” My hand flew to my mouth in shock. jumping to her feet and growing pale.

Miss Em OBrien caught me up in her arms. Miss Em O’Brieu! Of course! She knew the truth.K. Miss E m OBrien gave me this note.” At that moment the door opened and MI.” Ignoring the drawing class that was in session.” the art teacher explained quietly.” And she tore the folded paper into tiny pieces and put the pieces hack into my hand and went on making conversation with the teacher at the piano. shook his head. you know how she is . She took it as though it would dirty her fingertips. If she won’t listen to you. but I was neither. with large clear strokes of his pencil. she would save me. “Tell her I sent it. Where could I go? What could I do? I was tainted. She pretended not to notice m e until I was standing just below her. . and told him the story. and went on laconically in a lowered voice that excluded me. we’ll try to fix it. her look full of patient compassion.viewing me malevolently.” “Oh. I was innocent1 I ran wildly from the auditorium. he wrote across the back of the note: “O. “A note? Really. “What’s the trouble with her?“ . As I hurried np the side aisle I could see her sitting on her former perch at the edge of the stage. thank you so much!” I galloped breathlessly down the five Eights to the auditorium.L. glaring at my swollen face. “Hah!” h e rasped tersely. my dear! What has happened?” I swallowed again and again. and MI. she quickly sat down at her desk.” he ordered sternly. she folded it several times and wrote across the outside: “To Miss OBrien.” He unfolded it.” “She-she won’t let me explain. ‘Well.” I sobbed once more. But I had somehow to vindicate myself. and it explains everything!” I held out the precious paper. her soft slender arm all the while caressing me into reasonable calm. When she had filled a page with her strong uneven script. I think this needs a little authority. . Little by little she drew the story out. I’ll write her a note. He wore a question-mark expression. Don’t cry any more. After a moment’s astonished dismay. she will listen to me. “Oh. I had lost my breath and my face was smeared with tears. . “Don’t wony about it.CYNTHIA OZICK 161 “hfiss Eff OBrien dismissed her from the Color Guard. When I had finished. “Let me see that note. Laufer strode into the room.” followed by his bold initials: “h1. folding n p the pnper again. . coaxing my voice to return. where I still hoped to find Miss Eff OBrien. By the time I stumbled into the Art Room on the top floor. It’s all right now. she said gravely. We’ll explain the whole thing.” And. “hliss OBrien please. had called me a liar and a shirker. Laufer signed it. And the place was not yet empty. swinging her ankles and talking to the teacher who played the piano chords.” “Yon give that to Miss O’Brien. “I don’t know if itll work . Suddenly I thought of Miss Em OBrien..

I kept my place below her. their bright uniforms. “You should have read it first. and I had to witness. I was herded among the inferior pupils. writing of his own school. My mother offered to go to school that very afternoon and “fight it out” for me. their special privileges. but I said I wasn’t a baby any more and refused to let her interfere. when. and 1 had to hear the myriad compliments on their marching. the products were not supposed to be aware o f it. and because of its credulity other people can work on it. and I had to see the Color Guard tramp gloriously by i n an aura of splendor and honor. infecting it with the sense of inferiority and the dread of offending against mysterious.” I do not know where the word came from. It was enough to know that I was a savage no longer. Besides. Miss OBrien. “It’s not fair. Miss O’Brien. barely thirteen. when the child snddenly sees through the cheap mystery and the phoney law. terrible laws. but at the same time I understood much more than that.162 I felt dry and queer. I had broken through the desolation of their Mystery. Up to that moment I had never had a notion either of justice or injustice. It is a child’s first knowledge of the grief on which the planet turns. always holding my peace. he observes that the child “neither understands nor questions the society in which it lives. And the consequences were consistently humiliating. For the child is all at once aware that he is not a savage or a dog. no longer tearful.” Up to a point only. anti-climactic I carefully carried home the pieces of the note and placed them among the leaves of a diary I was keeping. and that for a long time he has been twisted and deceived. the general rabble. up to a point. and this awareness is the worst sadness in the world. I understood at once the hopelessness and the uselessness of my case. And that point is the moment of revelation and explosion. Everything that followed afterward was. my face at a level with her waist. I knew that they could never trick me again with their false holiness and their obscene self-adulation. and in that case. if the machinery was brutal. I do not mean that I was able to take the e isode and its consequences ’’phiLophically. after all. as though I were one of them. When Miss Eff OBrien poured into my palm the tom fragments of Eoergreen Reoiew what was meant to have been my vindication and my restoration. It may h e that we were simply “products” to he “turned out”. My own graduation was still a term away. and sees that they are sham. all their superior qualities. of course. At that moment I was released from their sham forever. everything that could be done had been done. All . George Orwell is right. and for those horrible six months. during every Friday morning assembly period.” I was.” She barely moved her head. You’re unjust. This point of realization is more terrifying than a l l the revious years of superstitious sei-hahed and blind subjection.

but only sat on my desk. it pleased her to pretend that I did not exist. and hnng mutely between hliss E f f OBrierr and myself. I had nlwavs whimsicallv intended to niece it together one day. principal’s authorization or nut. when I began these reminiscences. Miss OBrieriPlease! It is not Nicole’s fault hliss Sullivan sent to me for ii grmd printer to do some work for her. This state of affairs relieved me of an obligation to prepare the daily assignment. it would not have made much difference to her. Hence my expulsion continned to pierce me bitterly. looming over me as if to indicate precisely who was in command. L.K. and r did not understand thc triviality of what I lunged after. Nor did she ever recognize me if I raised my hand to volu~lteer an answer.nomentous. Everyone else simply supposed that I had been fairly dismissed as a result of my having shirked a rehearsal. It is not very . to see what was written there. but the whole is 1:irgely legihle. And she never spoke to me except when it was ahsolntely necessary. I f o r d thc babyish diary and the old frayed fragments. 1 can’t stop to find out among a thousand other things whether the pupil is supposed to proceed elsewhere.” and the rest of it wads. At any rate. pnrticularly chose mine to sit on. To this day. The fact that I had fallen upon thc concept of “justice” did not correspondingly teach me a grown-up scale of values. But as things . since I knew I would not be called on in any case: so from a child’s view it h. I know I am in the shadow uf thr i n r capable past. this had been mine-and it mas taken away. and in half a n hour I had pasted them together. a thiirg which W:IS rare enough. I do not think it would hnvc moved her to absolve me. I still live in Trilham’s Inlet. And something inside me begins to shrivel. In History class she never looked at me or asked me to recite. like a jigsaw puzzle. with transpirent tape. whenever I have to pass the red brick building with the white stripe across the top. and nothing could ease the smart of that injustice-the more so because it w a s private. until just the other day. O. On the back there are the words. A few pieces are missing. “To Miss O’Brien. and even then she would be as brief and impersonal as possible. M. I barely thought of it for fifteen its advantages. If it is anyone’s fault it is mine and that of o w organization which puts so much work on me! Margaret O’Bricn That is all.CYNTHIA OZICK 163 turned ont. As for the tom note. I suppose if Miss Ell O’Brien had rend it..

and the game of squashing them (pp. the dishonesty of an employee ( p p .” its “revolt of the natives. the cockroaches on the wall. thc ambiguity of a name and a character. 169). a gang leader with an Italian name. hunted character who arrives in a city and follows a more or less predcstincd pattcrn of movemmts. and the narrator appears to discern in their ambiguous remarks references to a jealous husband. 81. 74). which are close to. while her husband. B lizard on the wall ( p . cannot see the two of them without turning his head sharply backward (which he does not dare do until the night is too dark to permit him to see anything). placed ahead and to one side of her. with ntrnhine and quinine (pp. very “robhe-c. 241). . Pauline). Common elements in the two novels include: a weak. Rohhe-Grillet lrirs not sought to hidc the resemblmre between the inner African novel of ledoasy (despite its “description of a tornado. repeated often. ’This “African novel“ in Jealousy offers numerous similaritirs to The Heart of the Matter ( 1948) of Graham Greene. Cries uf animals moving about in the darkness reinforce the tense and violent atmosphere of the tropics. . Rohbe-Crillet’s LES Comma.” Already Brirlilon Rock (1938) swms. a n unfaithful wife (who even gives elaborate herself to Negroes)-an story whose scene is laid in Africa and whose possible parallels with the present situation will furnish the narrator occasions for painful conjectures.” ctc. both Franck and A . the atmosphere (also reminiscent of Simenon) of a shady bar and its eccentric hahitks. a more or less enigmatic or prophetic vcrbal formula.” Robhc-Grille1 said to me once.! Ecergreen Review These conversations continue on the veranda. uncnplained allusions to the violent death of a personage in the past (Molly. A . doctor in Robhe-Grillet’s) who is a terrified false witness. 107) the mechanical breakdowns of his truck.. for- . . discuss the novel she has begun to read. 66. which have no parallel in Greene’s novel) and The Heart of the &loner. advertising signs and porters (idiotic to Grcene. but until now no critic has taken the trouble to . whose works seem to h a w furnished RohheGrillet with various fictional rlementr. a professional man (lawyer in Creenc’s novel. “Greene’s novels. a t the cocktail hour and after dinner. a n aggressive lover. has arranged the porch chairs so that she remains beside Franck.164 iCorrtinrrct1 f r o m p . and douhtless other details. heavy with expectancy verify the relationship. and the shortcomings of native drivers. 137. 80). the nialnria attacks. The following points of resemblance may he mentioncd hetween the inncr novel of I c d n s s y (as well as the work an a wliok) and The Heart of the Mnttcr: Thc Post Ofice calendar and the wifc’s photograph on the husband’s desk (p. 58). 911. 81. Scahie’s unexpected entrance ( p . Scohie’s struggle agahst jealousy on swing \Yilson kiss his wife ( p .rillctiPn” in its plot and scene. A further examination of common points in the novels of Grccnc and RahheGrillrt would show that thc former‘s works have exertcd a certoin fascination on the Frcnch writcr. “aftm made me want to rewrite them. in rctrospect.

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. and even. that show a distinctly sexnnl implication: accelerated hrenthing. hand clenched on her dinncr knife. . . becomes an index point for the beginning of the sexual nttraction between Franck and A . energy. the house boy is filling the ice bucket preparatory to hringing it to the veranda. although never exactly situated chronologically. . in Greenc’s work. has brought out. and the scene of the squashing of the myriapod (subjected later to extended developments) becomes inextricably associated with their possible physical relations. . . . ?-which conceal. (This candy stick called Brightan Rock. never allows the slightest emotion to show. He passes through his study. The erotic meaning hidden in this action manifests itself in certain reactions and gestures on the part of A . . When he returns to the veranda. .BRUCE MORRISSE’ITE 167 bucket” which produces in the narrator (or rather in the reader) the impression that A . . . which also serves as his office. and Franck are planning some sort of project. A . and gives only a vague explanation of what his instructions were from A . occurs according to some indications even before the loan of the African novel to A . . . . . and Franck. . . Franck is the one who gets up to squash it. (Aside from this scene. Brigliton Rock contains a newspaper article concerning a sadistic crime. It is the “episode of the ice mally interesting to Rohbe-Grillct). . They are motionless but appear to he speaking in a low voice. . which further emphasizes the importance of the shock felt at this moment. . still complainof human nature. . . Implicit brutality. . is however explicitly identified hy one of Greene’s characters as a symbol pletely alien to Rohbe-Grillot. an iclon com- and hidden energy. the hnsbnnd sees (hut only in the first repetition of this scene in his memory) in Franck‘s packet a sheet of bloe writing paper-a letter from Franck tries to A . . and looks out through the julurrsies or slatted blinds to observe A . . . A . Neither she nor the house-boy-is it because she arranged it thus?--has brought the usual ice for the drinks. . . . an “object” which functions not only as a tacit correlative (like the gum eraser or the cube of stmc in Lcs Gommes). violated and lcft by the sen-slrarc: this might almost seem the actual newspapcr clipping carried by Matlrias in The Voyeur (and pcrliups also that refwred to by Sartre in his novel. . a centipede appears on the wall opposite A . which when broken always sliows the same letters. but also (perhaps) as an instrument of rnurdcr. The project becomes more evident when Franck. The three are drinking on the veranda mixed drinks which A . concerning the ice. NalIseIZ). . the rnurdcr of the girl Violet. At dinner. In the pantry.) Finally. and sexuality are expressed in a major scene which.) The spot left by the centipede on the wall opposite A . ’s remarks on the lack of ice ~ a u s e the husband to rise from his chair and go to fetch some. first on the wall and then against the molding near the floor.

. . the episode of the ice. will leave him) and images of someone drowned (that curious object floating in the water). . . the hushand will see in the picture a man wearing a tropical helmet like Franck's. the husband listens to the trucks passing in the distance. but in any case they will he back after nightfall. Later. Sitting on the veranda. the conversation about the African novel. Scenes return mixed. as his suspicions grow. in her veranda chair. at the dinner table. sitting next to Franck. . Franck explains that Christiam is prevented from going by her poor health and her child. an operation which blends immediately with an action Eoergreen Reoiew of A . . Night has fallen and A . Here. and watches the oval movements of the insects whirling in their orbits around a hissing gasoline lamp. . . departs with Franck. In spite of the presence of elements ostensibly posterior to the day the narrator spends alone in the house. writes in her room. states that he plans to drive down to the coastal city to enquire about the purchase of a new vehicle. . in parts VI and VII of the novel. one feels that the husband is hastening his memory to reach some kind of climax: and once again it is the crushing of the . . The subiect of the picture on the Post Office calendar above the writing table produces in the hushand proto-criminal confusions (to which he reverts again) in which are mingled the motif of a ship tied at the dock ( a theme related to his fear that A . The unbearable erotic significance nf this last scene appears again in the husband's efforts to remove the trace of thc animal from the wall. There follows the long day which the husband spends alone in the empty house. the squashing of the centipede. has still not returned. in her room. the narrator prowls through the rooms of the house. becomes confused with postures of A . Everything appears normal. the scene which constitutes the apotheosis of the crushing of the centipede. proposes immediately to go along. So A .'s room is suhjected to a systematic search. The turmoil of his thoughts. . she needs to make. including the hurean drawers and the drawer of the writing table. In his study the photograph of A . . if they leave early. in Franck's blue sedan. . . the protagonist's paroxysm of jealousy reaches its culmination. revolves around images of A . by means of an eraser and a razor blade. . at six o'clock in the morning. and Franck: on . Haunted by visions of his wife. at least from the psychological viewpoint. A .168 ing of frequent breakdowns of his truck. . a number of purchases. A . emphasized differently: the letter that A . but whenever the narrator revisualizes this scene of the project. . the plans for the trip to the coast. in returning to this fantasy. . . t h e veranda. we can situate during this time. objectively reinforced by that of the whirling insects. when she appeared to he erasing something from a letter. . Actions begin to become mechanized. it appears to him in a more ambiguous light. she explains. altered.

the posture of shabby mosquito net. more or less us tn suppose what we will. . in The following miming. A . The husbnnd‘s crisis. who seems tn tease that made by the hair brush as him. . A . . strokes her long black to his being a “poor mechanic” tresses.absence: car trouble forced them gulfed by crackling flames. The husband sees Franck crush the ani. becnme rarer. his dinner visits What does the hnsband do later. . . Franck appears ill a t ease produced by the centipede. Henceforth.). At lunch. . the nar. he is always in a hurry gee of the novel. mal against the wall of a hotel is unable to see whether A . her bedroom and elsewherc. gets out. in his solitude. A na.contradictory variations. by their imaginary death in flames.furnished by A .changes.outlines. perhaps of fear and revenge. contributed spend the night in A . .band. . after The novel moves towards a these anguishing visions? Does he mood of appeasement. Fmnck‘s behavior constitutes the psychological apo. ?). . motionless postures of A . breakfasts on the veranda. allows home by Franck. . driven of unspoken irnplicntions. sent by Christinne to spy on The rise and fall of the protagoFranck‘s actions) arrives: his mis. etc. ha5 room. to by partial repetitions and variaupon which he pictures her in tions of scenes which are pcrhaps erotic posture? Does h e engage in (in the “real” sequence of actinns) auto-erotic practices? The text. . who kissed Franck before turning towaits for him in a bed behind a wards the house. with tive from Franck‘s plantation (who its visions of scxuality. the hus. prior to the trip: A . holding even makes a contradictory hodgein her band a tiny package (is that podge of his conception of the . tion. its images had come Once before.over. has passed. has still not returned. . in a to spend the night in town at a noise similar to the crackling sound hotel. . . Before setting out for his Rhythmic phrases of an equivocal plantation ( h e seems hurried) nature then carry the nerrator’s Franck adds to the explanations image into the half-erotic. then return to A . . that night.nist’s recollections begin t o dimintress is upset at Fmnck‘s failure ish in an attenuated rhythm of to return home. her hand the couple allows such a sopposiclenched on the white sheet. and confiisinns. so to speak. ’s return with verbal ambiguities suggestive fwm a visit to Christiane. ’s bed. and courtyard. to return home. This imaginary scene of the ( w a s there a sexual disappointlovers in flagrant@ delicto. . Fmnck alludes ambiguously A . . followed ment on the part of A . . . half. . and Franck are en. a few details murderous vision of a car wreck in concerning the reasons for their which A . But this time. . . bhirred rator sees in the dining room win. . The husband The plot or story is. . The niirdowpane the distorted reflection rator’s uncertainty now affects of Franck‘s car pulling into the each return to a former scene.all she has bought? . . . despite his hasty movements. . or to with A .BRUCE MORRISSETIF 169 cmtipede.

The novelist states that “To plot. or even diminished. An examination of these procedures will show how Rohbe-Grillet gives artistic coherence to scenes which seem to he floating in a implicit psychology. to es. and contrary to the intentions which prevail can derive only from of the author of Jealousy. already in try to reconstitute .170 African novel (that hateful inshument of infidelity). tries to see things sible. Ohviously in the navel. at unforeseen moments. .2 strictest logic. impossible because I inin such a way as to decide the tended it thus. L . one would be forced to think (since there are. when the husband. the reader feels. Elements general chmnological movement very similar to the one that I preof memory and of “real” time (or sent here. developed. expressed tablish a time table. but the ous~ has followed. altered. The narrator lives “a rigorously premeditated plan. . Following the in objective correlatives. Ecergreen Reciew side of real time. The Qopic night may now engulf the house and the characters. in the Nouoelles Lindroires of January 22. It may When does the narrator see or be stated at the outset that the ion envision these scenes? It is impos.. But it is none the what is involved is not an exact less true that the author of Jealchronology (even mental).” Now I certainly truth or untruth of his wife’s unhave no desire to 6nd in Rohbefaithfulness.principles of order and associa t’ sible. almost 2 A declaration by Robbe-Grillet from the beginning of the novel. the ossession of all the elements of chronolam of lealousy is impos[is experience. to evolve. Linear time is distorted so that it may pass into this new continuum. There are also in the of the present) are fused within novel (and I point them out) him in a time system that is out- .” and re-lives in a time system that and that in this plan there is a goes in hvo directions. The fantasies of her escape and flight have not turned into reality.. But at least. only to emerge. which he destroys mentally in a paranoiac passage. chaotic fashion in new zones of literature. and I think I have suffifails to explain the essential feelciently emphasized the a-temporal ing of immediacy which prevails quality of the sequences of scenes in most of the scenes. in writing his restructuration of inner or psychowork (and in his own words) logical time. in a process in which each element continues to remain alive. But this conception Gritlet’s work something which is not there. 1959 prompts me to frequent allusions and intercalaadd a further observation mncerntions concerned with ‘later” ing what might be termed the atevents) that the whole narrative tempt to “reconstruct” the chrontakes place in the memory of the ology of Jealousy made in this narrator after the “end” of the study. Hence the chrooology of the novel has quite new dimensions. to modify the whole. the husband consoles himself with the fact that his wife is still there. Perhaps there is even no real danger from Franck.

it i< quit<. rtc \. of almost identical scenes are rniriglcd with olirervntions on the n i m her of bannrrn phiits th:it h x e been cut in a certiiin trapwoid:il plot (if grnund sitriated rqqmsite the house. d i m thwe are only rearranpemrnts of time without furionrl. T h ~ s reiterations . thc mosquito netting. or to explain t h r stnicture of the novel.u c l ~ r ~ m ~ l ocy for the novrl (in rnntrart w i t h certain work5 of Hiirley or Graham Grrrne. a n d yct this s w i w alrc. Thr fint time this tl-.illy ( a though intervening scenes h i v e varied I-:idically in their time sechrondolricnl irnposscs or dc:& ends: for u n m p l r . r t c . t h r srcond refrrence cnnciirs. without bearing . .in\fonncil into an erotic p a r o ~ y w 1 )scmns to occur in tlic n. ~ p l m ~ t tion uf her nl. the nothnr constructs corresponding chronological tmsions. . tnw th.irmtois vision uhilc h i s wifv is abscnt. th? malor sccne o f thr killing of thc crntipetle (tr. p ports or correlatives f o r t h e psvchologicnl vnri:itions. ) hut also : I number of sm:illrr vari. On the other h a n d .ipemid nppe:irs. for e w m p l e . These arr not only thc repetitiuns a n d v. "crver:iI plants have already I ~ r ncut there".BRUCE 1\IOIIIIISSElTE In cre:iting the ps~chr~lr~gical tensions whirh hind tngrthrr t h e elements of t h r one cnnnnt construct n 1inc.itimx in external time v h i c h form s . and all seems to progress nol-m. or rvrn CIXtrnsts to them.scncr f t r n i s l i r ~ lh y A .triations of the prinripal SCPIICS ( t h e incident of the ice.irly ~ o n t a i n sd m w n t s o f thr ~ . In this scnsc. t h r centiptde. it c w m s to me impossible to i d r r s t n n d Irwlorrsy complrtely. upon lirr rcturn i the IiotrI.

etc.” “now. although in the same paragraph a different index. Only such temporal markers permit in many cases a distinction in the order of adjacent scenes: Franck taking his hasty leave after the return from the trip with A . .. the arrangement of the logs for the bridge. actions and emotions of the narrator.” . has reached in her reading of the African novel.172 the bridge over the stream that flows through the valley. rounded on one side. constitute equivocal and contradictory time markers. give tn the supposedly normal rhythms of the sentences countermovements of a very complex periodicitv. . to the presence or absence of the spot left by the centipede on the wall. Terms such as “then. one emphasizes again the qnasiimpossibility of a complete clarification of the thoughts. . hut a few lines further we read that “At the hottom of the glass that he sets down is the last unmelted fragment of a small piece of ice. . This vaguely disturbing theme of a possible drowning doubtless represents a projection of an unexpressed desire of the narrator. . Against the background formed by the more or less linear progression of these manoeuvers. watchin. perceptions. N. Grove Press.” . seems to progress rapidly towards the future with respect to the immediately preceding scene. occur scenes from different stages of time. it is difficult to determine if the song is interrupted for some fortuitous reason-in relation. . a This and all subsequent quotations are from Jealousy by Alain Robbe-Grillet (trans. In an attempt to explain the apparent incoherence of strncture in Icalous~/several critics have pointed out n parallel between the drscription in the novel of a native chant and the commsition of thr narrative itself. . Examples are the way in which the author uses references to the place A . .” strewn among the parachhronisms of the narrative in an absolutely nonlinear manner. to thc monrinl work the singer is performing at the same time-or whether the tune has come to its natural con- clusion.Y. The indices or markers in this system of time variations form also. a fixed theme (with respect to the bridge) appears here and there: a native is crouched upon it. . The reader will recall the passage describing this “song of the second chauffenr”:s . . a mobile chronological network. in their interlocking designs. If one adds to this the effect of the imaginary scenes (retrospective or fntnre).’s room). in sight of the house. and yet the last appearance of the workmen shows them again on the bridge ready to begin their task. which are often metnmorphosed into a state of psychic visions.’’ and especially the term “hut. Richard Howard). 1959.: the water as if searching for something (in the same posture as the man on the calendar in A . .‘since. To reinforce the psychochronological tension thus produced.” The latter sentence re- Evergreen Review turns the scene violently to a former incident. sets down a glass in which there is left no trace of ice. “still. for instance. .” “at that moment.

“in reality gives him the principl place. issue 38-38 of t h e Reuue des Lettres Modmes. One is the mistaken idea that the author seeks to create (according to the formula attrihuted to the native song in lealous~y) disjointed literary structures without “causality.” The other is that Robbe-Crillet wishes to &humanize the novel. the sequence of scenes in the narrator’s mind is only superficially equivocal. inexplicit but well-defined psychological rules. the feeling that nothing remains to be said. the large role of the visual in his art (which some critics cite to argue his basic coldness) is envisaged by the author as a means of placing in the center of a narrative a hrrman eye which. Most of the corrections that must be made in what serious critics have written about Robbe-Grillet’s work have to do with two basic errors. but after the note which should be the last comes another one. . [pp. and others following. even admitting that the latter can really exist. when it begins again. he obeys none the less. Robbe-Clillet has himself often categorically denied the t w widespread idea that he wishes to depersonalize the novel. Joyce. But to conclude from this that the novel presents a disjointed. 8887. far from excluding man from the universe. A similar critique may be made of the attrihntion to Robhe-Grillet of a novelistic theory of dehumauization. starting on notes which hardly seem to constitute a beginning. or a willfully embroiled chronology designed only to confuse the reader .BRUCE MORRISSETTE 173 or to attempt to surpass other novelists (such as Huxley. etc. W e have just seen the danger presented by confusing the deliberate use of an appeoronce of acausality in the creation of literary effects (here the depiction of the mental state of a jealous husband). mnqdllity regained. when at that point everything stops without warning. Still stronger is the Similarly. and constitutes in reality a mistaken conception of the hue role of the chant or song. would be a serious mistake. and “true” acausality. . even if the narrator himself appears not to understand the necessity which joins together the scenes which he envisions. however. it is just BS sudden. or a series of unmotivated actions. 1958. or a reprise. then another. runs the risk of falsifying the unity of the novel. One might even say that on the surface. p. This fluid song is only ambiguous because we do not know its rules. however. random sequence of scenes. and the hearer supposes himself transported into the heart of the poem . .1 Such a parallel. .) in conmcting chronological confusion. things happen a s if there prevailed in the narrative an incoherence similar to that presumed to prevail in the native song. without the least break in mntinuity . 130). everything indicates this: a gradual cadence. Apart from any question of psychologv. as abrupt. something seenu about to end. in conjuring them up. that of the observer” (see Cinimo et Roman. Likewise. Faulkner. At other places.

Ecergreen Reciew rejection of the accusation of dehumanization in the article Old “Values” and the Aleto A’ocel. 100. steeped i n a haunting. what he sees. .1 fly D A V I D STACTOS The confusion which allows this misunderstanding concerning Robbe-Grillet’s alleged “dehumanization” to persist rests primarily on an erroneous conception of his ideas on the nentralify of objects in the universe. 9. and also on the attraction felt by some modern thinkers towards the very idea of acausality itself. etc.eloped personal symbolism (figures of eight in The Voyeur. and the in. the centipede in Jealousy. in which Robbe-Grillet (without naming the novel) speaks of the technique of Jealousy: How can they [the critics] . having denounced all symbolism. Now the idea of symbol-an idea so contaminated in our time that in appropriating to itself too many meanings it has lost all meaningis. First. . These misconceptions are shown clearly in critical disciw sions of the possible role of symboLr in Robbe-Grillet. or away from man when it fallows from page t” page each of his steps. a kind of bdte noire for Robbe-Grillet. p. a dog. vincible questions . .). accuse a novel of t u r n i n g against A Zen Novel The story of a Zen master. indeed. his brother. describing only what he does. a woman. What has troubled the critics is that the author. . or what he imagines? [Esergreen Reuirrw. ghostlike atmosphere reminiscent of Rashomon and Ugersu. The contradiction disappears if we carefully examine the author’s literary processes. after rejecting completely any inherent meaning of objects (as well as all ideas involving the mystical sym- . No. snails. has used (in their opinion) a highly de\. in the light of his theoretical statements.

attraction on renders and critics [Eticrgrwn Zim:ictc. for thc linc of sight ated mdlnnge wliich cxcrts n strong that lie dircvts at the world. of excessive attention to <le. He may infliicnce of K. shonlrl hr acciisetl of cnld. or in the use of ohjccts itv (who would like pcrhnps to as snpportts for frrlings.irmngernmts. and the reaction against position :is tlicy do to that of conthe tradition of Stendhd. Kohbe-Grillet reconstitutes an emotiond or psychological w e of the ohjcct.BHUCE MOIIIIISSETTE 1Z fliience of the so-called . n fayade which contrmpor:lry To crentr. mainly hecmm hc echnps o f these contempor:. that onc :ippropri:ite an author likr Robhemust srrk the secrrt of the “re. In France.Crillrt. belong ns little an exclrisively present-day de\. whosr work might apprar fnsal of ps~chology”attrihutecl to to fit their thmries). the psycliril. 1 ~p r r c n t :nn ndnltcrItis tinssion. which is in rrnlity only me:iningfrilncss of tlie wrdd is Iiut a refusal of psycholo~icnlnt. certain .. itiilics m i x .w. .imcl-ican “behaviorist” novel on the arrtipsychological writings of Szirtre a n d C:imiis is recognized. which he describes quite clearlv: . or simple umti<uitics. Yet the rrlationsis “rxpected” i n the current n o v d . such n novel :IS Icnlorrsr.Iliime’s :inti-c:iits:ility (which \vas cedentetl direct effrcts of h i m a n at once: ahrolotcly Irrgirnl and comemotion.G r i l run its course.which “objectivity” and interior monologiies are comhincd Ivith friscs to makc thcm part of himself. . or in pointini out the . the in.’’ uirmotivntcd tlie reiilm of meaninglrss jiintaopment. althoiigli cleansed of bolism of hidden correspondences) . . Acjects.frnders tional style of psyclidogicnl analy. rdosrs to m t r r into any miiltiple viavpoints and clironoconniving or donbtfril rvliition. in to r a t nn things with n .let’s objects. pp.. H:ilzac cnrdlant symhalism ( o r rven tu the and Proust (or their Anglo-Saxon so-c. .may lie foiind i n crrtain &. thr :rllc& the anthor. not . . c:tpnhle Thr classic simplicity of l h v i d of producing in the r r : ~ l r r tiripre.inn comrr develupment of mired forms.le~ d i s a p p r s in ness.lvgical rc.of Rohlx-Grillct.tnnlyzp.msnlch:iracters.ol!yyi. . who have developed a tastr for a 100-101.>. .thought has fragmrnterl into pirccs ogy of his rlmrnctrrs: snch is the whose only rc1:itionsliips are mrre essential ga:d of Rchhc-CXIlet’s “s~“‘.ry icleas has refosrd to prarticr the rowcn. . \Iany scriptive dPtai1. ] mare or less irrational n m d .plctely unbelirv:il. So.y. K o h h ~ . the cyc o f .a n ~ w “inidern” complrxitv. IVith tlie ship wit11 tlwm . .. in this aiithor. Tlrcre is little point in retracinr s w h influences.l”-””icitics. ”lake t l l C i l l a SI.physics of completr acauwlity. ships hctwrcn objects and rhnracLiterary anti-psychology is not tcrs.IOri j”r modem n n v t ..illcd ”unintcrpl-ct:ihl~” symholcounterparts) i s far from having ism of nn Aurrbach). The irony is that the author of mngcments. .under the sign of a psrnrlometarelation hetwrm rmotions and ob.ifka added. 9. placed It is therefore in an olijective COT. Init re. ns seen by Rnhhe-Crillrt’s rording to the dcvotees of .inI imistcncc: he srrs thrm.

lps relatively little in understanding the structure of the novel. Rohbe-Crillet’s art is then neither an art of incoherence nor an art of dehumanization. and although placed in a neutral universe. an action which inv:iriahly cnuses a sridden turning of the viewpoint: The black crirls of hvr hxir shift with a s u ~ p l c mowiwnt :and hmsh her shouldcrs as slte turns her head. critics like the abbk DAuhignac discovered an elaborate system of liaison de sdnes. in his own terms. \\hat must be sought are the implicit motives or reasons for thcsc shifts of the husband’s view. The heavy hand-rail of tlic Under careful study. tahicli the fictional characters must hare in order to live: an existential necessity. when leaving the stage sees another arriving. ver). Optico-nudio-serrsorio-rerbnl structures which surronnd the characters and which receive. including t h a t of so-cnlled “unmotivated” arrangements. in their sequence. precise rules of liaison or linking. the psychic d i s charge engendered by the ”life” (or the situation) of the character. one may say. :ind hc. * a * Ecevgreeii Reciew character as he enters or exits. or vice versa).of one character (who. .176 all mystical relationship to the human soul. in the eyes. Our n\r:ileness of this is almost instmt. Objective corrclativcs.inern~s. . for it t. etc. followed more or less consciously by Corneille. . [p. for example. even through the intentions of one or another balustrade has almost no paint left on top. This system arose frum a nced nf continuity in dramatic action.ikes all forms. . Rncine and other classical plnywrights: scenes linked through the CietL. all the scenes of Jealousy are found to obey. The gray of tlic w o r d shows through . In lealousti. and representrd n classical predilection far coherence as chal-acteristic uf the srventeenth century 11s the t x t e for disjointc~l acansality (. His objects are neither without human meaning nor arranged in a series of synchronous juxtapositions in a literary universe without for some) is of the t\vcntietli. who thus shares directly the husband’s inability to look A . fsychologists \viIl snme day prrlinps explain (they have so manv tliiiigs yet to explain!) the psychic Imscs of artistic unity. become. through noises overheard by characters entering or leaving the scene. as they penetrate into the visual field or the psychic interiority of a character (though remaining descriptively “objectal”). there is first of L i l l a general (and olwioiis) liaison liet\veen scenes throiigh the nailiitor’s Ic. the supports of his characters’ passions. 2. The best example is the often repeated turning nsidc of the gltince pruvokcd in the Iiiisl~nnd raises her cycs towards him. through the common presence of an actor in successive scenes. In the dramatic art of the French seventeenth century.1 Such a shift is soon felt to be habitual by the reader. . The reader hecomes ~ i w x e of the 1:itcnt psychological force hrhincl these shifts when the visual field is abroptly changed.

ri>ations pages of narrative. hut also phrases hridgr. or tlie displacements.. L l i . ~ l w out nf i i gliince. takes lent) nscil1.techniilrir of the novt. we most penetmtr into ing verbal terms (of which several his character.n SCPIICT quuted. .iie csceptinns p s s door to close it. the garden. he sees his wife still with pnrrntly fortuitous liaisons of vimv her back against the bedroom d m r and shifts i n the field of vision? (thus at a mrimciit tliiit corild unly Space changes become indistil. The ~-. already “old” text.i. Not only do the terms diate shifts in his glance. :md i n which logical movrmrnts and cliangvs. . To understand Iron.“. and. All tlie tempmil dishave already been mentioned) placements occur as n function of which almost imnerceotabh mask his nersonalitv. very brief :Jtr. i n of imagi.e expl:iind togrthcr as a ually. She his tiirnrd trnrards the graph.ern tlicse movements in time.) into the present ( e w n whrn they But when he again looks tow. .iroom. be a second or two latrr than tlie guishalile from time clianqcs: both original instant.insitionr I>etwer. I-cadirig.” “in mixed n p to I w k out tlirougli the that direction. ’s liead.narrator. tliese tion of this ~ixssagens expnsitiun cyclic returns h i t serin nvwn is obvions . soinctimes opens up i n t o a differrnt tivic.different towards Iier bureau. . .- .? a movrrnriit of given cisrrnl m. and r r p w looks clse\vhrre. s o ~ v e y s the gew hetwren tightly lirtked elmients. distance. and unified prncms. It is often between scenes nppar.irds anticipate tlle futrtre). BRUCE hlOlIIIISSETTE 17: when. in a more fundanon-linenr transitions in time or menial way even than the immespace. when he glaiiced away). Immcdiiitely tlie latter most inintiti. \\lint arc the principles thzt p w era1 orientatinn nf t l w horise in its surroundings. \nit ii) 3 pcrpendicihr But tliis till-ning x i d e of tlre direction” s r d tlir i e . (The incideiital hrnc. otrrcl:iterl c l i r o ~ : ~lerits of the inner distiirlr:uicrs prologically tn the exwt time of vnkrd i n tlic l u ~ s l ~ mlix d psychoA . Yet time rlnmin. of a mr~ni~iry. the continuity of the former ninve.and it is the constant (and vioment resumes when A .must 1.ites. A . or in his . tlrese apA . .” “moreover. ’s action. nr notices that she has such as ~ ‘ n n thc left.te to plonpc him A .1 thxt almost riaticin itself. It events OCCIII with tlie rapidity of a is interesting for tlir stid? of the drenm. Y Y . Thc-se ternis in the contimiity of tlie text a large :urd plil-nscs :ire the w r l i a l eqtiiva“hole” in time. . cmisrd I.” and “besides” sees her start tu glance nut towards almnst a l ~ r a y s produce temporal the ver:ind. tlirn tmwrds the almost utinoticerl except nri the narrator. In the elample all the tr.” and otlirr spatial slits i n the \‘enetian blinds nf a rcferrnccs s i d i as “.events and different times are ently linked by the view or sight of linked in the rternal present of the the narrator that we find interven. . lie “now.” “ncnrby.. watching her in her room. i d nee& no comment. .itiun in ‘‘normal’’ time several steps forwnrd into the roum that most puzzles readrrs of Jealorrsg. Iras just entered Iier occur a t tlie beginning nf n pw. .it tlie smic windnw. . for scver:d s r n t mil\.

25 (hard cover. COATES A novel. $1.25 THEEATEROF DARKNESS By ROBERT M. in his wife’s room. 19A 8z 19E 2 vols. $5. 18. P E T E R S DAY ANDOTHERTALES By ANTON CHEKHO-J Translated by Frances H. $1. $1. $1.50) WAITING FOR GOD By SIMONE WEU Introduction by Leslie Fiedler Cap. For them. behind the blinds in his study. hou-ever. to understand (oon-verbally) and accept this man’s visions and actions as if they were (for the duration of the work) our own.00) CONFESSIONS OF A YOUNG MAN By GEORGE MOORE Cap. Corrupted by their reading of analytical novels. 20. than to undergo one’s self the literary experience of the text in snch a way as to share this personnlity directly. Cap. 1 vol.15 THE AMERICAN COMMONWEALTH By JAMESVISCOUNT BRYCE Completely edited and introduced by Professor Louis Hacker. that this hyperattentive man should apply to his plantation the same exaggerated attention and scrutiny that he practices in other re- .25 ph>-sicnl movements on the veranda. $1. Yet it is less a matter of uncovering n “solution” to the narrator’s personality that will explain the novel. Cap. Jones. Many h a w pmtested against the minuteness of his description of the banana trees and his connting of them (is it not psychologically plausible. in the corridor of the house. It is likdy that human diversity will ahvays prevent certain readers from “SIICcumhing” to the functioning of a novel like Jeoloiisy. 17. One proof of this may be found in the absurdity of the criticisms that have been formulated against the narrator-husband of Jealoirsy. Cap.Eaergreen Reoiew Just Published 5 distinguished new CAPRICORN books ST. etc. 15. some readers will always insist that the novelist explain to them (in the explicit terms made fashionable by the psychologv of the day) his character’s thoughts and actions. They will always demand verhnl clarifications and commentaries. $2. Jealousy will he a novel that functions weakly.35 each (hard cover. or not at all. Critics have categorically denied his verisimilitude. these readers will no doubt refuse to experience the jealous husband‘s emotion..

for 1-estrnining l t i x l from ‘ ‘ ~ ~ ~ ~ t i C i l ~ ~ ii ~ i t ihis i i g ’o ’nn story. to news. . . it? :and impotence. but without citing his own words (is this not the impwssion one frequently has of his own words. as an almost classic type from mnnuals of psycho-scxd disturbances. a human being of almost too familiar “verisimilitude. But i t is most inexact to state that this jealniis n:irl-ator “never reveals himsclf. hut nlso :is fRr :IS his “. limit? l w r r . . slie "enquires wh:it eveilts may I u v e occiirl-ed :at the p1:iiitation”. thtis described. and there is every reason to suppose that h i s speech is perfectly conventional. Although . rrtrrns f r o m .l d d (111 a Irash. tion . 63.y new. .ards A . .~. m . . nccompnnied by frar that h i s wifc will Irave h i m Timid. he answers: “Now. frnr of aggrcssiveness like that of Frnnrk (who would perhaps bc cnpalile of ovrrcoming R certain cddnms in A which i n itself might p x t l y explain the h u s h n n d i difficulti<.” The whole novrl is his self-revelatian One inn? even argue that the hiishand sprxks. Hobhe-Crillet has been rehiiked for not letting tiis protagonist act.nohle. without the slightest r e s e m l h x e to Beckctt’s verhal chaos.” he is only in dl prdxihility obeying a fund~inir~itnl timidity based no dotilit on n psychic inpoteiic? io his srxu:rl : i t t i t t i c k ton.1 Certainly thr Inishand i s reticent. that h r never speaks. inaction” cmiccrninq his i c i i l o u s srispicioiis is c o n c e r k ~ .I< spects?). Here is the narrator “speaking” to his wife. [p. we can take up again the prohlem of the novel’s structure. eonstant fcnr of ahandonnient by A .hen A .itr. It has h e i ~ i claimed that the narrator does not e r r u appear i n the noiel. moreover. overmeticulous attentiiin directrd at the world.1 During the iiicident of the ice bucket. “yon hsve t n eat salt 50 as not to sweat. [P. The narrator has hrcn called a monster rather than a human charnctcr. litit f a r flrim Ixing a “mrmstcl. . the narrator directs a question to the house-boy. “Oh nn.. if he did speak his \ r o d s would resemble closely the chaotic verhi:igc of the “protean monster” that Smnitel Beckrtt depicts in The l:rinn. we read: T o a v n g w question as to when he received this ordcr. thc nar. (expressrd i n v x i nus fantasies of f u g u e ) : the hiisband appears. . at the dinner table: To be still more certain. thrre is iiotltit. 31.lie trill with Fmnck.” Then the hiish~tnil h i m s c l t asks one or mme quustirrns: Shr her\clf.BLIUTCE MORRISSETTE 179 \\. when one recalls a conversation?).” [p. He speaks several times. and that.” she answers.1 12. q iw \tio n id h i . not only w i t h respcct t o h i s own w i r d s .” which furnishrs no satisfactory indication.r’s w p l y is given in the f o r m of iridircct A s course: "Besides.s). . . it is enough to ask hrr if she doesn’t think the cook has I I I R ~ C the soop too salty. w k ~t o fmir or fir? p i w v of idonn.” Using then an operating principle (fonod in a sort of psychoanalysis of the narrator) to follow the liaison of scenes in Jeolousy.

toward the hocrse. which engender relationships. 's departure for the coast with Franck-when his wife is still engaged in reading the African novel (whereas the preceding scene was one that followed her return from the trip). In the "pen lcft leaf of the first dining-room window. . 138-13%1 At the beginning nf the plssaze. Then the dominating noise that binds the scenes together leads to the scene of the return in Franck's sedan. manv liaisons may be identified as effected by means of soiinds.180 the sense of sight dominates in (the author has often commented on the priority of the visual in the novelistic universe he favors). etc. . \vhich the narrator sees in terms of a possihle flight towards the port (where the truck is headed). correlations and metamorphoscs. the Jealousy house too. A . during the trip (the whole house is empty). This fluid progression in time .ealing exaniplr nf transitions effected by means of a sound is the following: The narrator has returned to the moment-hefore A . From this idra of flight the husband passes to the time of the actual absence of his wife. But having found the page again. the plain. Examples are the noise of the gasoline lamp during A . [pp. and Frnrrck gvt n u t of it togetlipr . she looks for the place where her reading was intermpted by Franck'n arrival. 's posture r d e c t s a certain combination of independrnce and impatience tineed with hocnr!/iame that is chnracteristic of many of the scenes before [and perhaps even of after) the planning of the trip with Franck. A re\. dreaming of escape? The sniind of a truck accenhiates this fear of A . the reflected irnnjic of thc blue car has just stoppvd in thc middle of thc cotirty. . . The passage develops thus: . . . . . 's flight. she lays the open hook face down on her knees and remains where she is without doing anything. 's long hair which is found again in the noise made hy the buccal nppend:igrs of the centipede and the crackling of the flames engulfing Fmnck's car imagined by the m r rntor at the climnx of his crisis. . lint that of a sedan cominz dnwn the dirt road from the highway. . fear of Fmnck. . From the other side of the house comes the sound of a heavy truck heading down the highway toward the bottom of Ecergreen Reciew the valley. .trd. somewhere in the &rt part of the story. leaning back in the leather chair. . the noises of trucks on the highway behind the house (expectation.iss. A . . . Is A . and the port-where the white ship is moored alongside the picr. .). The veranda is m r p t y . a scene to w. and the important complex of sounds including the crackling of the comb or brush in A . . . 's absence. It is not the so1ind of the tnick that can hc hmvd. . .hich the narrator constantly reverts in an effort to search out elements that might change or confirm his suspicions. . in the middle of the central pane of gl. then on the ship nnchored there [an allusion to the picture on the calendar in her room). .

exrrpt for the appearance in Frwicki pricket (on the narrator's return) of a letter written on the tcll-tale pnle blue paper. has giinc to get the drinks. ." Obviously the hiisband now finds an explanation. and discovers in this new version clearer clues to A . . . past the bridge this time at the tr:ipezoidd pl:inting sector whose niirnher of cut trees. the husband notes that the niitive workers are looking towards the house: lie too " d a r ~ " look hack tow:rrd A .s: all these procedures in the narrator's mind are but functions nf h i s situation as a victim of jealonsy. The art with which Robhe-Crib let has linked the scenes of JealotisI/ reaches its height of subtle development in part \'. to replace them in . Everything in this so often misunderstood liirok is entirely plansible.i. for a stage in the relatirms between A . varies i n siich a way as to set free from linrar chronoloev the time of anv siiecific moment. and Franck. Kohhe-Grillet is not attempting in any way. and A . Shr riser. writing a letter (the beginning. . again causing the narrator to look :in-n? toward the distance. ' husband's climax of jealousy. . in such passages as this. . by reviving a scene in his memory.t11 possible contexts.BRUCE MOHIIISSETTE 181 hirns her head t o w i d the \vindow. as mentioned earlier. to scrutinize them from dl viewpoints. the husband shifts his glance to follow the movements nf the workmen on the log liridge (that mohile time marker). is the q'isode of the missing ice. in her room. which is a section of reprises and reinforcement of themes prepnratory to the great s absence and the scenes of A . . . as she w i t r s . to enlarge imaginatively & reduce them to schrmitic outlines and dry r6sumi. constitutes a kind of r h m & or epitome of the struchlre of the novel and which schematizes the forms uf future returns and anticipations. hesitating over the few lines she has written. to make them come alive again in various ways. . . of the whole story). But this time.'Shortcning h i s glance. to confuse or mix up time. as it were. as pointed out. At this point there OCCIIIS i n the text the first anti-cIir~inologic:II transition of part V thxt might nppmr xrlitrary or disconcerting: srdldrnly Fraiick is sitting in his chair on the ver:ind. Before us spin. and sees her holding up before her the IettPr that she has heen writing. . ' s be- could scarcely be more human. .) which. 's window. in the sense that he seeks to extract from its continuum all possible emotional relationships. Ciintrary to the opinion of certain critics. Part V begins with the native song of the second driver (who may himself be suspected of a sexual association with A . There fallows a scene which finds A .ttar's sclt-imposed ermrirl to bring some. Ire looks aptin at A . atid the mrr. . m o ~ e s toward the wiiidom. the sccne takes place in a rapid r4stinr6. She . . . she seems pensive. if not logical. . It is this new detail that caoses the progression into the psychological prescnt a scene which has already been "lived. one might even argue that he is attempting to clarify time. To return inwardly to the smallest details uf n vital experience.

) Again it is the worker’s looking toward the house which draws the husband’s glance in that direction. Franck‘s gestures (now he is seated at the table) become “exaggerated. close writing.” Although the scene of the crushing of the centipede now contains (as it does each time) new elements. he leaves. it protrudes stubbornly. We ave returned once more to the other scene. Quickly he turns his eyes toward the log bridge.182 trayal. looks again toward him. that she had failed to make herself understood to him. . it is now definitively (after other foldings) “folded into eighths. Transformations occur. . Setting down a glass without ice (that associative element). to the episode of the ice. immediately. otherwise. Suddenlv Franck and A . other elements. to twist and dislocate his reconstruction of scenes between A . . have exchanged positions. .” All these rapid reprises lead us inexorably toward a new version of the killing of the centipede. Franck attempts (wim a ‘‘mechanical” es ture) to push it back into his s k i pocket. Euergreen Reoiew from which dates (in the hushand‘s mind) the understanding between A . The boy’s steps become more and more “jerky. it is still the letter that dominates the narrator’s recall. . He repasses these episodes on the inner screen of his mind. . . (All the narrator’s visions in this part are accompanied externally by maneuvers at the bridge. whose images constitute the text that we read. The entire reprise of the scene forms the answer that the husband constructs to the question that he asks upon seeing (still in his memory only) A . in their veranda chairs. which constitute a type of “thinking” about this scene which originally (in part 11) unfolded without such mental action: why had the boy not brought the ice (“Could she then have told him not to bring it? It would have been the first time. A . we read that in the bottom of the glass Franck has just set down there remains a small iece of ice of a certain form. . such as the logs to be used in the new bridge. . By association perhaps with “mechanic.” The husband‘s torment produces a veritable stretto of chronological transitions. and Franck. . A psychological force then begins to distort the husband’s vision. and Franck. . “like some crude mechanism. .” he leaves the dining-room moving his arms and legs in unison. in the act of writing a letter: when could she have transmitted this letter to Franck? From the depths of this scene which takes place in the narrator’s memory. R . But. seen at night in the dining-room . mechanic” (the erotic meaning of the word will be developed later by the narrator). but now it is to witness the scene of Franck‘s abrupt departure after his return from the trip with A . begin to change position.” It even becomes “covered with a fine.” with “rhythmic distortions. . the arrangement of the workers has changed. muttering an excuse for being such a ‘poor. . .” former actions rehirn mechanized: the house-boy walks “mechanically”. . now. From Franck‘s pocket. The husband asks himself indirect questions.”).

formal resemblances of objects or patterns (the herringhone design of the corridor floor and the ripples on the river surface. the technical execution of these liaisons involves a paragraph which is shared by two adjacent scenes. associated with Franck‘s sedan: the return from the trip with Franck. Then they discuss the African novel. . . we can distinguish transitions attributable to simple association (for example. forms the thread of Ariadne of all the hushands recalls. ’s dress brings to the narrator’s mind an earlier conversation on this subject). . speculating variously as to its possible ddnouernent. Franck is at the wheel. A . in general. At the level of w i t ing technique. . . etc.” “a poor mechanic. the narrator’s glance follows the shirt sleeve. To these one could add associations of phrases (the “take a part. ) . until the final disappearance of A . for now t e scene is a luncheon. f 1 . . combing l e r hair. Now two scenes of “return” are mixed.when A . ostensibly based on sight. ’s return in Franck‘s car. . writing the letterthe letter which. often accompanied by ambiguous adverbial phrases. sounds. . and A . The sentence “They sip their drinks” (a most irritating manner of drinking. There follows a whirling seuence of images and recalls of t e young wife. when A . into the zone of her bedroom wherein she can no longer he seen from the outside (another image of the obsession with the possible escape of his wife which lies near the center of the husband’s jealous complex). is getting out of the vehicle.). it is always the tacit psychological tensions of the narrator which form the basic principle of the transitions between the scenes of the novel. . to a husband who sees therein an excessive or conniving slowness) is at the time of the crushing of the insect. one feels.” etc. hut when the narrator looks at it. gets out holding a small package. . in an ambiguous posture on her bed). to very advanced and complex relationships: liaisons that are more or less reversible in time. moves to the crock situated behind Franck. “everything has to start somewhere. . and thus emer es into broad daylight. . etc. . A . . falls upon the extinguished lamps. . . or movements of the narrator. . especially in a visionary passage depicting A . ’S narrow fingers occur frequently. looking at her own image (is she bored. at one point Franck and A . and objects or places hound up with certain scenes (the dining-room window which constantly brings hack the scene of A . are speaking of their plans for the trip. . . The car itself is “brought into the window” of the dining-room by the conversation. Often. im atient?) in the mirror.BRUCE MORRISSETTI3 183 Thus it is apparent that. and the return from a visit to see Christiane (or could it be to see Franck?) . listening to the native song. plunging into her long tresses her “tapering” fingers (the erotic associations with A . For example. . and Franck is talking about his car. alights alone from the car. etc. . A . .” “hreak a heart” ambiguities. from one end to the other of part V.) .

. also serves to shave off the fld the eraser has made. that the new erasing operation is per- . . 89. the ice cubes have now altogether disappeared. for her support: “We left on schedule and drove along without any trouble. There now remains only a vaguely outlined paler area.. In broad daylight. The ambiguity of the text is spread throu h two or three “mixed” paragrapk. . “Still. then the eraser again. Franck inspects the gold liquid remaining in the bottom of his glass. the narrator manages to remove all traces of the fragments of legs and antennae remaining from the Scutigera. bent between two fingers to raise the center of its cutting edge. But the head and first joints require a more extensive rubbing. it has become more translucid.” he says. a closer ins m i o n of the pale blue sheet reveals that two short pen strokes have resisted everyihing. of the return after the trip with Franck. A complementary operation seems in order: to scratch the surface very lightly. .. during A ’S absence. The back o f a fingernail finally smoothes down the last roughness. without any apparent depression of the surface. In the three glasses. doubtless performing some sort of erasure. Here are some of the stages: The slender traces of hits of legs or antennae come off right away. then the other. amusing himself by detaching the little bubbles clinging to the sides. uneven. Through this paragraph the narrator passes directlv from one Doint of time to the other. The fiat of these two paragraphs could belong as well to the scene of the projected trip (or to that of the conversation concerning the African novel) as to the scene. A new rubbing with the eraser now finishes off the work quite easily. Ipp.] Evergreen Reoiew formed. becomes increasingly vague toward the tip of the curve. “it started out well. a little downy. The same razor blade.184 repeated in refrain-like fashion. The paper is much thinner nevertheless.. which might pass for an insignificant defect in the finish. The passage then continues: They sip their drinks. . . 88- . The hard eraser passing back and forth over the same p i n t does not have much effect now. Still more strikine is the metamorphosis of time aEd place which occurs when the husband sets out to erase from the wall. soon disappears mmpletely. the situation of the erasure changes completely. . He turns it to one side. The stain has disappeared altogether. . . First using an eraser.. doubtless made too heavily. with the first strokes of the eraser. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when we reached town. . at worst.” He turns toward A . quite posterior.” [pp. the spot left by the centipede. The larger part of the body . with the comer of a razor blade.1 And the passage mntinues in t h i s fluid fashion: the eraser causes a transition to the narrator’s desk . then a razor blade. and it is upon the blue letter paper which the workhusband had observed A ing over formerly. In the midst of this action. 54-55.

For the scenes evolve. the mark left on the \vnll by the crushed insect fits into the complicatcd design of other spots in the novel: Rorschach spnts. (whom the narrator has observed too long in the brilliant light of the gasoline lamp). Imperceptibly varied repetitions in the background: the arrangement of the new logs for .RIIUCE MORHISSETTE 185 the bridge. and we read of “convnlsions.” ending in “a last spasm. and even the mobile spot caused by the retinal image of A . and modify each important scene. at her bedroom table. . etc. The narrator is pimessed by the need to Cxamine everything many times. . . polishing of her nails. lealortsy prohalily contains more repetitions than any other work in the history of the novel. are developed (or foreshortened) constantly. etc. . sitting in the veranda chair with her novel (hut is she not already dreaming of future infidelity?). Some of these repetitions are of apparently innocent or trivial scenes: A . since it i s largely in planned repetition (with variants) that the work finds its tempo and its form. Without these repetitions.” Everything takes on for the narrator a significance traceable either to emticism o r to jealonsy. A . brushing her hair (hut what an erotic fetish her hair represents!). . fullowing the inner rhythms of the narrator’s emotions. . are transmuted. A . as a spot. . There is the oil stain in the courtyard (left by a car. drawing with a pencil. . But the centipede is by far the dominant theme. perhaps Franck’s). in which the hushand seems to discover. the paint spots on the baluster (which A . leads to a further vision of the young woman combing her hair. . much lower. . and rhe scenes linked to it ( i n part V). or-more prohalily-rasing from a letter snme “badly chosen” ward. or into which he projects. then to the scene wherein she performs. Is bedmom window (could it be blood?). HobheGrillet has organized these repetitions of scenes and elements of scenes. One could make a similar stndy of other elements: the African novel. . so skillfully that they never lose force. . the Post Office calendar. which is seen everywhere against the house and the black sky. since it represents for the husband the hateful stain of infidelity (hence where the photograph of A . the position of the shadow of the veranda column on the flagstone floor. walking about in her room (but what a sacred place this room gradually becomes!). the dark red stain below A . . \\’e observed above. but always gain. The husband appears to find in her motions an erotic meaning. so to speak. the state of the trapezoidal sector of banana trees. . . movements that the narrator intcrprets as the mending of a stocking. The spot is always a stain that needs to b e removed or cleansed. . the stain on the table cloth ( a t Fmnck’s place). the novel could scarcely exist. wishes to have repainted). . in following the metamorphoses of the letter written by A . supports for his feelings. to him. change. ho\\-ever. . how an object associated with the husband’s jealousy can develop or evolve through a scries of reprises. . First.

e t c ) . With this description we sense the be- . the absorption of the oil stain in a defect of the diningroom window. ’s behavior. floating. certain erotic signs: her half-open mouth trembling.” and nothing. . Above all. the spot is oriented with respect to A .’s betrayal. But all these are as yet only subtle preparatory touches. propose (also for the first time) to make a trip to the coast together. In any case. . where it persists as the very image of the possible sexual relations between his wife and Franck. . the metamorphosis of the spot into n correlative of the hushand’s distnrhance. but the time has already shifted. rather. Yet the centipede is described as one of “average size.” “origin. that the hvo scenes are achinlly contemporaneous in “real” time. Only when the spot is estahlished and described do we reach the first version of the scene of the crushing of the centipede.” ‘‘vaguer portions. . one would suppose. at the beginning of the month. . a blackish spot [that] marks the place where a centipede was squashed last week. rises to go and squash the animal) permits the supposition that he is discharging . ’s sent at the table. objective version. that the squashing of the insect occurs before the planning of the trip.186 the scenes of erasure analyzed earlier. at its first appearance is: Ecergreen Recieu: ginning of the transfer. definitively. . her glance fixed upon the question mark outlined on the wall.” the “question mark“ that indicates the general shape of the spot. after looking intently a t A . her tapering fingers clenching the handle of her knife. An almost unnoticed mention follows shortly: the light paint of the dining-room wall “still hears the mark of the crushed centipede” (only the word “still” betrays the narrator’s concern). . in the conduct of Franck (who. and the table is not set. . for it i s now daylight. of the other spots. perhaps the month before. In the following paragraph. The first time. Next.1 From the outset the time of the spot is fluid. [p. the first detailed description of the spot appears. . . . The spot. the mention of the projected trip leads instantly to the first narration of the killing of the centipede: a rather calm. but which contains the elrments of future development. The sequence of scenes related to the centipede follows a progressive order which illustrates convincingly the principle of psychological chronology in the development of an episode which has no fixed locus in ‘’true” time. or in ceasing to place the scene of the quashing of this insect at the center of his complex. of course. or later. 14. words fall of psychic niinnces take on meaning: “doubt. Nothing proves. . in A . he is unable to get rid. her quickened breathing. or almost nothing. he never succeeds in escaping from the spot left by the centipede. . this action takes place during the scene at dinner table when Franck and A . Just as the narrator is incapable of suppressing his thoughts of A . Beneath the “ohiectnl” precision of the style. . . . W’e note especially.

A . leodin: to Fmnvk’s place. ’S hand clenches the “white tnhle cloth.:~rd his shirt-pockct. nod not the h d m d (does the latter not snffer from an inferiority complex typical of the jenlous man?) plays the male rAle of the killer of the drentlfnl insect which frightens (is that all?) the young wife.scsses the nnrr. hnrr wall. in this way some sexual n g ~ r c s siaeness. .twecn the centipede and the possililc relationship hetween Frnnck and A . Since A . .r hnshand. .” and n (preparatory) phrase “returns to sit dawn” appears in the text. . ferred to: a brief r h m 6 of o n e paragraph (as far RS thr rmshing of the insect goes). nut on t h t . where another stain stretches toward Frmrk’s hand. T h r link hr. . . rlenclied this time on the “white cloth. . iinlcss it is the fact thnt he. ’s hand.BIKTTCE \IORHISSETTE 187 The scene returns nest to the “mechnnirerl” rccnlls nlrexly re. . followcd 1)). ’s return. Ten icronds latvr.hich 01. Explaining snnie of tlie events that occirred in town.n development of the irnase of A . where it tries to p ~ 1 1 down inside the Irttrr \r. . it is evident IIO\V violent the distorting force is th:it plringr the narrator into the past wlicn his wife mentions thr hotel and its 0 This time. it is notliirix m o n ~ thm a rcddich pulp in whirh arc rninclrd the dchrir of unrrcojiniral. on the contrary.itrx in this scctirm of the n:mntive (part V ) . ’S rrmnrks at tlic lieginning of this citation arc innrle ns she Innchcs lone with 1rt. which m o w s ton.le syctian*. is tishterred dnring the first \wsion of the scene of A . the imnpc of tlie .” which is fiirr o w d by deep fdds. . \vlwn Fmnck crushes the creature with his napkin.

” scarcely longer than one’s finger. . now the centipede is - - . Franck does not appear. the jealous protagonist goes through all the stages of a classical case of psychiatry. including hallucination.” “not easy to fix with certainty. . . ils well as his desire to do him harm). the comb held in the tapering fingers whose movements bring the narrator back to the swaying movement of the antennae of the ccntipede placed once more on the wall. . extending to the sounds emitted by the buccal appendages of the two animals.1 It is after this removal of Franck from the action of the scene that the husband undertakes the erasure of the spot mentioned earlier. 111. His effort leads only to a persistent vision of A . . that figured in the first version of the scene.” “almost. . . his fear of aggressiveness. After several phrases of indirect discourse in which the hrishnnd “says” that A . The discharge or projection of his illrepressed jealousy is accomplished through an external hallucinatory vision which contains as well as expresses his inferiority complex. is the centipede. [pp. . . . waiting for A . enomiaus: one of the largest to k found in this climate. . The relation between the stain on the table cloth in front of Franck and the spot left by the centipede returns mixed with verbal elements of doubt (“perhaps. yet this impersonal crushing of the insect is expressed in a style so intense that it seems ready to burst. Alone in the house.” after p r o d ing through the empty house. and his pathological certainty that his wife is deceiving him with a lover who. the creature continues to emit the crackling sound that the husband finally relates explicity to the sound of the comb in A . obsession.188 squashed Scutigera is perfectly d e a r . sutldenly again. knows how to act Etjergreen Retiiew with the male brutality no doubt secretly coveted by the narrator. On the fluor. . On the contrary. ’s hair. There. . unlike himself. 8687. . as if refusing to be annihi- . [p. after staring with morbid preoccupation at the cnlendar (projecting onto the man in the picture his hatred of Fmnck.” without human agency. during A .” etc. i n ordinary dinner plate. ’s long hair. A link between the centipede and the land crab served at the dinner eaten by the husband alone. . it COYCTS the area of . the narrator enters the dining-room. With its long antennae and its h w e legs spread on each side of its h d y . to return. . is established. But no longer the one of “average size. . the crackling sound that will later be identified with the noise produced by the comb or brush passinl! through A . . .1 Again the scene unfolds “empty. k absence with Franck. in the act of w i t ing the suspected letter. “ought to have been hack long ago. and the transfer upon reality of a feverish imagination. waiting on the veranda by the light of the gasoline lamp (surrounded by the whirling insects that form a visible support for the turmoil of his feelings). The evolution of the incident of the centipede reaches its apogee in the great scene which constitutes the center of part VII (as well as the center of the novel itself). .).

witlimit sa yi ng a word.idy hegun their mrtnmorphosis towinl the irnuge of the (lprtriiction of Fmnck and A . 113. . it is doubtless because it resenibles closely that psychopathic hysteria which transforms remembered reality into R nightmare of suspicion and rrpressed anxiety. The blue sedan is going to crash into a rawhide tree whose rigid foliage scarcely . he has not s c m the holr rriiining halfway a c r u ~ ~ the rond. hi: s q ~ d ~ v it sag~iinon tlw hrrlmr>nL filx. ncttiue f a l l s hack dl a r w n d thr I m / . Here the culminating anguish of the hnsband re:iches its highest pitch iir a "c:it:ithymic" vision. . It is in this ciinnwtion esp that the critics of Icalortsr. in trims vwbnllv amligiwus ( \ ~ h i c l i also have tirclr psychologicd f. But the pllrast~s have nlre. in flagranre delicfo: Franck. Lc.c. The crrishing of the centipede takes on its fullest force as part of the scene which the Iiosband envisions of Franck and A . a p:miw vision whore true meaiiing or go. in a visionary holocniist into which the hnsl. .il supports. . with his foot. Franck increases Isis s p w d The iOlts fwcc. W : ~ S his n:rpkin into it h a l l as Ire cnutionsly zippmncl1cs.] If this vision srrins to rnceed t h e limits of objrctivc correlxtives or exterior cmotion. withdrnwn (even perhaps suffering from psychic impotency).r(ii. italics OR v i d v n t . .1 lated \vithont the male interventiun of Franck. From the stage of fear of reality.itter shows five cowergwit (. who have rcpl-oachrd Rothc-Grillet for not allwving his p r o t a p n i s t to participutp i n his o\vn s t o w Iiiive totally missed thc siSnificance of the tt'rt.*cur f h V tros/l/. dr. If h e is fundamentally (as is the case with Thrrr n l s t m r t w. and then projects this nightmare upon the world.~. he will be satisfied-in spite of the intensity of Iris hatred -\vith a n interior action.otc/. the hitsh:in(l pictures to himwlf F'r:uwk in physical posscssinn of his wifc: In h i s h.mrtion.iwn thr cloth with t l w n : the 1.? h a r r d with tll? t:tpcrirrg litircrs has clcnclird into R fist on thc w h i l ? sliwt. . .r. 'Ihc fivr widcsprrxl fingers h a w closrd with such f o r m that they 1..rcls. Then hr votncs Ixxk toward thv hcd a n d i n p:wing hmgs t l w rotr-?l 011 i1r "*<. apply rlil-cctli to the Invcrs.nnd plunges t h e n : In thr darkness.prtwnt nnc more effort to :nvid tlir triith that he fears).lstcr.~' . interposing thc ~q'aqucvcil of its i n n m x r n h l c ~ n c s l i v s.d h e may nnt entirely comprehend. .BRUCE M O I I I I I S S E ~ E 189 t h e husband i n IculousIy) timid. . 112-113. and sqtlas1it. since they rt. the jealous individual must pnss t o a stage of aggressiveness. [pp. . rontniiiing no imagr.s tllC rrvn- twc against t h c wall. On this had road the drivrr cannot straighten nut in time. [p. stands up. skids. TI. Dllt t h v "I~~W. . . followhg irnmrdintelv npon thr drscl-iptim of tlic h o t d brd.istc t<n r w i h his j q d . The c : makes ~ n leap.In/ ruck . S w e r tltelrss Ire coiitiuws to clrive f. inhibitcd. whom the narrator has tried to ohliterate.t 11s see first Iio\v.

staining the wall opposite her. ’s bureau and writing table. or for other novelists of today or tomorrow. in his frrture novels. Much “later. N. It is the sound the centipede makes. the arrangement of the logs for the bridge. Listening to it more carefully. sitting at the table. ’S unfaithfulness. Tells y o u mhere t o send yoicr manasevipt. the sound is more like a breath than a crackling: the brush is now moving down the lwsencd hair. in one of the rare “actions” risked by this timid man obsessed with dread of the possible escape of his wife. What unforeSeen sequels. a model. The whole hrurh is illuminated by the crackling. novelistic metamorphoses. If yo~’1-E interested in writing fiction or articles f o r leading niayazines or book publislrers. It’s a complete list of nzagarine and hook picblishem for aspiring authors. or a masterpiece? Any conjecture is possible. has reached its end. Mead. the number of banana trees Evergreen Reuiew that have been cut.1 After this summit in the development of interior action in the husband.. . . E l 915 Broodwoy. . since h e finds no proof of A . to be fenred especially if he should make some overt reproach or take some direct action toward her. N. The text contains a last reference to the spot left by the centipede. Dept. will follow the interlocked s ~ c t u r e sof Jealousy? But this is what a mastelpiece is: an end that is also a beginning. accomplished by new and powerful technical means. motionless again On the wall. 10. the prominent literary agent. . with “her gaze fixed upon the brownish remains of the crushed centipede. The Car immediately bursts into flames. Y. either for its author. The extraordinary psychological expansion of the episode of the killing of the insect. [p. a dead-end. The narrator searches the personal in A . with addresses and teleplione numbers.190 shivers under the impact. . spreading fire. . Does Jealousy represent a stage of development in the modern novel. \Vhat is important is that Jealousy should lead somewhere. has IJrepared a catalogue o f markets icliich i s a “mvst” item. Daniel S. he recalls it a final time: in a memory of A . despite its violence. But no matter: for this husband.” when a mood of appeasement has begun to come over the husband. Y. there follow images with a diminishing rhythm. For Yonr f r e e copy of this valuable reference aid icrite to DANIEL I . . M A D . and executed in hitherto unexplored fictional dimensions. It is a fruitless search. in the center of the panel.” The spot now rejoins the system of index points like the shadow of the column. 113. it is enough that h e should fear infidelity to provide the only basis necessary for jealousy such as his.

"A masterpiece.25 SEVEN MEN AND TWO OTHERS by M a x Berbohni A superb collection of sophisticated satires by a master of pollbhed and subtle prose.45 bx John Liiingsron LOWPS On the literary imagination i n general and the origin5 of Coleridge's poetry in particular.25 by Thomas Man" A novel that is "at once the quintessence and the redrcrio ad absurdurn of all love triangles:' -LIONEL TRILLING.25 VINTAGE BOOKS 501 .10 GOD'S COUNTRY AND MINE by Jacques Borzun A declaration of love for the United States.Mudiron A W W P . and varied.25 POEMS by Wolloce Stevens Representative work by one of the foremost American pmts of this century. and Berg.25 THE AMERICAN EXPERIENCE b y Henry Bomford Porkes A brilliant interpretation of the hiatory and ~i vi l i zat i on of the American people. ~ .10 GIUSEPPE VERDl HIS LIFE AND WORKS THEROADTOXANADU A STUDY IN T H E W A Y S OF THE IMAGINATLON by Francis Toye Both a biography and a detailed study of the Verdi operas.N e w and imbortant titles STORIES by Eliroberh Bowen Eighteen distinguished short stories from f r y G r i m e d rlir Sirpr. Look A f A l l T b m e Rorer. r-87 81. K-84 61. Deburry. K-81 61. r ~ 8 2 51. r-80 S1. Verdi. io OPERA AS DRAMA by Joseph Kernian Composers-Monteverdi. 8 5 'sI. K-88 SI. spiced with a few harsh words. r-89 51. K-83 Sl." --MARY KINGS AND DESPERATE MEN LIFE I N E IG H T E E N T H -C E N T UR Y EN CL A ND COLUM. r-86 Sl. Warner. V e i l .45 Fur u d n r r i p l i i c . Mozart.25 WILLIAM BLAKE THE POLlTlCS OF VISION by Mark Schorer A fascinating ioterpretation of Blake aimed at the intelligent reader as w e l l as the specialist. by Samuel French Morse. r r i i l u r lixring d l Vinroge' r i r l e ~ uriie . among them-considered as dramatiE1S. K . Preface by Miss Bowen.65 THE TRANSPOSED HEADS A L E G E N D O F INDIA by Louis Kronenberger A s x i a l chrOnicle-"piRu~~qUe. and with an Introduction. and Early Srorier. Introduction by Herbert Weinstock. Y w h 22 . Y-19 Sl."-JOSEPH WOODK a u r c ~ . Illurrrarrrl.

not even under unwholesome use of leisure lime. scientific studies of delinquency attribute the occurrence of delinquent behavior to five things: 1. which appeared in Ecergrecn Rctiieic 6.i.” the Brown psychologists report.” appearcd in Ecergreerr Review . “Among those who have expressed such a view in the case of adults is Dr.CONTRl BUTORS Los Aiigeles in this issue matches his essay on El Paso. ‘‘allow our freedoms to be interfered with because of the possibility that it may be an influence in some cases?” This study should interest every American who wants to preserve our traditional and historic liberties. Defective home environment.” they ask. Educational deficiencies. Unwholesome use of leisure time (here they mention gambling. His first publication. and 5 . 2. 4.’” The Brown psychologists say in conclusion that “there is no reliable evidence that rending or other ‘fantasy activities’ lead to anti-social behavior. drug addiction and sex misbehavior). the story “. MARTIN WILLIAMS is co-editor of The lo=. “There is some evidence that delinquent behavior is actually lessened by ‘bad’ reading. JOHN RECHY‘r essay on Censors Are Wrong’ Those who would impose censorship on this country frequently make the claim that the reading of smutty or violent literature t u r n 7 juveniles into delinquents. His translation of the ancient Chinese Book of Soiigs will be published b y Grovc Press in February. People who have made major. ARTHUR WALEY is the distinguishcd scholar of Far Eastern literature. Psychological defects. 1 Reprinted from The Minneapolis Star. Reading materials were not among the factors listed. September 18. who has concluded that ’mntrav to popular misconception. 1958. people who read salacious literature are less likely to become sexual offenders than those who do not. and philosophy. 192 . 3. Retiiew. “Shall we then. f u r the reason that such reading often neutralizes aberrant sexual interests that they may have. There is evidence that such reading or ‘fantasy activity’ is not an important contributor to delinquent behavior.\lardi Gras. Benjtimin Knrpman. Their report was first published in the Brown Daily Herald and has now been reprinted in the Censorship Bulletin of the American Book Publishers council. drinking. painting. Culture conflicts. How much truth is there to this? A committee of Brown University psychologists has examined this bit of social folklore and come rip with a devastating answer.

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