THE LOCUSTS HAVE NO KING

Once again a conversation piece which, in taunting terms and with waspish malice, presents New York's literary and night life of the name and fame conscious, their representatives who may make their mark in print but never scratch a genuine emotion. Among them are Frederick Olliver, an obscure writer who liked his solitude but sold out to a name magazine and the social functions of Lyle, whom he loves; Lyle, who stayed married to invalided Allan because he was important to her success; Beckley, the money patron of the intelligentsia; Murray, Frederick's apartment mate who turned the apartment into a hornet's nest of women; and Dodo, a pouting ingenue of twenty-two who likes Frederick as a passe-partout to this world better than in bed. Frederick's over-abuse at the hands of Lyle turns him to Dodo who completes his downfall when she leaves him, while Lyle gets her comeuppance as her husband walks out with another woman, leaving Lyle and Frederick to pick up the pieces together... Those who like Dawn Powell will find her in full voice, sharp, bitter, worldly as it may be.