BOOKS

BOO

NAKED LUNCH, William Burroughs, Grove Press, $6.00, 255 pp.

This is a series of rambling, selfindulgent fantasies, mainly involving drug addiction, with homosexuality running a close second. It is probably the most dirty-worded fiction ever published in this country and will be banned. The homosexual material is purely pictorial, descriptions of sexual scenes. There is no character portrayal, no portrayal of any homosexual society. Aside from the anti-censorship blow struck by the publication of this book, I can see no merit in it, for the literary value is minimal. It should be said, however, that a few critics have found it of great interest from a literary standpoint.

The "beat" (and much could be said on the self-pity and masochism indicated by the choice of that word "beat") writers, it seems to me, substitute shock value for talent, discipline, and art. But shock value gives diminishing returns, especially standing alone, unadorned by any plot, character portrayal, or insights. The mere piling up of the usually forbidden printed words gets boring. I had trouble finishing this book because it kept putting me to sleep. Shocking sexual scenes can be used very excitingly in fiction (and need not be homosexual to shock, of course, as witness the heterosexual scenes in Updike's Rabbit, Run).

It is now an unfortunate fact that in the literary world the three writers most famous for drug addiction are also famous for homosexuality (Cocteau, Genet, and now Burroughs). Whether or not this is by accident, I am not sure, but I am sure many minds will make a connection that will be used as one of the attacks on the homophile movement.

A. E. S.

TWO NOVELS: THE FLOWER BENEATH THE FOOT & PRANCING NIGGER by Ronald Firbank, New Directions, 1962, $1.90.

This is not a review. It is an appreciation. Firbank's brilliant, subtle gymnastics cannot be reviewed. A handful of quicksilver cannot be grasped for analysis, but held, cupped in the palm, one can see one's own image in it-grown somehow mocking and mischievous. Such is the magic of Firbank. He was the gayest homophile ever to write-a blythe and scandalous camp. Yet you will find no four-letter words, hear no rustle of libidinous sheets. He is master of innuendo, of double meaning. He leads the reader to the brink, then *** !!! ???. His style is brittle, inverted, precious. His characters cast no shadow in the sun of reality. His women are mostly ambisextrous, his men faery-fey. His stinging satire is meaningful now only to those of his generation.

To savor and appreciate the wit, charm, humor Firbank's novels must be read carefully with a watchful eye for nuance. Those involved move and talk in seven shades of layender, and few but the knowing know.

FBF: The Queen's eyes had been attracted to the dimpled cheeks of the British Ambassadress. She says: "Is your daughter as sympathetic as her Mama?" "She is shy of the Violet persuasion, but that's not a bad