CRIMSON BOOKSHELF

WILLIAM March will inevitably be much compared to Faulkner, not only because the scene of his new novel, "Come in at the Door," is laid in the Delta country of the Mississippi, but also because a dark and forbidding pessimism is the net result of a somewhat unreal tale in which death, crime, and violence play their full part. To consider March a mental step-child of Faulkner is, however, extremely unjust. "Come in at the Door" is March's second novel, and, obviously an experiment in form, it likewise leaves a strong impression of being all experiment in subject matter and in attitude. In inclines one to believe--and to hope fervently, for March's possibilities are manifestly great that it is the product of an undecided but health mind, not of the sort of diseased brain which produced "Sanctuary".

The substance of "Come in at the Door: is woven around the effect, on the life of a sensitive and intelligent man, of witnessing as a child the horrible execution of a negro who in a fit of madness had beaten out the brains of a helpless dwarf. That the negro nurse of the child, Choster Hurry, is the mistress of his father and mother of his six dusky half-brothers and half-sisters, that the uncle with whom Chostor goes to live is tattooed all over his body and married to a syphilitic harlot who haggles with her husband nightly over the price he must pay to sleep with her, that the youth marries the illegitimate daughter of a tattoo artist who destroys their connubial bliss by insisting her portrait be pricekd indelibly on her husband's left breast--these delightful details are merely the sauce of morbidity and unreality with which the main dish is seasoned, in order to increase the intensity of its flavour and heighton the effect of the final bitter, climax. The story ends: "Choster turned then and run down the brick walk and when he reached the road he continued to run borno along by the force of the wind faster and faster. His face was twisted with pain and his hands pressed together in agony. 'I'm very amusing', the shouted over and over, I'm essentially a comic character!' but his words were lost in the larger sound of the worlds were lost in the larger sound of the world's fury."

March writes simply, and extraordinarily well. His style is unornamented by any literary gingerbread, and he is able almost always to find the right words with which to clothe an idea: expressions neither clever pungent nor, neither clever nor erudite--but natural, and honest. His characters, too, give the illusion of verisimilitude, much more than do Faulkner's, though of course they suffer from the necessity of proving that existence is unpleasant and futile. Two novel devices, somewhat reminiscent of Dos Passons' "Camera Eye" and "Newsreels" are used by March to emphasize and reiterate his theme. "The Whisper" consists of dozen very short stories which interrupt the main narrative to state in parables the recurring motifs of the novel; "From the Diary of Sarah Tarleton" consists of excerpts from the self-book of a pious old lady who looked on life with unruffled satisfaction in her God and herself, heightening the reader's understanding of the characters and events of the novel by her own misunderstanding of them. Both devices are very successful, and the author may well be satisfied with the results of his experiment in form.

There is however, less reason for satisfaction with the experiment in subject matter and attitude. The more or less petered-out Faulknerian school of pessimism does not provide a very fertile field for the labors of a young novelist with the undeniable talent of William March. The author of "Come in at the Door" might very easily build a reputation as a writer of clever novels on morbid themes for the delectation of the sophisticated, as Black Mask horror stories are for the unsophisticated. He might also do far more; he might go beyond negation, beyond futilitarianism, beyond disgust with life as it is, to discover, and use as a horizon, life as it might be. "Come in at the Door" is a novel well worth reading--even reading twice. If March can lift himself from the slough of despond and find direction, his next novel will be a more meaning contribution