Finsternis
die
36. Flucht in
V
box 6/3
work today.
One of the very few infallible ways
of breaking into print is to mect a
writer with a zest for “telling all“
One like Harry Kemp, for example,
who. in Love Among the Cape
Enders,“ from Macaulay, tells the
story of the Provincetown in much
more breath-taking episodic fashion
than Stella Hanau and Helen
Deutsch dare to employ in their
more formal and more believable
history.
Kemp's novel has the added at¬
traction of bing a guessing game
as well, for. in telling the weak¬
nesses of arty people, he carefully
covers up their names. But not too
deeply, let me add in haste, for easy
recovery in case you like the ghoulish
flavor to your reading. Bill Travers,
America’s greatest dramatist, is not
completely hidden, nor Jim. Dale,
the founder of the Provincetown.
With the Hanau-Deutsch book in one
hand and Love Among the Cape
Enders“ in the other, you ought to
have gossip enough to establish
yourself as one of the most brightly
up-to-date of all the guests.
Confession and guesswork are not,
however, the sole claims of Kemp’s
semihistorical, semifictional novel
for your consideration. There's a
spicy atmosphere, a none-too-faint
scent of musk and amber in its
pages. and Kemp has no desire for
vou to miss the flavor. Stephen
Groton's world—Groton is the poet
who has many of the attributes of
1
Harry Kemp—is terribly “sexed-up.“
says Mr. Kemp, and says it with
three black exclamation points so
you'll not glide harmlessly by with¬
out having sensed the implications. 1
"Under cover of art, literature, busi¬1
ness, society, religion, everybody was 1
continually all sexed-up!!!“ he tells
his readers so that Provincetonn!
and old Greenwich Viilage may be
seen in their true colors. Of course,
he's not writing of Provincetonn 1
nor of the Village in this novel; he's
writing of Cape-End, but Cape-End
is so similar to Provincetown and
the people who summer on Cape:
Cod are so identical with those who
used to live on MacDougall street!!
that confusion is unavoidable.
It's a pity, too, that Kemp’s auto¬
biological yearnings need intrude
into his novel, for the search for
identifying originals interferes unduly
with the appreciation of the really
first- lass writing in his book.
Kemps sensitive appreciation leads
him to write superb descriptive pas¬
sages upon the colors, outlines, forms
and contrasts in sea and sand
dunes, to offer delightful comment
upon the true salt Cape Cod“born¬
ers“ and to reveal the sharp con¬
trasts in psychology between the
yearning artists of the Cape and the
supposedly more phlegmatic, more
elemental fisherfolk to whom art
might seem an exotic, alien growth.
Kemp’s belief, of course, is that
the art of Portuguese fishermen liv¬
ing in their honest Latin gayety is
more true to life than is the hectic
artificiality of summer visitors. With
his deep interest in the psychopathic
and his uncanny ability to worm
confession and confidence from those
whom he intends, to use as fictional
characters, Kemp reveals rich psy¬
chological truths, though at the cost
of sacrificing factual precision. With
his extraordinary insight he can
penetrate beneath surface intensity
to sce what lies beneath the eccen¬
tricities and extravagant behavior
of his unusual group of characters.
He understands both the skyward
idealism drawing artists upward and
the earthly passions which bind
them to the ground. His elemental
candor, his disdain of reticence, at
times bring to his writing the care¬
freo manner and enthusiasm with
which Kemp seasons his own living.
All of which makes for an en¬
thralling novel, but not a great one,
and not a novel that most readers
will find charming. For Kemp, in
his impassioned love for truth, some¬
die
36. Flucht in
V
box 6/3
work today.
One of the very few infallible ways
of breaking into print is to mect a
writer with a zest for “telling all“
One like Harry Kemp, for example,
who. in Love Among the Cape
Enders,“ from Macaulay, tells the
story of the Provincetown in much
more breath-taking episodic fashion
than Stella Hanau and Helen
Deutsch dare to employ in their
more formal and more believable
history.
Kemp's novel has the added at¬
traction of bing a guessing game
as well, for. in telling the weak¬
nesses of arty people, he carefully
covers up their names. But not too
deeply, let me add in haste, for easy
recovery in case you like the ghoulish
flavor to your reading. Bill Travers,
America’s greatest dramatist, is not
completely hidden, nor Jim. Dale,
the founder of the Provincetown.
With the Hanau-Deutsch book in one
hand and Love Among the Cape
Enders“ in the other, you ought to
have gossip enough to establish
yourself as one of the most brightly
up-to-date of all the guests.
Confession and guesswork are not,
however, the sole claims of Kemp’s
semihistorical, semifictional novel
for your consideration. There's a
spicy atmosphere, a none-too-faint
scent of musk and amber in its
pages. and Kemp has no desire for
vou to miss the flavor. Stephen
Groton's world—Groton is the poet
who has many of the attributes of
1
Harry Kemp—is terribly “sexed-up.“
says Mr. Kemp, and says it with
three black exclamation points so
you'll not glide harmlessly by with¬
out having sensed the implications. 1
"Under cover of art, literature, busi¬1
ness, society, religion, everybody was 1
continually all sexed-up!!!“ he tells
his readers so that Provincetonn!
and old Greenwich Viilage may be
seen in their true colors. Of course,
he's not writing of Provincetonn 1
nor of the Village in this novel; he's
writing of Cape-End, but Cape-End
is so similar to Provincetown and
the people who summer on Cape:
Cod are so identical with those who
used to live on MacDougall street!!
that confusion is unavoidable.
It's a pity, too, that Kemp’s auto¬
biological yearnings need intrude
into his novel, for the search for
identifying originals interferes unduly
with the appreciation of the really
first- lass writing in his book.
Kemps sensitive appreciation leads
him to write superb descriptive pas¬
sages upon the colors, outlines, forms
and contrasts in sea and sand
dunes, to offer delightful comment
upon the true salt Cape Cod“born¬
ers“ and to reveal the sharp con¬
trasts in psychology between the
yearning artists of the Cape and the
supposedly more phlegmatic, more
elemental fisherfolk to whom art
might seem an exotic, alien growth.
Kemp’s belief, of course, is that
the art of Portuguese fishermen liv¬
ing in their honest Latin gayety is
more true to life than is the hectic
artificiality of summer visitors. With
his deep interest in the psychopathic
and his uncanny ability to worm
confession and confidence from those
whom he intends, to use as fictional
characters, Kemp reveals rich psy¬
chological truths, though at the cost
of sacrificing factual precision. With
his extraordinary insight he can
penetrate beneath surface intensity
to sce what lies beneath the eccen¬
tricities and extravagant behavior
of his unusual group of characters.
He understands both the skyward
idealism drawing artists upward and
the earthly passions which bind
them to the ground. His elemental
candor, his disdain of reticence, at
times bring to his writing the care¬
freo manner and enthusiasm with
which Kemp seasons his own living.
All of which makes for an en¬
thralling novel, but not a great one,
and not a novel that most readers
will find charming. For Kemp, in
his impassioned love for truth, some¬