University of Virginia Library

Plume & Sword Grows Up

By David Cox

In elementary school, the PTA
used to hold these special gala
occasions when all our parents
would come to admire the artsy-craftsy
products of our handiwork,
which gave them the opportunity
of observing our progress
and of gloating to other parents.

One gets the same parental
feeling when reading the latest issue
of the Plume & Sword. The verdict?
It is progressing; at least it's
becoming known on the Grounds.

What promotes this issue is
above all its cover, the crowning
jewel of the magazine and something
to gloat about. A touched-up
carefully cropped photograph of
that Jones fellow—the one who
married the English Princess-Charming—suits
the theme of the
prose inside (or so we are told),
and arrests one's attention if only
long enough to decide whether it
is a boy or a girl staring so questioningly.
The color and texture of
the paper are both chosen to enhance
the design, which it does
admirably.

Gone—we hope—are the covers
of vases and things, which looked
so nice but said so little. Gone,
too, is that mourning band-symbol
which handcuffed cover creativity.
This striking work is mildly sensational.

Once inside, though, the hopefulness
incited by the cover is lost.
The blurb about the cover and the
theme of childhood, for instance,
hits with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Indeed, it is an insult
to the readership to have each
story's meaning more-or-less explained
beforehand. Let's face it:
Plume & Sword by necessity should
be somewhat esoteric; it simply
would not appeal to the same
crowd as UVM. It should therefore
presume some intellectual capability
of its readers.

Furthermore, there should be
no need of a statement of theme;
the magazine should do that of
itself.

As if any explanation is needed.
"A Cup of Hippopotamus Tea"
compares the nasty, perverted
make-believe world of adults—or
are they really?—with the sweet
innocent make-believe world of a
third-grade girl, who talks with the
same italicized syllables as her
adultish sister. One gold star to
author Swenson for a well-meant
idea. Except his crayons slipped
outside the lines occasionally; our
eight-year-old, genuinely charming
Miss Carol spoke like she was at
least nine, and spelled like Pooh
bear. But Mr. Swenson can keep
his star.

Where "Hippopotamus Tea"
fails, "Drive Nails Into My Hand"
comes far closer to succeeding. This
tale of a traumatic Day In The
Life hits with unexpectedly resounding
impact, emphasizing the
horror of the Crucifixion and of
"this world of grownups who liked
a God with nails in His body and
blood dripping from His wounds."
Chalk one up for Joyce Zasorin.

Meanwhile, in a classroom up
in Philadelphia, former U-prof
Richard Peck is experimenting with
pen and ink in a novel, "Jonas,"
portions of which have been distributed
to University publications.
But when these goodies were given
out, "Rapier" definitely got the
better of P & S. Compared to
the portrait of that exciting, colorful
drunk of a wife in "Mrs.
Charlie," Lt. Jonas, Bo, Klotz
and all the gang in "The Last
Time Colonel Krecton Flew" are
mere stick figures. There are too
many characters and too many
scenes to be sketched. But still,
"Krecton" is the comic strip of
the magazine. When will the collection
be out?

If Peck's work is the "Beetle
Bailey" of P & S, then Norma
Klein's short story is its "Apt.
3-G." The characters start out as
stick figures, and end as little
better. The idea might have been
good, but the execution was faulty.

The trouble with third-graders
and Plume & Sword is that, having
developed a relative skill in certain
techniques, they use them without
sophisticated thought to give meaning.

Take the poetry section. The
authors of "African Summer" and
"Recluse" both attempt, it seems,
to exhibit their mastery of the English
language, but they fail to use
its glories to say anything. In
painting a picture, they try to
use oils but slop them up. The
latter, in the end, has all the fine
subtlety of poster paints.

Some have advanced to the relative
level of fingerpaints.
Christine Askounis wrote a charming
piece—which, I hear, she submitted
two years ago. It needs a
little polish, and merits it. The
Admiral' is a pop-art picture of
what David M. Collins, M.D.
(who "takes time out to write
and care for his four children")
would be like if he "were the
Grand. Admiral of the Swiss
Navy." He had better go back
to his kids.

"The Gypsy Is A Hipster,"
though, experiments with motion
pictures in its series of vivid, colorful
images, and succeeds moderately
well. Space forbids explaining
other poems, but they are
unfortunately rather disappointing.