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Page Two

THE MICHIGAN DAILY

Sunday; November 6, 1955

Sunday, November 6, 1955

THE MICHIGAN

DAILY


welcomes toAmericaTifE
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This

Novel Will

(Continued from Page 14)
Violation of secrets. Adultery,
Violence and murder without ap-
Parent *motivation are mirrored
before the reader's eyes.
Yet the reader does not ques-
tion the validity of the writer's
creation. For this is more, than
writing. It is literature. And in
the strange hinterland between
truth and fiction there is always
the god-awful chasm of knowing.
Stan and Amy emerge from
newly-weds to aged people in this
novel. They have a son and daugh-
ter who grow up, become young
adults themselves, and leave the
farm. The Amy Parker who finally
watches her husband in the throes
of death has imperceptably be-
come an old woman. And their
story moves as life moves, in the
slow unnoticed rhythm. Mr. White
is a connoisseur of time.
And, if not a connoisseur of
women, he at least knows these
baffling, enchanting creatures bet-
ter than most men ever will. This
is an author who has the knack of
crawling into a woman's mind and
sifting her dreams in the fashion
of God eavesdropping between the
clotheslines on. Monday morning.
His is the subtlity of interpreting
the dream without making it pub-
lic property. Each reader feels that-
he-and he alone-shares Amy
Parker's secrets.
But the most baffling of all the
facets of Mr. White's technique
is his method of involving charac-
ters in incidents that are incred-
ibly devoid of motivation, yet end
up both valid and believable.
One of these incidents involves
Leo, the traveling salesman. Leo,
a married man, stops by the Parker
house one summer's day when
Stan is away and the middle aged
Amy is sitting on the porch.
Instead of selling dresses, as he
had planned, Leo soon finds him-
self in the boudoir with an un-
dressed Amy. The reader is not
left doubting, though, that adul-
tery-even among strangers-can
be accomplished quite simply in a
mere fifteen minutes. The only
creature more enigmatic than a
human being, the writer makes his
reader believe, is that human be-
ing's brother and sister.
The height of this particular
mirage of Mr. White's talent is
still to be reached, however, in the
murder of Ray, the Parker's ne'er-
do-well son, at a brothel party. A
strange character enters the room,'

shoots Ray, and departs. This
scene is on a par, both as to its
meaningless and credibility, with
the "acte gratuit" of Gide.
Simple, Unforgettable
People
A WILDERNESS, once inhabited,
has the potential of a neigh-
borhood. The home that Stan,
Amy and the nameless dog carved
among the peppermints, stringy-
barks and turpentines eventually
became just another house along
the road, known to the new peo-
ple as "Parkers." And it is the
neighbors, especially the female
ones, with whom the author brings
off some of his very finest charac-
terization.
There is Mrs. Gage, 'the post-
mistress, afflicted with a husband
who is queer enough to get down
on his knees and study ants, and
who further, exhibits his eccentri-
city by painting pictures of dead
trees, , Jesus Christ and naked
women in oils. Only after his death
when the pictures were sold for a
neat sum does Mrs. Gage realize
her husband might have been
worth something after all.
Then, too, among the neighbors,
there was Doll Quigley and her
brother Bub. "His child's face on a
young man's body-He was ob-
viously good--He had to be taken
and poured from here to there, and
contained by other people, usually
the will of his sister Doll."
But the one unforgettable neigh-
bor of Amy's was the irrepressible
Mrs. O'Dowd. Some very fine hu-
mor comes out of this relationship.
The nasty little digs that she and
Amy poke at each other in the
name of friendship are a tribute
to what men like to term "female
cattiness," and causes the reader
to wonder if friendship among
some women is not more for the
purpose of polishing well concealed
fangs than the pleasure of any
intimacy involved.
But, in the irony of women's
ways, it is Amy who sits by the bed
and holds Mrs. O'Dowd's hand in
the final moments of life.

Even Amy, his wife, knew him but
little better.
It was Amy, though-and Amy
alone--who suspected the sensi-
tivity beneath his almost wooden
features. She had fear, not ad-
miration, for the buried poet in
him-the interred ghost that could
never speak and make thoughts
beautiful with the music of words.
Stan Parker was a self-contained
man and, as such, was a mirror for
Amy's weaknesses. In trying' to
submerge him within herself --
something in which she never suc-
ceeded - Amy was merely en-
deavoring to eradicate the imagery
of her own lack of strength and
honesty.
Amy, in endeavoring to fulfill
her needs by controlling and pos-
sessing her family, lost a son and
never really found a husband. Ray
escaped and became lost rather
than return to the imprisonment
that he found in his mother's
home. Thelma, the daughter of
the family, traded home for a not
too rewarding marriage. Stan,
made of stronger stuff than his son
and daughter, neither escaped nor
suffocated. He survived Amy for a
'hatural death.
Self-contained people are awe-
some because they can afford to be
honest, both with themselves and
with others. They are below con-
formity-and above sham. Amy
rubbed off on her husband, but
never blended. And the reader will
always wonder, as much as Amy
did, just what Stan really thought
of this wife who was greedy for
his love.
Stan Parker was a good man. It
was he who tried to help Ray, his

lemain
punk-gangster son, when Ray was
in trouble. He it was, too, who took
the time to visit the prostitute,
Lola, after Ray had been shot in
her company. One feels that Lola
would have said what she had to
say only to a man of understand-
ing and kindness. And Lola's con-
fiding of her wounded heart to him
was perhaps the greatest tribute
this simple farmer was ever paid.
"How long then, did you know
Ray?" Stan asked.
"All my life," she said with cer-
tainty. "I knew Ray in one body
or another. Sometimes I would
look into his eyes and try to see
what else there was, but I never
succeeded. And when he died, I
was holding that body up, which
was not so different, after all, only
heavier than a man who has taken
all he wants, they sleep then."
LONG BEFORE Stan's death his
wilderness had disappeared. He
was still lost, but seaching-grop-
ing in the maze of the jungle of
the soul. Sitting by the path in his
yard facing the mystery of eternity
these are the words, finally, with
which Stan Parker sums up a life
already spent and ending:
I believe, he said, in the cracks
in the path. On which ants were
massing, struggling up over an
escarpment. But struggling. But
Joyful. So much so, he was trem-
bling. The sky was blurred no*.
As he stood waiting for the flesh
to be loosened on him, he prayed
for greater clarity, and it be-
came obvious as a hand. It was
clear that One, and no other
figure, is the answer to all sums.

.
buried
son, F
goes
"Tl
grown
for ti
down
cause
longe
dead-
"WI
"H
dragg
side i
what?
"It
bread
dom
moth
yellow
behin
thum
apple
cloud
and t
gets 1
Pat
made
ment
Stan
room
their
heroic
But
his b
docur
wome
somet
Tree
the i
spirit
of f
murk
book

Stan Parker dies. And with his sage
death "The Tree Of Man" is both main

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