422
cumstances; but, when the high–
strung, literary siren deliberately
throws herself into the artistic or
social underworld, we assume she
is doing something daring. In as–
suming this, one accepts money and
social position as the most impor–
tant things in life and it is with
breathless anxiety that he watches
these madcaps throw away such
privileges. Without that assump–
tion, the conflicts don't mean
much. In having relations with
lesser men, these girls express the
most violent part of their nature.
They are extraordinarily fierce
about it. "Oh, love me, Jerry, love
me hard," Sue Murdock says. And
Hopestill Mather, pondering her
tempestuous nature, says, "There's
probably a devil in me, one straight
from hell like those in the Salem
witches my ancestors used to burn."
In the midst of all her difficul–
ties, the stubborn, egocentric
heroine maintains a hard cynicism
that reminds one of those movies
in which tall, sleek, intrepid
females go through the most ap–
palling experiences without batting
an eye. We know the type well.
She is found in ladies' magazine
fiction and countless popular
novels as an out and out villainess.
In more serious fiction there is an
attempt to make the heroines un–
derstandable, if not forgiveable.
They are presented as truly home–
less, because they have too much
spirit and "devil" to fit into their
inherited environment. At the same
time the hang-overs from that en–
vironment make any other life al–
most impossible. There is only one
solution.
PARTISAN REVIEW
In
Boston Adventure
and
At
Heaven's Gate
the girls must die.
Society seeks retribution from those
who have played a false role by
drifting back and forth between
the classes. They are doomed, also,
because being rich and spoiled car–
ries with it, in fiction at least, a
certain amount of cruel arrogance
which ultimately leads others to
seek a cruel revenge. (Sue Mur–
dock laughs at Slim Sarrett and
he, later, kills her. Hopestill Ma–
ther subjects Dr. McAllister to the
dreadful indignity of marrying a
woman made pregnant by another
man and he tortures her until she
must kill herself.) This is irony of
a mediocre and traditional sort for
which the reader's mind is well
prepared by romantic fiction. Irony
of quite another sort is seen in Wil–
liam Faulkner's,
Sanctuary.
Tem–
ple Drake, though less articulate,
is also pursued by fabulous demons
of the flesh. We last see Temple,
very much alive, walking through
the Luxembourg Gardens with her
father. She is yawning and powder–
ing her nose.
ELIZABETH
HARDWICK
Report from the Academy:
The Experimental College
I
ONCE
heard
T.
S. Eliot say that
young writers should avoid aca–
demic life and earn their living in
some completely unliterary con–
cern such as an insurance com–
pany. Wallace Stevens is one of the
few who have acted on this advice;
most of the reputable poets in
America today, and a fair propor-
