Books in Brief

The Equivocal Men, by Holmes Alexander (Western Islands, $4.00). Although this work of fiction, subtitled “Tales of the Establishment,” issues from the publishing subsidiary of the John Birch Society, it stands in explicit disagreement with the more private misreadings of history that are the hallmark of Mr. Robert Welch. Holmes Alexander—once a politician, always a political analyst, but essentially always a writer— tells an intricate story here of the private interests and public poses that contribute to the passage of laws, the purveying of syndicated columns, and the achievement of place amongst the mighty. It’s a roman à thèse he gives us, which argues that America needs no

subtle conspiracy to keep it bewitched as the enemy crowds upon us, but only a peculiar conjunction of greed, gullibility, and gnosticism on the part of those who “create” public opinion. The genre requires that we become engaged in the characters before we learn that they are exponents of clashing philosophies; Mr. Alexander jumps his cue by telling us, on page two, that we’re in for a battle between conservative and Liberal. After that slight flaw the story sprouts like bramble in April, with occasional beauteous blossoms, as when the face of a cadaver is described as “the shriven purity of total removal,” or when a soiled politician suffers the honesty of introspection to put him to the question, “Success. A lifetime of it. A great man. But whose man?” The book makes delightful reading. I wonder if Holmes Alexander has a novel up his sleeve about the millionaire clerk to a certain Democratic Senate majority leader?

WR

About the Author

W. F. Rickenbacker

CC

About the Author

C. Michael Curtis

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The Equivocal Men, by Holmes Alexander (Western Islands, $4.00). Although this work of fiction, subtitled “Tales of the Establishment,” issues from the publishing subsidiary of the John Birch Society, it stands in explicit disagreement with the more private misreadings of history that are the hallmark of Mr. Robert Welch. Holmes Alexander—once a politician, always a political analyst, but essentially always a writer— tells an intricate story here of the private interests and public poses that contribute to the passage of laws, the purveying of syndicated columns, and the achievement of place amongst the mighty. It’s a roman à thèse he gives us, which argues that America needs no

subtle conspiracy to keep it bewitched as the enemy crowds upon us, but only a peculiar conjunction of greed, gullibility, and gnosticism on the part of those who “create” public opinion. The genre requires that we become engaged in the characters before we learn that they are exponents of clashing philosophies; Mr. Alexander jumps his cue by telling us, on page two, that we’re in for a battle between conservative and Liberal. After that slight flaw the story sprouts like bramble in April, with occasional beauteous blossoms, as when the face of a cadaver is described as “the shriven purity of total removal,” or when a soiled politician suffers the honesty of introspection to put him to the question, “Success. A lifetime of it. A great man. But whose man?” The book makes delightful reading. I wonder if Holmes Alexander has a novel up his sleeve about the millionaire clerk to a certain Democratic Senate majority leader?