THE EROTIC REVOLUTION by Lawrence Lipton, Los Angeles, 1965, 322 pps., Sherbourne Press, Inc., $7.50.

If we wonder what kind of hanky panky goes on among those heterosexuals, reading The Erotic Revolution is one way to find out.

Lipton does not confess, in so many words, that he is heterosexual; but I wouldn't put it past him. His book gives the point of view of the less responsible heterosexual.

The Erotic Revolution undertakes the telling of a big story. It gives us a look at a world that needs looking at. Its field of investigation is broad and the information is hard to dig up and assess.

The author has found out many things and he reports them emphatically. Many of the things that he tells are news. He summarizes his findings and draws conclusions-his critics will say he jumps to conclusions.

His revolution (if it be anything more than a minor disaffection) seems to center among college students and to preoccupy them during the hours when they are not studying.

A question that I would like to see cleared up is the students' ages and why they're still schoolboys and schoolgirls. Another question is why out of only 24 hours in a day they can devote so many hours to sexual research, as Lipton calls it.

Children's interests get short shrift in this book: if a child gets born as a result of the goings on that go on in sexual revolutionary circles, that's just the child's bad luck. Apparently the supposition is that contraception and abortion will prevent misadventure.

Another thing viewed light-heartedly is venereal disease, although I infer that Lipton is against it.

Examples of poetry, if that's the word I want, are given in the chapter on Sex and Morals as Reflected in the

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Arts. They may be categorized as different from poetry commonly seen elsewhere. Let's be gentle with these people if they show any disposition to go from bed to verse, let's not discourage them.

In an appendix the author makes some good points against censorship.

This book is not obscene, for it costs $7.50; but if the publishers play their cards right they can get somebody to suppress it, whereupon its sales will undoubtedly go sky high. There are four-letter words in it.

Manuel boyFrank

THAT COLD DAY IN THE PARK, by Richard Miles. Delacorte Press, 195 pages, $3.95. This book is a rarity, one that will appeal to anyone who has secretly harbored the desire of kidnapping a beautiful young boy and keeping him forever and secretly alone. The lead characters are a middle-aged woman, a fifteen year old hustler with the looks of an Adonis and the bedroom skill of a Don Juan, and his would-be lover, an amoral mulatto named Yves who's goal in life is to sell his body as long as he can, and then start selling other peoples'! The relationship between the boys is delicately probed, with an aching realism that lifts the book way above the level of ordinary erotic fiction.

But erotic it is, to anyone who hasn't lost the uses of his senses. The author uses smell, odor, color and the most carefully shaded physical contact to make his love scenes more exciting than any pornography. He's not afraid to be blunt, but there is no dirty word, no crudity to mar the achingly hopeless and yet hope-filled relationships that tangle tighter and tighter until a climax that leaves the reader breathless.

This belongs on your bookshelf with the best of Rechy, Gide, and even Thomas Mann. If you were touched by "Death in Venice," you won't be able