The gamecock. (Columbia, S.C.) 1908-2006, March 09, 1979, Page Page 9, Image 11
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B W & Assistant Entertainment Editor
i There is something about the
H JBf i j?JP demands conformity to their ideas.
J|g| When a group of poetry-quoters
meaningless English majors gets
together to hear a "famous
wHFlauthor," it is as if they themselves
,4 are writing a fiction: the Southern
ILK?J black author shocks and excites
sBfi the crowd of brazen intellectuals
Kwith dashing revolutionary
mostly to mys
rhetoric. But the fiction proved
false Tuesday night at the James
Alan McPherson reading.
* An amazing variety of proposed
o purposes of literature exist in the
lu minds of the intelligentsia. Some
< think that its only valid use is as an
? inflammatory device to stir the
g emotions of the downtrodden
| masses. Some believe that gooc
KjKi . ? literature means good philosophy
HjH> that books that don't beat home z
:'A|? message are worthless. Tuesday
#)?fC/)r) the real power of literature
flvfOl/fl could be seen: the creation oi
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web of m
magic, the horror and thrill of laughe
someone who knows us better than provoc;
s we ourselves. and u
The Gambrell Auditorium misforl
nrnoram Kodon uriUi nnn rtf fiinno /i
pi v^tuiu uvguil VYIU1 WUC \J 1 lUlllljr VJ
i William Price Fox's odd little laughte
i introductions (the audience was againsl
spared the literary how-tos of experie
another Gordon Deal). McPherson laughe<
took the podium with a sort of at the t
i uncertainty ? he stumbled over demam
; his own briefcase; he took a ner- cried a'
? vous sip of water; he knocked a And I
microphone off the lecture ? and truly c
re point, although q
elf..
showed all the symptoms of a lives,
terrific stage fright. tragic*
The audience, consisting of such cute gi
notables as President Holderman desks i
' and James Dickey, seemed con- not be
> fused by this shy, quiet man. "This fection
i is the great Southern author?" big sh<
i they seemed to ask. They seemed classic
i embarrassed, as if they should narraN
I perhaps try to slip out the doors just h<
, and spare this man the torture. But interes
i it quickly became evident who was McPhe
' in control of the evening. descrit
i McPherson read "Why I Like stutter
f Country Music" from his collection convey
Elbow Room. It is the story of a Gwene
little boy and his intractable crush The
on a pretty young classmate. As propri?
McPherson read, the audience spring,
seemed itself to fall into the story's to the
inexorable rhythm. He could not rival
have chosen a more suitable story Leon P
for the reading. in the s
The most admirable trait of momer
short-story authors is that they are is weai
indeed storytellers in the most spurs
folklore-rooted aspect of that term, them I
That is the element that Mc- flashy
Pherson handled so well ? even in festiva
his near-stuttering speech and narrat<
nervous energy, he had his Gwene
audience hanging on every word, heavei
like scared Cub Scouts around a mythic
campfire listening to a spooky This
story. McPherson writes in the surpris
course of "Country Music" that spurs,
dance is a form of storytelling, and making
his main character cannot dance, they di
It is obvious that McPherson has audien
Daiancea nis cnaracter s nandicap contro>
with an ability to weave fiction simply
more true than fact. Few
The story has its moments of McPhc
humor: '"You are crazy,' Gloria ability
tells me. I argue the point, force,
although quietly, and mostly to accidei
myself." "Mothers admonished writer
their children that if they lived astonis
exemplary lives and attended why wc
church regularly, when they died with tr;
they would go to New York." A was no
teacher tells her pupils, "There is sure
ain't no babies in here. From now the f<
on, you're gonna do all your crying someh(
in church." The audience seemed
particularly fond of these parts of We
the story. James
inaeea, sometimes the audience quietly
Elvis lives
Elvis Costello proved that his ai
March 3 in a packed Agora Ra
Elvis' newest album, 'Armed For
Billboard Top 10 this week; see pa;
Mark Lundarfi ? lAMICOCIt
ca^Mvi tuwwr\ ? rage y
agic
d heartily when the
ation was merely a touching
niversal experience. The
unes oi the narrator are
>nly in a sad sort of way: the
;r seemed a natural defense
: those memories of similar
?nces in our own lives. We
i not at the story itself, but
ruths of human nature that
d either to be laughed or
t.
VIcPherson's characters are
haracters from all of our
uietly, and
Who has never had a
illy unrequited love for that
rl or guy sitting two or three
n front of us? And who has
en beaten out for the afs
of that person by the class
)t? Gweneth Lawson is the
untouchable beauty ? the
i/i uuui a duiini lllg
*r profile. In fact, it was
ting to note that when
rson read the passage
)ing Gweneth in detail, his
disappeared and his voice
ed a power that made
th quite real.
story climaxes, apitely,
at a celebration of
The narrator is consigned
Maypole team, while his
for Gweneth's affections,
'ugh, gets to dance with her
quare dance. But at the last
it, Leon must drop out ? he
*ing a cowboy costume with
on; the teacher declares
' AA Han flnrAl 1C TKn
,v/\/ uuii^vi v;uo. 1 11c: r>iicli ,
spurs have no place at this
1 of rebirth, and the
3r gets to dance with
th ? an experience more
ily than visiting the
al New York.
is why the audience seemed
ed at McPherson: he had no
He had no pretensions of
I his stories do more than
d. He refused to satisfy the
ce's desire to hear the
fersial or rhetorical. He
/\1^ O O I
iuiu a siui y .
authors have James Alan
rson's humanness, his
to wield power without
One wonders what happy
it led to the creation of a
who could see with
hing clarity the reasons
i hang on to a life that is rife
igedy. His gentle sensitivity
t understood by many, but it
that they went away with
?eling that they had.
>w, been charmed.
celebrated the beauty of
Alan nUU/\t?r?U
(11UII 1TIV.1 I1VI .lull, <1111 1W11?^I I
, and mostly to ourselves.
in is true Saturday,
llroom in Atlanta,
ces,' broke into the
Re 15.