A Face in the Mirror

Sir: I do not greatly sympathise with Norman Bilbrough’s blanket criticism of the quality of the material published in the Listener; though this may seem thankless when he has exempted some of my reviews from condemnation. In my own experience of editing a literary periodical, it struck me forcibly that the quality of a magazine depends on the material offering. I imagine this is largely so in the case of the Listener. Only in the case of editorials and the work of staff reporters can this periodical create its own material; otherwise it is dependent on broadcast scripts, stories, poems, reviews and the contributions of correspondents such as Mr Bilbrough. Therefore I feel it is unrealistic to expect anything but a varying standard of quality and interest.

On the other hand, I agree wholeheartedly with Mr Bilbrough’s view that a prevailing flatness in New Zealand life is in turn reflected by writers for the Listener and other periodicals. And if his own strictures were somewhat excessive, the comments of the correspondents who have so far disagreed with him have been very inaccurate.

Your correspondent D.F. Lorking takes Mr Bilbrough to task for stating that the Students’ Congress is characterised by drunken binges and sexual frustration. Is this so peculiar? Drink is a recognised palliative for young men who lead lives of enforced celibacy. Their sexual frustration no doubt does them credit (I tentatively include the young women among the frustrated) – our social norm of marriage at least eight years after puberty guarantees frustration. Mr Bilbrough has been moderate. He does not suggest that the students indulge in orgies; he only says they are frustrated. Congresses without drink have been tried, and the students did not like them. For many people, not alcoholics, drink is part of a holiday; and in learning to handle liquor people are inclined to get drunk. With no way of letting off steam, an intellectual seaside holiday in the company of lightly clothed members of the opposite sex could be very frustrating indeed. We are not all as strongly attached to higher things as D.F. Lorking would hope.

Your correspondent T.G. Aitken, on no evidence whatever, suggests that Mr Bilbrough is a poetic disciple of mine. I have no disciples that I know of, and I am sure Mr Bilbrough is more than capable of standing on his own feet. His poem – which I take, at its face value, to have been written aboutpage 610 a recent Japanese film – employs none of my customary technical methods. The capacity of those who comment on the arts to detect leagues and cliques where they do not exist depresses me.

Broadly, though, I feel that Mr Bilbrough has the advantage, which both of your other correspondents apparently lack, of a profound dissatisfaction with the norm of New Zealand life. That, I take it, is why he is able to write.

1963 (293)