The REBEL VOLUME 3 FALL, 1959 NUMBER 1 Published by the Student Government Association of East Carolina College. Created by the Publications Board of East Carolina College as a literary magazine to be edited by students and designed for the publications of student material. Staff BUSINESS MANAGER Woody Davis EDITOR Dan Williams Know How, When and Where To Save Your Money Profitably SEE US HOME SAVINGS AND LOAN ASSOCIATION 405 Evans St. Greenville, N. C. f Tender, Juicy, Charcoal STEAKS bring the family Private Dining Room For Banquets Seating Capacity Up to 85 Dial PL 2-2185 CINDERELLA RESTAURANT Hwy. 264 Greenville, N. C. FACULTY ADVISOR Ovid Pierce ASSISTANT TO THE EDITOR Jesse Moore BOOK REVIEW EDITOR Sandra Porter EXCHANGE EDITOR Kay McLawhorn ART EDITOR Nelson Dudley ADVERTISING MANAGER Nancy Keith ASSISTANTS TO EDITORS Gail Cohoon Betsy Goodwin Jim Roper Larry Blizzard Lee Lovette Joyce Mustian Pat Farmer Li) CHARGE ACCOUNTS INVITED FORMALS RENTED The College Shop “Clothes To Suit The College Taste” 222 East Fifth Street The REBEL ART NOTICE—Contributors to The REBEL business offices are located at 309’ Austin Building. REBEL REVIEW edited by Sandra Porter Table of Centents COVER, “The Thinker’, by Larry Blizzard REBEL YELL .- FEATURES An Interview with Inglis Fletcher ESSAYS The World of Hemingway by James Bearden Satire of Organized Religion in some of the Writings bee of Sinclair Lewis by Claire Holt La Cuisine Des Anges or My Three Angels by Dr. Roy Prince The Wood Cutter by Dr. Bruce Carter FICTION “Confidentially, Russ Warren” by Tom Carson “Hero” by Tom Jackson i Silent Sentinel (frontice) by Rose Marie Gornto Boats by Emily Neele ___ Bee oS: The Brothers by Larry Blizzard Jam Session by Rose Marie Gornto Steeple by Emily Neele ___. Number One by Nelson Dudley Fear by Rose Marie Gornto POETRY The Masses by Kay McLawhon Do Not Tap Your Tunes by Janice Brand Beware The Treacherous Horizons Song of the Bough by Janice Brand The Light House Re Reviews by Dr. Herbert R. Paschal, Bryan Harrison, Virginia Evans, Hugh Agee, Dr. Hubert Coleman, Sherre Maske. should be directed to P. O. Box 1420, E. C. C. Editorial and Manuscripts and artwork submitted by mail should be accompanied by a self-addressed envelope and return postage. The publishers assume no responsibility for the return of manuscripts or artwork. FALL, 1959 co The REBEL AN INTERVIEW WITH INGLIS FLETCHER One of North Carolina’s most promi- nent novelists, Mrs. Inglis Fletcher, was generous in affording the Rebel a per- sonal interview transcribed on the fol- lowing pages. Mrs. Fletcher’s home, Ban- don which is seventeen miles from Eden- ton, possesses the atmosphere of the old southern plantation. Many of Mrs. Flet- cher’s manuscripts are typed by her hus- band, Mr. John Fletcher, who enjoys her work very much. They are both interest- ed in colonial history, and Bandon con- tains many antiques of that period. Highlighting the long list of Mrs. 1. What aroused your interest in North Carolina history? My grandfather. His name wag Jo- seph Chapman from Tyrrell County. Then he lived in Illinois. On his place he had every tree and plant that grows in N.C. The funny thing about this was that some of these plants are considered weeds here — beautiful trumpet vine across the end of the house—people came for miles to see those; here we try to get rid of them. Joseph Chapman came here in 1688. He had a shipyard on the Alligator River. . Did you feel that North Carolina history had been neglected in fic- tion? Yes, decidedly. My first book really came about while looking in Satro Library in San Francisco. The li- brarian suggested that I write a novel about this section because no one had ever written one with the exception of James Boyd, who wrote a juvenile called Drums. North Carolinians know their own history and they don’t care if anyone else does or not. 3. Could you comment on the locations of your major sources of information? In North Carolina? in England? A great many papers in the Chowan County Courthouse and in Edenton have helped me. Both contain quan- tities of papers filled with informa- ‘tion. Also, the Library of Congress FALL, 1959 iY) Fletcher’s historical novels are: Man of Albemarle, Raleigh’s Eden, Roanoke Hundred, The Scotswoman, and Lusty Wind for Carolina, which was a best- seller. Cormorant’s Brood, her latest nov- el, is superbly reviewed in this issue of the Rebel by Dr. Herbert R. Paschal. An- other of Mrs. Fletcher’s recent releases, Pay, Pack, and Follow, also promises to be widely read. Mrs. Fletcher is repre- sented on the East Carolina campus by two grandchildren, Carolista and Dav- id Fletcher and the University of North Carolina Library. In England, my major source is the British Museum. My first in- formation came from the Huntington Library in Pasedena, where there is a great collection of early colonial material. In connection with this ques- tion perhaps I should tell you of my new method of getting information on the period. Each semester at the University of North Carolina, Dr. Hugh Lefler hag a class which covers this general period. I find out when he is teaching the particular part of the period in which I am interested and I go up and attend his class. This takes about ten days. At the end of this time, after I have “graduated,” I address ‘he graduate students of the class. 4. Do you fee] that the North Carolina background still remains an unde- veloped area in so far as fiction goes? I do, indeed. There could be hundreds of books written even about colonial history prior to the Revolution. I don’t think it has been even touched. 5. What are some of your' favorite books (fiction) on North Carolina life? I don’t know so much about the fic- tion in North Carolina. I know more about the source material. You know, they say that authors don’t read! I think ithe most extremely interpreta- tive books would be The Plantation 6. Do you feel that it helps a novelist 5 10. to have others write about the same area before him? I think you’re better off if you come first. It’s better to have someone else to keep up to you than for you to by Mr. Ovid Pierce and William Polk’s book on Southern Accent. keep up to someone else I was influ- enced by Sir Walter Scott. I still en- joy reading Scott. He is the greatest of all historical novelists. None of the moderns can touch him. His historical facts were not so accurate, but he wrote a terrific story. Now it’s the fashion to keep to the history and in doing this you lose some of the story which really carries the book. So, I think it would help to follow some- one. However, I don’t think it is good to follow anyone too closely because you’ve got to have your own individ- uality and your own methods. . Do you feel that historical fiction imposes an additional burden upon the novelists? It’s much harder to write historical novels because you have to be two things—a writer of fiction and a his- torian. The historical novelist is look- ed down on by critics ag a sort of maverick—one who doesn’t belong to anyone. . Do you feel that your novels offer a pattern for historical fiction, that is, in so far as they reflect varieties of mood and behavior? No, I don’t write to what is called a pattern. I think that in order to get a mood, you must tell other things besides the action without being ob- vious about it. For example, the scen- ery, sounds and smell of a certain locality. This wa'y you put your read- ers in the background. The same thing applies to characters. If you don’t see your characters moving around, talk- ing and acting, you might as well get rid of ‘them because no one else (the reader) will see them. . Do you do much re-writing? Considerable. My trouble is that I have too much material. I rewrote Raleigh’s Eden six times. I started out with 1200 pages and it turned out to be around 500. Do you revise as you go or wait un- til you have finished a manuscript? No, I write it right through. You’d 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. never get to the end of it the other way. Does revision ever change the theme of a novel for you? The theme igs never changed. The theme of all my novels is the same— the land and the freedom that comes from ‘the land. This is just brought out in various ways. Would you discuss your methods? How much do you do a day? I have an organized pattern of writ- ing. I go to work everyday at 9 o’- clock and work until 4 o’clock. No one comes to see or calls until] after 4 o’- clock. The number of pages per day varies. Some days as few as two or three. Ideas come fast when they start. Do you feel that you are exhausting your interest in North Carolina ma- terial ? Oh, no. I could write all around about this part of the country. My origina] idea was to take a family across from England to North America, but I’ve never been able to get my heroes out of North Carolina. Would you be interested in coming up to the Civil War period? the mod- ern period? No, I don’t know anything about the Civil War. I have said publically that I would go no further foward than the signing of the Constitution by North Carolina. One reason I like to write about North Carolina is that it is the purest example of democracy as the founding fathers planned it. I think it is the most democratic state in the Union. Do you submit your manuscripts to your publisher in its completed form or do you send in parts of it as they are completed? That is something I have done both ways. I prefer to send it al] in at one time. That’s the way I give it to my husband. He types all of my manu- scripts in a little two fingered meth- od of his. He never sees the first man- uscript until it is all finished. Do you discuss your work with some- one—perhaps your husband—for pos- sible suggestions or comments? No. Generally, I think lots of people discuss their work with other people. (Continued on Page 20) The REBEL Confidentially Russ Warren by Tom Carson Paris! London! Switzerland! Neuren- burg! He’d seen them all, Russ Warren had. His life as a newspaper reporter had been long and rough. As he leaned over the rail of the ship, he thought of what it was going to be like now: no racing to get that almighty story; no commie on his tail; no sleeping in crummy, second class hotels. He laughed aloud and said, “Those damn hotels.” “Yah, did you speak?” At first Russ thought he had im- agined the voice, but after adjusting his eyes to the fog, he saw standing next to him a girl. Yes, that’s exactly what he sa *: just a girl. He looked closer and saw a plain face. On that face was a nose too large to go unnoticed, sharp blue eyes jutting out from under unplucked eyebrows, and an oversized mouth with lips untouched by rouge. Then there was sleep. Russ awoke with a slow, dull feeling and looked around. Slowly he became He saw standing next to him a girl. FALL, 1959 He decided from her accent that she must be Swedish. A child-like expression crept over her face. “You are American, huh?” she asked. “Sure, American,” Russ answered flat- ly. Evidently the girl didn’t catch the bit- ter sarcasm in his voice. or maybe she was use to it. Russ didn’t know and cared less. “Yah, I know,” she replied. Russ leaned again on the railing. The fog was beginning to lift. The girl went on. Her broken speech, though crude, was spoken carefully, al- most cautiously. “T, too, am going one time to be Ameri- can. Do you go alone? I do, but I hear that in America if you go alone, you not so very long. People are all friends: like you.” Russ Warren, You friendly? This he thought to himself: “Damn,” again aloud, “Naive.” “T know fella. He a soldier. He say you come to America. We have good time there. So I come.” So I come, thought Russ, as easy as as that. Now she’s almost there. So what now? Russ knew the story so well: G.lI’s. occupation, leaves. Russ had always looked forward to those leaves. All of a sudden he found himself re- membering a leave which he hadn’t thought about in ages. He remembered receiving his paper entitling him to forty-eight hours to de- vote to his own leisure — leave. He could remember how he had laughed about hav- ing a whole two days to paint the town a fire-truck red. There’d been only one problem, no town. Oh sure, there was a hint of a village two or three miles up the side of ‘a moun- tain. That was one time he had wished to be right in the middle of the hottest war 7 - er fought. He’d been out covering an assignment which carried him out in the middle of nowhere, and here he was stuck for two miserable days. But after thinking it over, Russ had decided to try to paint the village a rosy hue if not a fire-truck red. The snow fell softly around him ag he made his way up the mountainside. It seemed as if he had walked a mil- lion miles, when Russ saw the village: five houses on one side of the little path, on the other side sat the center of activi- ty, the Inn. Russ walked up on the wooden porch of the Inn and hit his heavy combat boots against the wooden railing encircling the porch. A light shining through a tiny window and from under the door made a patch- work pattern on the freshly fallen: snow. The door swung open before Russ could knock, and standing in the door- way was a tall, big-framed man. “Welcome, friend. Bad night, yah?” “Yah,” mumbled Russ and walked in. A warm bright flame leaped and danced in the huge, old-fashioned fireplace at the far end of the long room. The furnishings were scant and un- attractive, but there was an atmosphere of home and Russ liked it. Before realizing it, Russ was out of his coat, hat, gloves, and boots and sitting in a tall, straight back chair in front of the fire. The old man had not said another word since his welcome, and Russ was begin- ning to feel like a bug under glass studied by a biology student. Suddenly the old man called to another room, shouting excited commands. Russ looked toward the door where a young girl stood. She was_ shabbily dressed but carried herself in a graceful manner. She carried a beer mug on a wooden tray. The old man rattled off something in Swedish. She answered and brought the mug over to Russ and curtsied. “Papa say he hopes you warm again.” He glanced at her. She was plain, all right, but she had a tranquility about her which couldn’t have been mistaken for ignorance. 8 “Sure,” Russ answered and took the mug, brimming over with foam. “My name Katrine,’ she murmured and sat down on a small scatter rug near the fire. “He doesn’t speak English?” he asked, nodding his head at the old man gazing intently at him. “Niah, Papa he only learn few words from soldiers that come through.” Russ looked at her questioningly. He wondered how she had learned the lan- guage so well. She must have understood because she continued, “I young. I learn English easy and very good, huh?” “Yes,” he said. “Do you and the old man live here alone,” Russ asked, not knowing why. Perhaps he was just trying to make con- versation. “Papa and me always live here.” Her eyes saddened as she continued, “One time Papa, Mama, and me live here.” He didn’t ask what had happened to her mother, but she continued. “Mama die. She just die. Papa and me miss her, but Papa say Mama in better place, now, so we still happy.” Russ sat there wondering and amazed how such a child and an old man could find such peace when all around them everything was in such turmoil and con- fusion. Katrine refilled the beer mug, then poked the fire, adding a few logs from off the side of the hearth. “You from the city?” she asked and her eyes brightened with interest. He looked at her. He thought carefully before he spoke. How could he tell her of the horror, of the brutality of the world she had never seen. Russ glanced down again. He supposed the beer, mellow with age, had the same affect on him. He talked and talked, Lord knows about what, and she sat there, never taking her eyes from his face. Russ just knew he made things beautiful and pleasant. He did remember saying something about America. aware of the Inn with its rustic atmos- phere, and he remembered where he was. He sw the fireplace in which lay the burned, charred logs. Then he glanced down. There lay Kat- rine, her head resting on the scatter rug. The REBEL She had curled up to keep warm when the fire had gone out. Over his legs someone had laid a big, plaid blanket. Somehow as he sat there, he knew he had to leave this place or he’d stay. He couldn’t remember what he had said and that worried him. He quickly rose from the chair and made his way over to the table on which lay his clothing. Noiselessly he slipped everything on. The old man stirred a little but didn’t wake when he opened the log slatted door. Russ walked down off the porch and out onto the path, trackless from the new- fallen snow. He didn’t look back because he knew that if he had he would have returned. He looked down to see his ring was gone, but even that did not matter at this point. The rocking of the ship brought Russ back into the present, but he could still see that little Inn. He chuckled to himself remembering. Suddenly the chuckle was gone and a sharp pang of guilt came over him. His mind returned to the girl standing beside him and to her problem; at least he considered it a problem. Russ thought: I must be getting soft. How can I tell her that all G.I.’s look alike in the khakis. He remembered his uniform. He also remembered how he had never been cov- ered with frontline dirt. Understanding, he hadn’t complained. Reporting all dur- ing the war had been his “baby.” There had been enough human interest back of the lines to keep him busy. Somehow he never got away from re- porting. In civies he had still plugged away at it, that is, until recently. The main office had politely, for his health, they said, relieved him of his job. One thing Russ Warren had never done was pretty up a story. The guys at the office had weak stomachs, he had reasoned. Russ glanced up in time to see the girl’s eyes straining into the distance. He thought to himself, what sort of person was this guy who could bring such hope to a person? He knew he could never be that convincing. “How big America?’ “Big enough, kid. Look.” Russ pointed FALL, 1959 to the New York skyline which appeared to be big toy blocks stacked in various sizes and shapes in the gray morning fog. The girl clamped one hand over her mouth. Russ noticed her large, bony hand held tightly over her mouth. He could almost feel her tremble with excitement and anticipation. Then he saw it. On one finger of her hand was a ring. One like his, only he had lost his. He stopped suddenly. There went that pang again. Had he lost it, or given it away? His cheeks felt hot and his eyes burned. He suddenly knew that that was his ring. Without thinking, Russ thrust out his hand towards where the girl was stand- ing. There was nothing there, nothing at all! He just knew he couldn’t have dreamed it. The fog had lifted! Maybe you do need a rest, Russ War- ren thought. 4A wr > LL) 2 type Olt LD Standing in the doorway was a tall, hig-framed man. The REBEL 10 Rebel Yell With the new school year, the Rebel has taken on a new face. This issue and those following will endeavor to present a more comprehensive view of East Carolina Col- lege and reach more fully its members. Basic changes in policy will be evident in this issue by larger faculty representa- tion, national advertising, and increased publication. Through the efforts of an increased staff, the Rebel hopes to bring you during the school year a better mag- azine giving non-collegiate readers a more favorable introduction ‘to East Carolina College. The fall issue includes several articles contributed by faculty members. Dr. James Prince is the author of “La Cuisine Des Anges and My Three Angels,” a critical essay dealing with the compari- sons of the original French play and the popular production. The business depart- ment is represented by James H. Bearden with “The World of Hemingway.” Mrs. Claire Holt, wife of registar Robert Holt, presents her work on the organized re- ligion theme of Sinclair Lewis. Student contributions are deservedly noteworthy in this issue. Kay McLawhon, winner of the Second Congressional Dis- trict Book Prize presented by the Poetry Council of North Carolina, contributes her award-winning poem, “The Masses.” Janice Brand also adds some of her poetic work. In view of the increased interest in North Carolina literature, an interview with Inglis Fletcher is included. Conduct- ed by staff member, Gail Cohoon from Columbia, N. C., the interview deals with Mrs. Fletcher’s approach to writing and her attitudes on contemporary literature. This should be of particular interest to aspiring writers and literary enthusiasts. For fiction lovers, short stories by Tom Carson and Tom Jackson may be found. The book review section has been FALL, 1959 enlarged to meet the demand for more complete coverage. These should provide a larger area of interest for amateur and professional work. Nelson Dudley, junior from Greenville, heads the newly organized art depart- meant for the Rebel. His assistants, Jim Roper and Larry Blizzard, are well-known for their previous art work. By posing for the fall cover, Jim Roper illustrates his talents as a “thinker” as well as an ar- tist This first issue carries a special wel- come to the freshmen. In many respects the Rebel and you are both embarking on a new experiment. We will need the combined efforts of the faculty and older students to firmly acclamate ourselves into East Carolina College. However, above all else the Rebel will need the sup- port of you, the freshmen, to become the type of magazine worthy of your partici- pation. The staff welcomes you to the college and to the magazine. Contribute actively in both to make both an integral part of your college life. With student and faculty co-operation the Rebel hopes to entertain, enlighten, and instruct its readers during the year. By increasing the exchange program be- tween national and collegiate magazines, the Rebel will serve as an example of the student-faculty talents at East Carolina College. To correctly present the total view of the college, faculty contributions will be presented. This does in no way alter the initial purpose of the Rebel as a student publication. The policy has been put into motion and the exchanges have been mailed; the worth of the Rebel now rests in the hands of you, the stu- dents. It is primarily dedicated to your efforts and ultimately designed for your benefit. Only. through your interest can the Rebel hope to achieve its creative potential. 11 12 THE MASSES The Masses Entangled Entwined In that clinging, engulfing trap of footless netting, Grasping Clutching Octagonal shapes of pliable, yet impenetrable threads, Caught within its sticky grip Hurling Stumbling Fighting against the force inevitable. Let them fight. They are the masses whose pious, hypocritical reasoning Means nothing to the net which binds them all with its Silent grip. Their cries and sounds of fury beat against the walls and Resound again As though the net-wall were an echo chamber of all their Moanings. The net is unmoved by the masses huddled there And with camouflaged strength it holds them in steel bondage Deafened to their outraged fury and even to their cries of repentance. DO NOT TAP YOUR BEWARE THE TUNES TREACHEROUS HORIZONS Do not tap your tunes upon this wall Beware the treacherous horizons. They daily and intently swim however delicate. back within their casual beginnings. Beware the horizons. The silver egg is They swim convexly, nullity you will not break its shell. lizard-lipped and grim. Jaws wide, they clamp upon the tails of their origins. The REBEL The World of Hemingway by James Bearden In his critical biography of Ernest Hemingway, Phillip Young says: “Every true novelist has a world of some kind, an imaginary vision of some sphere or scene of life and action which his indivi- sual has caused him to see, and which tie re-creates in fiction. This is his equiva- lent for what, if he wrote philosophy, would be a system of ideas. He sees a kind of life going against some _ back- ground, and he tries to make it coherent and dramatic. He induces us to see it all through his eyes, and after we have done this we ask ourselves questions about the breadth of his vision and the depth of his perspective. We ask if this is a real world, one we can recognize, and accept. A characteristic not of the world of Ernest Hemingway is his love for the good earth, of cool streams, of clean air, of the fresh smell of woodlands, and of the challenge of a long hike. It is this same type of thing that annually lures the office-ridden and the factory work- ing city dweller to the streams and moun- tains of parks and vacation spots through- out the country. In this phenomenon is found a kind of instinctive admission that man is a creature of earth and derives his strength and physical well-being from intimate contact with her. The words of Hemingway convey so exactly the taste, smell, and feel of ex- perience as it was, that we unconsciously translate our own senzations into their terms. This intense awareness of the world of the senses is one of the things that makes his work seem so fresh and pure. The beauty of the physical world is a back- ground for the human predicament, and this beauty usually represents some form of compensation possitle in the midst of the predicament. Hemingway’s world, ultimately, is a world at war. Sometimes it exists in the literal sense of armed and calculated con- flict, and sometimes it exists figuratively FALL, 1959 as marked everywhere with violence, potential or present. In the early stories and novels Hem- ingway was able to realize all he knew in terms of his first education at war. It served him as a barricade against every emotion. The code of hig best heroes was the code of war. Either the war went fine, or it went badly. If a man broke down in the war, if his nerves went to pieces under pressure, then he was lost. If he behaved badly in the peace, he was also lost. In The Sun Also Rises there emerges apart from the war of guns and munitions a war between men and women. This too is a conflict that continues through all Hemingway. Through story after story it is love that defeats man of his heroes. As for the typical characters of Hem- ingway’s world, they are usually tough men, experienced in the hard worlds they inhabit, and not obviously given to emo- tional display or sensitive shrinking. Or if the typical character is not of this seasonal order, he is a very young man, or boy, first entering the violent world and adjusting to it. The typical character faces defeat or death. But out of defeat or death the characters usually manage to salvage something. His heroes are not defeated except under their own terms. They are not cowards, and when they confront de- feat they realize that the stance they take means a kind of victory. If they are to be defeated, they are defeated upon their own terms. They represent a code, some brand of honor, that makes a man, and that is his claim to the realm of distinc- tion. “T did not care what it was all about. All I wanted to know was how to live it.” The heroes of Hemingway live in a world beyond moral good and evil. Liquor fails to break down this emotional imper- viousness, and they are men of action rather than thinkers. In most of the cen- 13 tral figures there is a hint of the anti- social and loneliness. Typical of the “victory-in-defeat”’ con- cept is Robert Jordan, in For Whom the Bell Tolls, as he appears happy lying wounded behind a machine gun covering the escape of his friends and his sweet- heart. Similarly, in The Sun Also Rises, Lady Brett Ashley has her moment of virtue when she renounces the seduction of a young bullfighter interpreting her sacrifice to Jake Barnes as, “you know it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.” Again in The Old Man and the Sea the central figure, an old fisherman, though defeated in his attempt to reach the mainland with his tremen- dous catch, emerge the victor. Hemingway’s character is character- ized in a statement he once made, “There is honor among pickpockets and honor among whores. It is simply that the stan- dards differ.” The situation in this world of Heming- way is usually violent. There is the hard- drinking and sexually promiscuous world of The Sun Also Rises; the chaotic and brutal world of war as in A Farewell to Arms; For Whom the Bell Tolls, and many of the sketches of In Our Time; the world of sport, as in Fifty Grand, and My Old Man; the world of crime, as in The Gambler, The Nun, and The Radio. Even when the story does not fall into one of these categories, it usually involves a desperate risk, and behind it is the shadow of ruin. Maxwell Geiswer said that in creat- ing this situation Hemingway “emerges most clearly as the artist of disaster, the poet of catastrophe, the natural histor- ian of the organism that seeks to die in its own way.” Hemingway’s principle opposition has come from ‘those who have attacked him for being pessimistic, bitter and for paint- ing only a dark picture of life. Some dis- paragement of his works stems from his expatriation. Perhaps the “good life” has not been elucidated with the same vigor as the tragic tone, but his portray- als have been real. The scene shifts in the situations, but the violence remains the typical condi- 14 tion of life. This tragic sense is the one factor in his craft that sets him apart from writers of the “ordinary life.” In a period which has been dominated by the view of man’s ultimate and certain triumph, the ability of Hemingway to maintain this tragic spirit has been as- tounding. It is quite possible that Hemingway commands most respect as a stylist. The style characteristically is simple, both in diction and sentence structure. The words are chiefly short and common ones, and there is a severe and austere econ- omy in their use. Hemingway has put the raw language of the street, the pool- room, the barracks, and the brothel into modern literature. The typical sentence is a simple declarative sentence, or a couple of these joined by a conjunction. The paragraph structure is usually based on simple sequence. The rhythmic, clipped march of sentences contributes to his narrative power. The simplicity of style makes for much imitation, but it also is a style that keeps out of sight the intelligence behind it. The sequence in which events are des- cribed is the sequence in which they oc- curred. Writing in Death in the After- noon of his apprentice days in Paris he put it this way: “IT was trying to write then and I founa the greatest difficulty, aside from know- ing what you really felt, rather than what you were supposed to feel, and had been taught to feel, was to put down what real- ly happened in action: what the actual things were which produced the emotion that you experienced .. . the real thing, the sequence of motion and fact which made the emotion . . . I was trying to learn to write, commencing with the simplest things.” Many characteristics can be listed in the makeup of this style. Impersonal tone, objectivity, immediacy, and econo- my of prose are butt a few of the multi- farious elements that characterize Hem- ingway’s work. For good or for bad Hem- ingway has maintained this style. It has become his trademark; it is Hemingway the man. In the field of literature, Hemingway, (Continued on Page 31) The REBEL