'Scorpion'

Undergraduate literary publications at Harvard are usually notorious for good intentions, poor quality, and quick exits. Some are simply notorious. They usually lean heavily toward poetry -- apparently future prose masters are too busy churning out little gems for the New Yorker to be bothered, while the poets are grateful to be published anywhere. When the publications do appear they are far to often filled with urbanites finding futility in neon tubes (neon is, hands down, the most overworked image of the twentieth century) and rural types finding truth in the quiet of the old swimming hole (and this must be simply described, of course). Just to round out the issue, there are usually pieces about small children, Negroes, the menace of IBM, and hundreds upon hundreds of smoked cigarettes and half-finished drinks. If such is the state of contemporary student writing, one may wonder why the publications make the effort at all. But, of course, there is always the chance that this publication will be the exception, and on this reasonable premise we now have the new Scorpion, published at Adams House.

The Scorpion may very well turn out to be that sought-after exception. The first issue's "Statement" begins with, "This is a magazine to be read . . . We shall accept material from any student -- so long as it is worth reading." No pretenses about the writers of tomorrow, no promises of Juniors finding truth, no pomposity about a grand design -- the Scorpion, if it remains true to its word, deserves a permanent place in the Harvard community of little magazines. What is more, prose here is not sandwiched in between pages of dripping poetry. The first issue contains one long short story, three other prose pieces, an essay on the comedy of Ben Jonson, one unfortunate article on Vietnam, and poetry.

The quality of the first Scorpion is uneven, ranging from a what-the-hell-is-it piece called "Eight Days" to David Ansen's '67 readable and polished short story "And Baby Makes Three." Ansen's story is about plastic, formica, sensitivity, and sex in Southern California. Specifically, it is the story of three generations of women who are chronic losers at love. With excellent dialogue and good characterization, the piece moves along, jumping (not always smoothly) from one "great line" to the next. The reader is delighted to see the entertainment at a bar, consisting of a Mexican guitar troupe and then eight violinists from Budapest who begin with the "Hungarian Rhapsody" and end with "Flight of the Bumblebee." But excellent though the details and lines may be, they often seem to exist merely for their own excellence and there is not a great continuity to the piece. The beginning is slow and the narrative between the dialogue could also be improved. But on the whole, it is a striking piece of student work and is indeed "worth reading."

As for non-fiction, the less said about "Vietnam" the better. It's all been said before and the piece is unwarranted. The other essay, a study of "Comic Realism and Dramatic Artifice in Ben Johnson" (by Harris Friedberg '67) reads like an English paper (which it may have been) but a very good English paper. The writing is interesting and well-done, and if you enjoy reading literary criticism you could do a lot worse.

Finally, the poetry of the first Scorpion is of surprisingly good quality. Tony Kahn '66 offers an excellent "Village Men" as well as three poems translated from the Russian. Drevid McCord Stroud '66 offers five rather short, light poems which are a welcome change from the usual social protests. "Love: Tabled" and "The Devil May Care" are perhaps the best, but everyone's favorite will be "On The William James Hall": "White goddess or invader/The ministry of Truth on our horizon,/House of the hidden persuader:/Kyrie eleison."

The Scorpion, in short, is an entertaining, diverse, and promising first attempt. It is worth reading. It would be very worthwhile indeed if the editors can produce a second issue to turn the attempt into a fait accompli.