As a psychologist, Gardner is strangelynsilent on two modern figures whonwould seem to be indispensable to hisnstudy. Sigmund Freud is mentioned onlyncasually and in passing; Carl Jung is notnalluded to by name at all. Freud’s notionnof the neurotic foundation of art is weUnknown, if not notorious, and is understandablynrepugnant to Gardner’s cognitivendiscipline. Jimg, though, with hisnemphasis on the collective unconsciousnas a repository of symbols and myths,nwould seem to be more relevant, if notnmore congenial, to the study at hand.nBut despite his femous attribution of thenartistic impulses to the deep recesses ofnthe psyche, Jung places those impulsesnoutside the proper realm of psychologynand even asserts that the attempt to ex­nCreative Writing 101nMary Morris: Crossroads; HoughtonnMifflin; Boston.nChuck WachteI:/oe The Engineer;nWilliam Morrow; New York.nby Eugene Englandn1 he authors of these two books seemnto be nice, earnest young people, andntheir work already has been highlynpraised. Part of the reason behind thisnpraise is clear: these first novels, bothnabout felling marriages, about “findingnoneself,” about vulnerability in the irrationalnbut implacable rush of urban life,nare fetchingly “with it.” These writersngive us cool, knowing humor, convincingnNew York local color, satire on variousnforms of Manhattan chic, from grubby tonprofessional, and trendy experimentationnwith point of view. And, as the promotionalncopy insists, both are “compassionate”:nthey want to say something importantnabout being human.nDr. England is with the English departmentnat Brigham Young University.nZZinChronicles of Culturenplain the relationship between the artnobject and the creative process is invalidnbecause it is scientific. “The creative aspectnof life which finds its clearest expressionnin art,” he writes, “baffles all attemptsnat rational formulation creativenart will forever elude understanding.”nAnd again: “Creative man is a riddle wentry to solve in vain.” However hostile itnmay be to Gardner, one suspects thatnJung’s respect for the privacy and mysterynof the creative imagination has morenappeal to the artists themselves than thenproject which would explain them.nHenry James once wrote that all we cann”see of the charm-compeller is the backnhe turns to us as he bends over his work.”nIn this context, we might ask whethernanything was really learned by viewingnthe other side of the moon. DnBut ability, knowledge, even what isnmisnamed compassion, are not enough.nApparently, young writers have heard inntheir writing classes “Show, don’t tell,”nto the point where they have forgottennthat language must tell (subtly, precisely,nof course ); thus, they seem unable to tellntheir readers what the lives of their protagonistsnmean. They can only sho^v whatnjudgment, both experience and understanding.nToo many in our time, includingnMorris and Wachtel, have forgotten.nBut both do deserve some praise,nespecially Mary Morris, who has morenskill and, I think, more independencenfrom current fashion than Chuck Wachtel./o^nThe Engineer has been comparednto Marty and, indeed, it gets inside thenstereotypical New York workingman’snconfined, bar-to-bed-to-boredom existence.nMarty was able to reach past thatnquotidian reaUty and order it into meaningnwith a decision for marriage—to anplain, unsexy, brighter woman. Joe alsonattempts to “search for himself and fornsalvation from a life of fiitility,” but henseems unable to make any decision,neven to save his marriage—to a brighter,nmore ambitious, and decisive woman.nWachtel reveals all the forces arrayednagainst Joe—^his narrow family conditioning,ntraumatic Vietnam service, limitednintelligence and perspective. AndnWachtel is good at conveying both thenhonorable working life of Joe (and of hisnwife, a waitress) and also his undirectednyearning for something more:nSometimes when he’s walking aroundnlike this in somebody’s basement, henwalks out of himself for a while andnjust wanders around in their lives. Henstops being a person who … is completelynabsorbed in the things they don”IChuck Wachtel is] solidly in the tradition of the best American proletarian writers.nJoe theHngineer is a passionate, political—atid important—lioolc.” —Village Voicenit looks like. If an author believes thatnpain and futility are imposed upon us bynthe system, the universe, fete, somethingnoutside us and that therefore our basicnmoral responsibility is sympathy, thennhe or she cannot make essential judgmentsnabout characters nor give readersnwhat they need to make their own judgmentsnabout “life” or to endure it. And ifnan author thinks breadth and intensity ofnexperience is all that literature shouldnprovide, then he will not give understandingnGreat literature has always providednboth show flwrf tell, sympathy «w<^nnnand own. He lilies the feeling. He becomesna ghost.nWachtel obviously wants to tell us somethingnabout how to make sense of life’snseemingly random, fated particulars. Hisnfailure is not in purpose but in means.nM-orris has better means. Her firstpersonnnarrator/heroine, Debbie, getsninto our hearts quickly. Debbie’s voicenis a fine element of her characterizationn—fluent, witty, slightly obtuse, offbalance,noccasionally brave, often fright-n