University of Virginia Library

Unicorn: Curious Creature Of Mixed Parts

By George Bagby

In one respect, at least, the Fall
issue of "Unicorn" lives up to its
name: it is a curious creature of
mixed parts. Not only does the
writing run the gamut from
excellence to mediocrity, but the
preparation of the magazine itself
contains spots of high polish
side-by-side with spots of sheer
sloppiness. "Uneven" is surely the
most appropriate summary
adjective.

One curious trait of this issue is
the extremely small number of
students whose writing appears: out
of a total University enrollment of
more than ten thousand, we have
here poems by six students (three
of whom are on the "Unicorn"
staff) and fiction by three. From
almost any point of view, this is
regrettably slight representation of
the student body as a whole.

Still, there is some excellent
work here, particularly in the
poetry. Paul Breslin, though he is
represented by only two slender
poems, proved that he is a fine
writer with an unfailing control of
language, tone, and metrics. "The
Greenwalds' Penthouse Apartment"
is a great little poem. Here Breslin
shows a remarkable knack for vivid
descriptive metaphor, for a window
"filled .../ with a shoal of small
orange clouds," for "blue/orange
double stars,/ subdued and vast /
above Chicago's quilt / of are-lit
streets."

Our Small Place

More than that, the poem makes
splendid use of those stars to find.
In particular, everyday events,
suggestions of Mr. Greenwald's (and
our) small place in a giant order of
things-and does so all the more
effectively for the tone of gentle
understatement to which it clings.
Breslin's other piece. "Bad Dreams
on Water," is marked by the same
mastery of metrics, tone, and
description, but seems less certain
in focus and purpose.

Neal Snidow is another poet
well worth reading. "Awake at
Night" is a fine poem which carries
in its frail lines a great deal of
suggestiveness, taking advantage of
a fruitful juxtaposition of
seemingly unrelated observations:
"drunken Oklahoma voices," cats
and birds, and "the ghosts of
Cheyenne." It is another poem
which derives strength from its mild
and unassertive tone. "Waiting for
the Cardiff Steamer" is also a solid
little poem, though its observed
phenomena perhaps come together
somewhat less satisfactorily, and the
tone of the second stanza edges
away from that profitable modesty
of "Awake at Night."

Uneven

And "Coming Back" is the most
uneven of Snidow's poems here.
The second section is once more
distinguished by very suggestive
details calmly observed, but the
first section suffers from some
over-eager figurative language and
the tone of the final section is
simultaneously too ambitious and
too commonplace: "On hands and
knees / I search through the ground
with my hand. / It's there."

Of the three pieces by Jeff
Dalke, "Duck Hunting" is far and
away the most accomplished, a
sustained bit of concrete
description amounting almost to a
brief narrative. Though some of the
figurative description may seem
awkward ("snow falls ... like an /
unwanted child," "the girl with the
apple-pie face"), some is strong and
fresh: "It is a funeral day. / It's like
a misplaced Sunday": "whiteness /
umbrellas out before you." Dalke's
other two poems, unfortunately,
are less successful. "To Anne" is
respectable enough, and has a kind
of integrity and joy of its own: and
yet its ultimate effect is to call to
mind a multitude of young-love
poems by other student poets. And
"After-word" seems shaky in both
tone and import, and almost
deliberately arcane.

Excessive Ambiguity

The three poems by Mary North
suffer from a similar tendency
toward excessive ambiguity. Each
of her "Suicide" poems is almost
murky by itself, and—what is more
serious—the two do not fit together
to provide the overall meaning
which their similarity and
contiguity seem to promise. There
is a good deal more clarity, and a
much more satisfying sense of
direction, in the slender description
"nobody is." And Mrs. North's
verse is refreshing on the whole
both for its formal freedom and for
its concentration (unlike all too
much student poetry) on matters
other than the poet's own state of
mind.

There are only three pieces of
fiction in this issue of "Unicorn",
but of course the sustained control
of even a very short story is a much
more difficult achievement than the
brief burst of a twenty-line poem.
The prize for fiction in this issue
has to go the David Kalergis for his
story "Or They Don't Go Home"—
not because it is perfectly realized,
or even well-written throughout,
but because it is a story—there is
something happening in it, there is
some suspense, and highest
compliment of all) the reader is
even likely to get interested in the
outcome. Not only does Kalergis
have a plot, but he succeeds
remarkably well in handling the
fairly sophisticated shifts between
the narrator and the dying horse to
which the title alludes.

But there does seem to be some
uncertainty whether the story is
really about the dying of the horse
or about the impact of that dying
on the narrator. This uncertainty is
sometimes reflected in a muddling
of point of view: "The slight stabs
in his legs had been unlike any pain
he had ever felt before. If he had
been human he would have
It as the kind of pain felt
in a dream. But he wasn't human
and he couldn't describe it." Where
does that leave us?

The other two pieces of fiction
are far less engrossing. There are
moments of interest and insight in
Dennis Covington's "In Atlanta,
Between Planes," but for the most
part the story suffers both from a
dulling preoccupation with
adolescent affairs of the heart and
from lapses of style. Moreover, the
constant comparison of Julie to
animals ("an inquisitive antelope,"
"a young colt," "a fawn," finally "
a sow on a spit") is pushed so far
that in the end it verges on the
comic.

"Swallows"

Terry Jackson's "Swallows" is
more intentionally comic, and
when it succeeds—as in its bathroom
humor and its picture of an
excessively perspiring Miss
America—it is really funny. At
times, however, the humor is
strained (as in the opening sentence
and the entire fifth section,
recounting Bert Parks' childhood).
And the total impact of the sketch
is unsatisfactory, whether it is
intended purely as a put-on or (as
the reader may sometimes fear) as a
secretly Meaningful Commentary
on the current state of American
society.

Almost unqualified kudos
should go to "Unicorn's" art
editors, who have succeeded to an
unusual degree in brightening the
otherwise drab appearance of the
magazine with some very pleasant
drawings, sketches, and prints.
Richard Kimball's print on page 11
and Frank Saunders' drawing on
page 20 are especially fine, and
each is skillfully arranged in
collaboration with a poem. And the
large line-cut by Dale Brown in the
center of the magazine is an
extremely interesting and pleasing
piece of art.

Poor Typography

On the other hand, a word
should be said about the magazine's
typography: Poor. It is understood
that a student magazine if only for
financial reasons, may have to be
printed from offset plates of
typewritten material. But that does
not mean that the typing has to be
so careless as to mar the total
appearance of the magazine-not
only with a large number of
uncorrected typographical errors,
but also with seemingly whimsical
shifts of type-face from one page to
the next. (The ugly and
hard-to-read sans-serif in which
Covington's story is typed is
particularly appalling.

And the potentially valuable
table of contents is virtually
useless because none of the pages
are numbered - except for pages
30 and 32, where the numbers are
written in by hand. These are
perhaps small matters, but that is
all the more reason not to let
sloppiness in the handling of them
take the luster off "Unicorn's"
otherwise pleasant appearance.

Ed.)