EDITOR: AITRT.-UI ETCTTNER
THE EMERALD MAGAZINE
DIRECTOR: S. STEPHENSON RMTTTT
UNIVERSITY OF OREGON, EUGENE, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1935
In Beqinnmq
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We start with a clean page. We
have no predecessor to measure
up to. We must establish cur own
traditions.
We. aim to serve, as best we can,
as your campus critic- the Emer
ald Magazine. The magazine does
not plan to have you agree with
its critical comments, nor neces
sarily disagree. We will present
our own ideas and opinions of cur
rent things in the line of books,
motion pictures, plays, magazines,
art and music, and on occasion in
any other field which seems to de
serve our praise or criticism.
We aim to stimulate the student
interest in things of this nature.
We will serve as a medium
through which, if you learn to
trust our judgment, you may
choose what things you will see
or hear.
Boordl Boms
College Storij
Condemned by educational di
rectors as unfit for student con
sumption, “Passions Spin the
Plot,” the second volume in a tet
ralogy by Vardis Fisher, an Idaho
author, has been removed from the
Montana university library shelves
ai the instigation of John L. Mor
ris, former Montana university in
structor.
Morris, a teacher in the social
science department who was re
leased within a month from his du
ties at the University, read sev
eral excerpts from the book to the
board anIT pronounced it improper.
Agnes Wigginhorn, secretary to
the educational group, completed
examination of the volume in ques
tion and on the motion of Commis
sioner W. M. Johnston, the board
with the exception of one member
ordered its complete expurgation.
“Passions Spin the Plot” treats
farm life in the raw; its central
theme being the emotional life of
Vridar Hunter, the main charac
ter. Fisher, to date, has had six
books published.
A Slice of
Life
“WE ARE BETRAYED,” by
Vardis Fisher. Caldwell, Idaho,
and Garden City, Now York. The
Caxton Printers, Ltd. and Dou
bleday, Doran & Company, Ino.,
1034. 300 pages. $2.50.
Someone has said of this book:
“If I were 22 T would think this
novel powerful,” but regardless of
the reader’s age, “We Are Be
trayed,” the third volume in a
tetralogy by Vardis Fisher, should
have a wide range of appeal for
here is dismissed and laid bare the
struggle of a man for honesty,
worth, and meaning in life: his
search for a philosophy, religion,
or creed in which he can trust. The
first two books, “In Tragic Life”
and “Passions Spin the Plot” dealt
with Vridar Hunter’s childhood and
his emotional life, the latest book
is of his intellectual, his spiritual
adult life and Fisher keenly de
picts the battle between the two
sides of Vridar’s nature: idealist
and realist for the attainment of
self-understanding.
Discards Ideals
Vridar is in the process through
all the book of discarding his her
itage of ideals and sense of infe
riority, yet his intellectual ambi
tion spurs him on to further dis
I appointments in himself and Neloa,
his wife. The story of the love
Neloa and Vriclar have for each
ether and the torture this intense
love involves leads to a climax
which is about the last word in
tragedy. However, the pathos of
the tragedy is a little dulled be
cause Fisher has drawn so many
agonizing moods in the pages be
fore.
The book is interesting not only
from the standpoint of an honest
and, sometimes, harsh description
of a morbidly sensitive personal
ity, but because there are many
contemporary references in it to
fraternity life, colleges, professors,
and modern thought. Fisher him
self attended the University of
Utah and the University of Chi
cago and has been instructor of
English at the former college and
New York university. He follows
the Northwest regional trend now
ir existence toward writing of
what one knows about and of the
country with which one is best fa
miliar.
Effective Style
Fisher’s style is plain and ef
fective in this story of one man’s
life. A realist to the core, he
touches upon all subjects dealt
with in the same rather brutal
manner, portraying life as he sees
it. At present, he is involved in a
censorship fight in Montana and
his books are the object of great
comment throughout the book
world.
Those who look for sincerity in
a book will find it here and an
ticipation of the sales of the next
book in the tetralogy coming off
the press soon should cause a pub
lisher’s heart to expand.
R. STORLA.
“ASYLUM,” by William Seabrook:
New York; Harcourt, Brace;
1935; 263-XIII.
Frankness, at once a virtue and
a fault, underlies the sometimes
tragic humor of “Asylum.” The
account of a self-committed dunk
ard’s seven months’ stay in a
large public institution, “Asylum”
is a breaking-up of many popular
beliefs concerning mental hospi
tals. The background is supplied
by half-mad companions, minor
feuds, and lucid descriptions of
method.
Seabrook, author of adventure
nnd travel tales, jokes his way
through another true adventure,
with the laugh, semi-tragic as it is,
on himself.
The day he entered lie wanted
to leave, and said so in no uncer
tain terms. The day he left he
wanted to go back, and tells why
in his preface. "They now call
if a ‘mental hospital,’ as all such
places do—but asylum is still
what everybody knows it is, and
it proved so truly an ‘asylum’ for
me that I have a friendly feeling
for the good old word. Asylum
from the storm; sanctuary; ref
uge . . . That's why I call this book
"Asylum.”
J. SMITH.
Fire-fighting crews in Paris now
are equipped with movie cameras. '■
The cameras are rushed to each 1
fire covered and movies are made 1
of the progress in putting it out. <
Flaws in the work of the firemen 1
are picked out when the film is '
shown later. 1
Send the Emerald to your friends, s
RECENT BOOK REVIEWS
“I SPEAK FOR THE SILENT
(Prisoners of the Soviet)” by
Vladmir Tchernavin. Boston,
New York. Hale, Cushman, and
Flint, 1035. 368 pages. Trans
lated from Russian by Nicholas
Duskakoff.
When Lenin and his associates,
after snatching control of what is
now known as the U.S.S.R., bowed
the knee before the hopefully re
posed idol of Science, they were
not altogether consistent in their
promises of affection. Now comes
a complaint from one of Science’s
prophets, registered through “I
Speak for the Silent.”
M. Tchernavin, as an “expert”
on the Soviet staff, was connected
with a fisheries project in north
ern Russia, when unappreciative
officials stepped in and hustled
him off to prison in a general li
quidation drive on scientists of du
bious political beliefs. How he
spent his time as an exile in east
ern Russia under the confining
concentration camp routine, and
tow he escaped, are merely back
ground material for more impor
tant issues woven skilfully into the
text.
Commercially, it would seem,
theSoviet is encountering- rocky
roads. M. Tchernavin asserts that
scientific promotion of industries
is impossible under the untrained
bureaucracies that infest the Com
munistic regime. Petty officials
spend most of their time currying
favor of their superiors, and veto
the trained opinions of the few ex
perts that are left on the scene.
Because of this, the much-publi
cized Five Year plan was a dis
mal failure, if we are to believe
the author. He points out that the
production quotas were set ridic
ulously high, and that statistics
became a farce.
An interesting discussion of the
sociological aspects of the Soviet
program follows. The old adage,
“one rotten apple spoils a barrel
of good apples”—of all things!—is,
in effect, the substance of M.
Tchernavin’s complaint. The au
thor decries the unplanned confine
ment which throws together the
scum and flower of Russia. We
have an idea that what really sours
M. Tchernavin is that Stalin was
partial toward the scum.
This book will not make inter
esting reading for those who are
partisans to stories of small chil
dren butchered by heartless Com
munists. It will, however, furnish
ui adequate idea of the Com mu
list politico-economic policy, in a
■are and original manner. A stu
dent priding himself on a thorough
knowledge of conditions in Russia
should peruse this book—for pleas
ire and profit.
G. JONES.
'THE LAND OF PLENTY” by
Robert Cantwell. Ferrar & Rine
hart, New York, 1934. 369 pag
es. $2.50.
The lights in the door factory of
l far western town went out. At
east fifty men in various parts of
he building muttered “dirty son
■f a bitch!” The women, a little
nore refined, came forth with
hells, and bastards.” Thus it all
iegan, in “The Land of Plenty,”
simple incident gave vent to
eething labor dissatisfaction, that
H recked Car Tells of Roosevelts' Narrow Escape
John. I<>. ami .anies Koosevelt, JH, sons of President Koosevelt. riding in the roadster pictured above
hud a narrow escape from (truth and sutferrd only slight injuries when the so apparent damaged was in
flicted. I he car was crushed against the post of a safety gate at a railroad crossing in Boston when
.Johns quick-wit ted# driving averted a broadside collision with the speeding train. He had crashed
through the gate in a mad drive to catch a New York-bound plane.
for months had been brewing in
the factory. Throughout the novel
the action gathers momentum, un
til the final impact causes a clash
between bosses and workers—a
strike, and all its trimmings;
scabs, pickets, sabotage, police,
riots—and death!
“The Land of Plenty,” in its
swift, terse style, voices the cry
and pathos of the American work
ing man, and echoes the groans of
the capitalistic system caught in
the embarrassing mess of the de
pression.
The author, Robert Cantwell,
shows deep understanding of lives
on both sides of the railroad
tracks. His book is a literary can
vas which pictures, in splashing
colors, the working man in the
raw; his poverty, depravity, and
tlie lust of unadulterated passions.
The laborers’ antagonism and bit
terness towards their bosses, and
the bosses' returned compliments
to the workers, furnish a none too
pleasing background.
It is a stirring drama of labor
and capital—with sex and class
struggles as the dominating theme,
and lives—minds and souls twisted
and gnarled by the economic sys
tem as the stumbling, mumbling,
muttering actors.
H. HORAK.
Helpless Youtli
Satjs Pitkin
"NEW CAREERS FOR YOUTH”
by Walter Pitkin, Simon and
Schuster.
In an attempt to wave a red
flag before the eyes of certain
young people who seem intent up
on rushing headlong into profes
sions which he terms overcrowded,
Walter Pitkin waxes serious, nay
eloquent. In his book "New Car
eers for Youth” he casually erases
all hopes for the youth who choses
law, medicine, journalism, profes
sional music, or straight engineer
ing.
Mr. Pitkin talks with the air of
an authority, the air of one who
looks, sighs, wags his head, and
sets about to do something about
the situation. What he does about
this over-supply of semi-educated
youth no doubht satisfies his own
sense of "I’ve Done My Part,” but
his solutions may not be so tasty
to youth itself. Among his sugges
tions for new fields of endeavor
are those of farm manager, mana
gers of way-side inns, industrial
artists and the like.
Sounds Logical
While Mr. Pitkin’s book is filled
with information which sounds
very logical and oppressing, one
cannot overlook the fact that the
same illustrious Mr. Pitkin has,
iespite his extensive research, all
but disregarded those fields of en
Jeavor which are just now open
ing to the educated young person,
rhe opportunities presented by
vay of new inventions, television,
rirplane and mechanical develop
nent are honored with but a page
n the entire book. But does Mr.
rhtkin defy this prediction without
jenefit of black and white statis
ts?
Explaining that the present
economic condition in regard to
youth is the result of deficiencies
of our preparatory schools, Mr.
Pitkin says, “Few Americans have
been educated in high schools and
college. They have frittered away
precious years over trifles, frills,
inanities, and worse. They have
been under the tutelage of frosty
old maids whose worldly wisdom
could hardly be found if spilled in
to a thimble.”
Black Picture Painted
Altogether, Mr. Pitkin has
painted one of the blackest pic-1
tures which could possibly be laid
at the doorstep of the young per
son of college age today. Unless
one be mathematically or mechan- i
ically inclined, which would enable
one to relish the jobs Mr. Pitkin
lists, he might just as well put in
his application for a position in
the bread line.
Benevolently, the author makes
exceptions for the genius in every
thing that he says, in which class
one feels that he places himself.
But for the rest of us, it's “Back
to the kennel, middle-man.”
M. PETSCH.
“DEEP DARK RIVER." by Rob
ert Rylee. New York. Farrar &
Rinehart. 1935. $2.50.
"No man wants to be free." in
sists Mose Southwick, the negro
character used by Robert Rylee in
“Deep Dark River" to express the
melancholy outlook of the colored
people, and show the hopelessness
of their lot.
The religious enthusiasm of
Mose, who is almost white, puts
him perfectly at ease in a pulpit,
but his simple and trusting out
look on life and his faith in his
neighbors makes him an ea.sy
prey of unscrupulous and faster
thinking negroes.
Mose managed to eke out a fair
1> comfortable existence by work
ing in a gravel pit, but he lost his
job and went farther north where
he was employed on a plantation.
Not long after this Mose was over
taken by the usual fate of man;
he met a woman whom he thought
he must have, and then his trou
bles began.
At the close of the story he is
still in prison, his fate somewhat
indefinite, but somehow the read
er feels perfectly satisfied that
the tale should end this way, for
Mose is content to work on in his
particular patch of cotton, medi
tate on deep subjects, and preach
to his fellow prisoners.
The excellent portrayal of this
main character puts the reader al
most on speaking terms with him.
Clara Winston, the white lawyer
who attempted to help Mose, is
also very naturally portrayed.
The life of this negro who has
to struggle against the prejudices
of the whites and cannot use his
strongest argument, that of fight
ing for his wife, to secure his free
dom, is surely a “Deep Dark
River.”
L. ANDERSON.
“WHILE ROME BURNS,” by Al
exander Woollcott. New York.
The Viking' Press, 1934. 328
pages. $2.75.
Rome and foolish Nero knew
nothing of the woe that would be
fall them throughout the remain
der of history through the fiddler’s
irresponsibilities, and little did
they think that history would re
peat in a lighter and more truly
amusing vein.
Woollcott opens his collection of
anecdotes in “While Rome Burns”
telling the tale of the little mon
ster who collected his antiques not
in his own Toledo of Spain but in
Toledo, Ohio. It is indeed another
example of being able to dig dia
monds in your own back yard.
He reveals some of Kathleen
Norris’ personal traits, too, in his
neighborhood gossip section. Mrs.
Norris’ works will have an added
touch of reality when Woollcott’s
readers recall the scathing way in
which hse turned the prank intend
ed for her.
The critic’s linguistic qualities
which he so faithfully maintains in
bold print allow his own self to
add richness and quality to other
characters which he frankly en
joys and through his enthusiasm
allows others to enjoy.
“Journey’s End” which thrilled
theater goers a few years ago by
the vivid picturing of World War
days receives its acclaim in this
tvork. A few of the incidents
prior to the play's production
ibout which Woollcott tells gives
;ven another side of that famed j
play. ;
Alexander Woollcott carries us
through many incidents of his and
other’s lives picturing the un
known side of many characters
dear to contemporary Americans.
Always his pen is poised in the
critical but friendly angle. His is
the jovial critic's role, and he nev
er branches into the heavy or
sticky type.
The book is one of entertain
ment with a mind to life as the
author and the present generations
find it today.
In some countries mineral wa
ter costs more than wine, but at
Altheide in Germany it is so plen
tiful that the streets are sprin
kled with mineral water.
An electric charge is like a la
bel on a trunk. It does its work
;f it only sticks until delivered.
1936
Plymouths
Now on Display at : i
M. BLACKBURNE.
BROWN
MOTOR CO.
195 East Broadway
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Siicli Things
Are Bod
By BILL BARKER
Rod had taken Lenore to his
apartment. They could cook there.
It was just as he had told her as
they drove up. "We can cook
here,” he said. And Lenore be
lieved him. But oh God, how long
she had wanted to believe in some
thing like this.
It was a brisk evening and
smoke was rising from neighbor
ing chimneys symbolically as they
climbed the stairs to the apartment
and the warmth it offered. Even
the radiator was steaming as they
entered the room.
"Steam,” said Rod, pointing to
the tangle of animated pipe. "I
th4nk I’ll turn it off.”
'“Yes,” said Lenore with a world
of expression in her face.
Rod stooped over by the radia
tor. He might have been tying a
shoe-string, but he wasn’t. He was
twisting a thing ... the nob.
"It’s off,” he announced.
“What?” asked Lenore.
“The steam,” he mentioned. “It’s
off.”
“Oh yes,” she answered.
Rod struck a match and stooped
over the fire-place. The match
went out. He lit another and
touched it to the paper. It flared
up, burned, and then the feathery
ashes turned over and died.
He reached over and turned on a
dim, mellow light. “Have to have
lights,” he announced. And then
gazing into the fire-place he add
ed, “no wood.”
Lenore gazed into the fire-place.
Rod came with an armful of wood
and soon the fire was blazing.
Some of the sticks were on fire.
“It’s burning,” said Rod.
"I like fires,” breathed Lenore
in the heavy dusk as he turned out
the light.
They were sitting on the daven
port pulled closely up to the fire
place. They gazed into each other’s
eyes. Rod’s soul was on fire. Le
nore’s soul was on fire. The dav
enport was on fire.
“I think we’d better move,” said
Rod.
A tear came into her eyes. “Oh
must we?” she pleaded. Now they
were coming down her cheeks. She
even was coughing from the
smoke.
Rod filled a dish-pan full of wa
ter and threw it on the davenport.
Lenore started filling the bath
tub, but gave it up. It was too
heavy to carry in.
Finally it was out and the
smoke was hovering up near the
ceiling. Lenore gazed at it through
romantic eyes and thought that it
looked like the back room of a
cigar store.
They were sitting very close to
each other on the floor near the
window. Desire swelled up inside
of Rod until his heart sounded like
someone knocking on the door.
Lenore got up and answered it.
‘ There's no one there,” she said.
Again they were sitting beside
each other . . . close in this dark
ened cave . . . warm and secure
lrorn the weather, and things. Rod
longed to take her in his arms and
crush her. He could feel her soft
flesh in his arms, he could smell
the sweet scent from her cheek,
and he could hear her whisper ten
derly into his ear. He looked into
her eyes. They were like two magic
lanterns in the dark. Their gleam
projected a message on the oppo
site wall. She was mentally nod
ding her head and Rod KNEW
WHAT TO DO.
THE MOMENT HAD COME.
He reached out gently and . . .
it was done before either knew the
thing they were doing. Rod had
grabbed her hand. He was holding
it like nobody’s business. It was
like that time he went to the cir
cus. The heat was in tents.
That’s all.
Social Oiamcjes
and Rccolutionaiiji
Art
Along the lines of present day
attempts at “regimentation of
art” comes the October “New
Masses” magazine with its “Art
issue” that tries, in a featured ar
ticle called, “Revolutionary Art
Today,” to shout a permanent
command of “squads left!” to the
READ THESE LATE BOOKS
from our
RENTAL LIBRARY
Clarence Day:
Life With Father
H. L. Davis:
Honey in the Horn
William McFee:
The Beachcomber
William Seabrook:
Asylum
Arnold Haskell:
Diaghileff
Jules Romains:
Clifford Odets:
Three Plays
Ellen Glasgow:
Vein of Iron
Bess Streeter Aldrich:
Spring Came on
Forever
Stefan Zweig:
Mary, Queen of Scot
land and the Isles
Anne Morrow Lindbergh:
The World From Below North to the Orient
S. S. Van Dine:
The Garden Murder
Case
Hugh Walpole:
The Inquisitor
Heywood Broun:
It Seems to Me
Robert Rylee:
Deep Dark River
PER TERM FOR ALL THE
BOOKS YOU CAN READ.
iJSJMiiUEJElSJSJSISIollEI
WEBFOOTS!
i!l!lillill!liilMlliillll!lllllll!l|(il|||||j!
ffliaiaiajaraja®a®a®ajara®aE®aie
Come in to the
old hangout
and
get ’em dry.
Club Breakfasts
Luncheons
Dinners
In-Betweens
Get acquainted with
Jack Young
Bruce Mclntosch
Ward McKalson
soda jerkers unsurpassed.
field of creative art and turn the
struggling line of art in America
into a factory of mass propaganda
heightened by the rosy and pros
pective title of “social art.”
The author, Thomas S. Willison,
nobly and cautiously debunks the
ments in painting for their “nega
ments in painting for their nega
tion of human character and psy
chological richness” and others
v/ho are “scrupulously objective”
in their painting “about essentially
impersonal objects,” so that now
when an artist desires to paint
"momentous and moving reality
which today is the reality of class
struggle and the decay of capital
ism,” he experiences difficulties.
However, these difficulties seem
to be nothing more or less than an
attempt to work toward anything
with enough of a “significance” to
satisfy the poor small souls who
have their ideas of “art” all
warped by the avidity with which
they acclaim the painted acrostics
and designed jig-saws that pass as
the “socially conscious” work of
“29 Leading American Artists”—
(reproduction appearing with the
article.)
—G. R.
LET US HELP
YOU SELECT
BOOKS FOR
YOUR
LIBRARY.
- © —
See These
Interesting Titles:
T. E. Lawrence:
Seven Pillars of
Wisdom
Lin Yu tang:
Mv Country and My
Life
Rockwell Kent:
Salami na
Stuart Chase:
Government in Business
Gale Wilhelm:
We Too Are Drifting’
T. S. Eliot:
Murder in the
Cathedral
George Seldes:
Freedom of the Press
ART BOOKS
Gerstle Mack:
Paul Cezanne
T. W. Earp:
Modern Movement in
Painting — Prints
Hiroshige, with intro
duction by Jiro Ha
rada
James Thrall Soby:
After Picasso
the
‘CO-OP'
May We Suggest
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Don’t Count on
Fisherman’s Luck §
to find your lost articles.
to pet that ride to Port
land for the game.
to see the rest of the
students know that yon
ean type out their term
papers.
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