Something there is that doesn't love an allegory, that mitigates against the use of myth, the airy step upward from...

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ONE FOR THE DEVIL

Something there is that doesn't love an allegory, that mitigates against the use of myth, the airy step upward from reality--and if this metaphysical playground with its smoking turrets of wit, invention and indictments of the world below only intrigues rather than seriously moves and disturbs, then perhaps it is because the overworked Sacrifice-Victim theme is better exploited in a less bizarre landscape. As in his prize-winning first novel in a planned trilogy, Seven Days at the Silbersteins (1967) the author again investigates the artifice of mannered rationality, the nature of order and chaos through the model community, Welgevonden. In this Utopian fancy, presided over by the closed circuit, order-imposing mind of Henry Silberstein-van Eeden, residents sleep in glass cells: cattle are bred to a decorative but firm color line and a shape-recognition system of birthcontrol; the model village for blacks burns with an impotent, effectively limited rebellion. Into this sustained order comes chaos, as a young girl (""our sister. . . our daughter"") is murdered and surely a scapegoat must be found. ""When there is no blame, (man) submits"" and while Henry's voice, amplified, drones on in a reasonable commentary, the scapegoat, the idiot Giant son, is stoned to death. Until the inevitable sacrifice, Welgevonden has been traversed by an inarticulate Inspector, with his guide the sterile pedant, Dr. John, and it is the automaton hero that shoots the Giant. This South African writer has given us a brilliant surrealistic portrait of a sterile civilization plagued by a primeval force, but Steinbeck's Lennie died with more humanity, albeit less art.

Pub Date: April 10, 1968

ISBN: N/A

Page Count: -

Publisher: Houghton, Mifflin

Review Posted Online: N/A

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 1968

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