Man & Society is the biennial publication of The Albany Trust, first issued in spring 1961, with J. B. Priestly, The Rev. Timothy Beaumont, Gordon Westwood, W. Lindesay Neustatter and A. E. G. Wright among its important contributors.

In a recent folder to promote support, The Albany Trust described itself as seeking better health conditions through the wider publication of essential facts about social questions which need constructive action. The Trust is now especially concerned with homosexuality and its problems, by providing material and speakers for the press, radio and television, through publications, etc.

The Trust has sponsored public debates and discussions throughout England. They have invariably found a majority in favor of law reform and greater social understanding. The Trust has been encouraged to start a series of talks with religious, medical and social workers about the possibility of giving more positive help to homosexual people through the establishment of a consultation center in London for those in need of mental, spiritual or medical advice.

Like many of the action groups in the "homophile movement" in the U.S., the Trust is supported from voluntary help and funds entirely from people of good will and dedicated interest. This means it is plagued with the same limitations and faces many of the same problems known to Mattachine and others: Adequate support is mighty hard to come by, and the struggle to exist is a continuous one.

DORIAN BOOK QUARTERLYPublished in January, April, July, and October. Subscription $2 per year ($5 for 3 years), mailed sealed to any address. Published by PAN-GRAPHIC PRESS, 693 Mission Street, San Francisco 5, California.

Telephone: EX 7-0773 Primarily concerned with censorship and the right to read books relating to socio-sexual themes, particularly fiction and non-fiction works on homosexuality and sex-variation topics.

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Dorian

BOOK

QUARTERLY

mattachine REVIEW

FICTION

The

Wrong Place

JOHN E. O'CONNOR

RIGHT AFTER SUNSET and just before the burial detail went to work, the fog began rolling down the huge parallel slopes and piling up in the valley where the outfit had put up for the night. Helmer was grateful for the fog. It made everything easier. Somehow the bodies-the ruined young men, soggy yet stiff-became more remote, and in the dimness it was possible for Helmer to pretend that he was handling not the remains of soldiers so full of brutish life that morning, but sacks of impersonal, indifferent, unliving, undying material: thinking that while hastily grabbing their feet or their shoulders and dropping them carelessly into the seven feet deep wound cut into the jungle soil which needed no more additional life or its former vessels than a pregnant cat's swollen and turbulent womb. The fog had other uses also. It kept him further apart from the others, although already he stood at the most distant reach from their solemn nucleus, and it shielded him for the time being against their rigid glances, once softened with a sort of contemptuous laissez-faire, now implacable and stony in their judgment and perhaps a little bewildered at this perversion of the Darwinian thesis which allowed the slaughter of well-wrought members of the species while it permitted the survival of someone who represented every thing antithetical to their standards and ideals.

When the division was completely made-the dead heaped and sprawled in the ditch, the quick regarding them from their vertical vantage pointsthe order was then given to cover them, and Helmer, along with the others, again gripped his shovel and moved over to the other side of the grave where the excavated earth lay in a long, semi-cylindrical mound, like an ocean wave in its infancy. Spreading themselves along the mound, the men, leaning forward, jabbed their shovels into the loose earth and commenced dumping it over the bodies not with the free-wheeling ease of com21