University of Virginia Library

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.