sence of state subsidies. But the neccessity of mitigating the misery of the already overpopulated countries may yet outweigh other considerations.

Thomas M. Merritt

WARREN, DICKIE and COMPANY a few random thoughts re the fictional invert

Although this may merely seem to be a convenient peg on which to hang a string of random thoughts, I would like to begin by discussing certain aspects of a recent novel. The Side of the Angels, by Alexander Federoff, is, I suspect, a bit of an outcast in the eyes of its fellow works of fiction. The author has produced that almost forgotten work, the panoramic novel, and he has done a commendable job in many ways. His attempt to present a picture of the confused years from the close of World War II to the nearpresent comes within a remarkable distance of complete success. With this novel, Mr. Federoff places himself in direct opposition to the current trend toward small-scaled, introverted novel-ism. For this reason alone he deserves credit, whatever percentages one assigns to his ultimate success or failure.

But the most striking aspect of The Side of the Angels in this particular context, is the remarkable truth and honesty which the author brings to his portrayal of two homosexual characters, one major, and one less so. A novel which embraces such a grandiose canvas is a rare enough event; how much more infrequent is a clear and straightforward treatment of the homosexual in a popular (perhaps that word should be in quotes) novel.

Mr. Federoff gives us Warren Taggart, presenting him first as a somewhat out-of-place soldier during the

one

final weeks of the war. At this point Warren is still unaware of the segment of his being which is to lead him violently into a completely new way of life. The product of wealthy Cleveland aristocracy, he as yet has no understanding of his deep homosexual bent. In his first appearance he is tossed accidentally into the company of a virile, attractive soldier who introduces him to his first whore (female). Warren finds himself attracted to this young man without understanding why, and here his development begins, however unconsciously.

When we next meet him, he has returned to the socialite life of his parents and acquaintances, although without finding the satisfactions his upbringing had led him to expect. During this period, he examines his feelings of apartness, even attempting to analyze them with his father, and finally makes the momentous decision. He leaves the family hearth, the logically chosen fiancee, and the planned future; all this is dropped as he moves to New Orleans. Here, during the turbulent sensuality of Mardi Gras, he finds the missing portion of himself through his meeting with a young man who is connected with the State Department. (Does this ring a bell with anyone in view of recent history?) Any further detailing of the story would spoil what should be a fast-moving and interesting reading experience.

But this leads to what might be called the core of my discussion. I am intrigued with the wealth of honestly presented detail which makes up the story of Warren Taggert's growth as an individual. Such a straightforward presentation of the emotions and actions of a developing homosexual would not have been possible in any novel until recent years. And even today it is rare to find such candor in a work so obviously directed at the mass audience.