SEVEN
Wolfe Promises to be Good Boy; Reviewer
Finds Him Redundant, Oratorical as Ever
THE DAILY NEBRASKAN
By Bernice Kauffman.
Virginia Moore, the Nebraska
born author of "Not Poppy" and
"Sweet Water and Bitter," once
wrote an essay, now become fa
mous, called "Education by Desul
tory Reading." Those of you who
have read the essay may recall
that Miss Moore suggests that
this type of activity, in time may
lead to reading the complete
works of Pascal or the "Medita
tions" of Marcus Aurelius. That
Is not the purpose of this citation.
The sole reason for speaking of it
is to mention the words "desul
tory reading," for that is to be
the function of this column. But
do not mistake the word "desul
tory" as being definitive: It Is
used as an absolute claim to free
dom. In a flat little book of 93 pages,
entitled "The Story of a Novel,"
Thomas Wolfe promises to tell
how he wrote his enormous novel,
"Of Time and the River." To ex
plain that torrential outpouring,
that maze of character and inci
dent and description would seem
work enough for any writer in so
brief a space, but Mr. Wolfe, be
ing Mr. Wolfe, does not limit him
self merely to that avowed pur
pose. He tells also of his boy
hood, of his first novel, "Look
Homeward, Angel," and why it
was not an autobiographical nov
el, and of the four books he in
tends to write to finish the setol
ogy which as whole will bear tne
title of his second novel, "Of Time
and the River."
The thread by which Mr. Wolfe
holds these reminiscences and ex
planations together is the con
stantly reiterated one that his
flaws in style are being corrected
and eliminated. He promises to
be a good boy, a very good boy.
He Insists that he can ruthlessly
cut his own material, and that
never again will there appear such
an overabundance of adjectives or
such a vehemence of oratory as
we bewildered readers were forced
to wade thru in his initial efforts.
The writing "Of Time and the
River" explains Wolfe:
"With all the waste and error
and confusion it led me into, it
brought me closer to a concrete
definition of my resources, a true
estimate of my talents at this pe
riod of my life, and, most of all.
toward a rudimentary, a just be
ginning, but a living apprehension
of the articulation I am looking
for, the language I have got to
have if, as an artist, my life is to
proceed and grow, than any other
thing that has ever happened to
me."
But when is Mr. Wolfe going to
begin to use this language of the
artist he speaks of? When is he
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'V.
THIRD
' FLOOR
going to show self restraint? In
th verv midst of one of his most
ardent recantations of wordiness
we find this:
"Or again, it would be a bridge,
the look of an old iron bridge
arrows an American river, uie
i tr:iin makes as it Eocs
across it; the spoke-and-liollow
rumble of the lies oeiow; uie
of the muddy banks: the slow,
thick vcllow wash of an Amrri-
can river; an oiu nai.-uwi.i.""-
hf hnir filled with water stop-red
in the muddy banks; or it would
be, most lonciy ana iwuhihik
all the sounds I know, the sound
of a milk wagon as it entered an
American street just as the first
gray of the morning, the slow and
lonelv clopping of the hoof imon
the street, the jink of bottles, the
sudden rattle of a battered old
milk can, the swift and hurried
footsteps of the milkman, and
again the jink of bottles, a low
word spoken to his horse, and
then the great, slow clopping hoof
receding into silence, and then
quietness and a bird song rising
in the street again."
Colorful Word Pictures.
Do you remember this from
"Look Homeward, Angel":
"As the flame shot roaring up
from the oiled pine sticks, and he
felt the tire-full chimney-throat
tremble, he recovered joy. He
brought back the width of the les
ert; the vast yellow serpent of
the river, alluvial with the mined
accretions of the continent: the
rich vision of laden ships, masted
above the sea-walls, the world
toiri hin.o hearing about
them the filtered and concentrated
odors of the earth, sensual negroid
rum and molasses, tar, ripening
guavas, bananas, tangerines, pine
apples in the warm holds of tropi
cal boats, as cheap, as profuse, as
abundant as the lazy equatorial
earth and all its women, the great
names of Louisiana, Texas, Ari
zona Colorado. California: the
blasted fiend-world of the desert,
and the terrific boles of trees, tun
nelled for the passage of a coach;
water that fell from a mountain
top in a smoking noiseless soil, in
ternal boiling lakes flung sky
wards by the punctual respiration
of the earth, the multitudinous lor
ture in form of granite oceans,
gauged depthlessly by canyons,
and iridescent with the daily chameleon-shift
beyond man, beyond
nature, of terrific colors, below
the un-human iridescense of the
sky."
Influenced by James Joyce.
Wherein lies the diffeience?
Wolfe claims that in the begin
ning he was influenced by Jr,-es
Joyce. If he really wishes to p:"c
tice restraint we suggest that he
observe these rules advocated by
Ben Jonson who had the tems i ity
to suggest that it might have teen
put as well as if Shakespeare had
blotted a few lines. We fear ihat
Wolfe, instead, has been following
the swaggering grandiloquence of
Byron, for as complete prooi of
the fact that he is now a writer
he declaims:
"The worm has entered at my
heart, the worm lay coiled and
feeding at my brain, my spirit,
and my memory ... I knew ..hat
finally I had been caught in my
own fire, consumed by my O'vn
hungers, impaled on the hrio'.: of
that furious and insatiate V.;ire
that had absorbed my lite tor
years. I knew in short that one
bright cell in the brain or heart
or memory would now blaze on
forever ... by night, by day, ihru
every waking, sleeping moment of
my life, the worm would feed and
the light be lit, that no anodyne
of food or drink, or friendship,
travel, sport or women could ever
quench it, and that nevermore un
til death put its total md conclu
sive darkness on my life, could I
escape."
We enjoyed Wolfe's autobio
graphical gossip; we were not
bored by his misconception that he
has reformed, for whatever he
says is spirited. Wolfe has a liv
ing, breathing, pulsing aliveness,
even in this book of exposition,
which does not fail to keep the
readers alive too. His readers are
wide awake as a result of his ma
terial. He does not need to shout
at them to keep ti;em so.
I
Intrrcliili Council.
I The Barb Interclub Council will
mert Monday night in University
hall, at 7:30
I ! i i i I I
