suddenly finds his "true outlet" through Betty; and David, whose sexual drive has at the very least been ambivalent, is made to show his normality by turning down numerous male offers, many of which are made. during his periods of estrangement from Isobel, times when the bi-sexual would be most likely to yield. In a sense, then, Guy and David are "cured homosexuals." Now, psychiartists are not agreed as to whether homosexuality can be curedthat is, changed to heterosexuality-but even the most optimistic believe that the cure can be achieved only after extensive psychiatric treatment and only with the positive desire of the patient. Neither David nor Guy expresses any such desire or undergoes any such period of adjustment; and of course, how could he under the conditions of disguise which the writer has imposed upon himself? It is quite possible that a homosexual with a long record of overt experience might persuade himself that he had made the change to heterosexuality, but it would seem to be the novelist's obligation to show that this is merely self-deception. The temptations which David experiences after his "change" should have been enough to convince the character himself that his change was only illusory.

I think we may assume that Burns was fully aware of the ambiguity he had created in these two novels and probably of the effect which this had upon the quality of his writing. Why did he do it? Something like the same question could be asked about many modern novelists dealing with homosexual themes, for often even the most sympathetic and explicit treatments distort the general picture of homosexual life as it has gradually been established by surveys and psychological studies. An obvious explanation is that they consider the lot of the invert to be an essentially unhappy one

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and they can therefore see no other conclusion to a story than violence and defeat. Among such sympathetic novels may be mentioned Gore Vidal's The City and the Pillar (1948), Nial Kent's The Divided Path (1949), Loren Wahl's The Invisible Glass (1950), James Barr's Quatrefoil (1950), and Fritz Peters' Finistere (1951). Of the protagonists in these five works, two end their lives by suicide, two by tragic accidents, and one by being murdered. Another explanation may be that the novelist seeks to placate the prejudices of his general reader by treating deviation as a crime against nature, which must be expiated by some tragic consequence. Seldom does he (like Rodney Garland in The Heart in Exile, 1954) have the audacity to imply that the lovers will lead a moderately satisfying life after the novel ends. And of course there is the third possibility that, being a product of the same culture as his public, he may share its feeling of disapproval, consciously or unconsciously. Thus. Burns' treatment of the theme may have resulted at least partly from a conviction that inversion is reprehensible. Therefore he carefully distinguishes his heroes' kind of involvement from those elements of homosexuality which mankind considers most objectionable effiminacy, exhibitionism, and even overt activity (on stage) and finally leads them out of homosexuality altogether.

Whatever his motives, Burns, by his curious disinclination to deal openly with a theme that preoccupied him, followed an excellent first novel with two works far beneath his unquestioned talents. He was quoted in 1948 as saying that his aim as a novelist was to present American life, adding, "It may be a very noble reality if people will look it straight in the face." It seems that he himself failed to do quite that.

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