In Liddy’s world of triumphant willnall must be directed toward the creationnof an Ubermensch, a dominant, godlikenfigure who rises above the weakness andnfrailty of other men. For Liddy this urgentook, in part, the form of self-masterynthrough the endurance of pain. To steelnhis will Liddy began in the early 1960’snto burn the flesh of his left hand andnforearm with cigarettes, matches andncandles, a practice that on one occasionnrequired surgery. Liddy’s obsession withnstrength and superiority appears also innhis attitude toward his wife and children.nIf he would be an Ubermensch,nthen he must find a veritable Wagneriannheroine to bear strong and sturdy children.nHaving rejected his first love bencause she was too short and had delicatenbones, Liddy persevered until he foundna fit mate: “a highly intelligent, tall,nfair, powerfully built Teuton, whosenmind worked like the latest scientificnwonder, the electronic computer.”nSuch thinking could not long restneasily beside the Roman CatholicismnLiddy had imbibed in his youth. A clashnwas inevitable, and when it came Liddyncalmly dispensed with God. With a triumphantnwill pumping the adrenalin ofnpower and might through his veins,nLiddy no longer feared or needed God.nQuestions Unanswerednand Left HangingnWright Morris: Plains Song; Harpern& Row^; New York.nby Juliana Geran Pilonnri. midst the cacophony of the glossynpulp novel and the gothic romance (ansymptom indeed of the darkest ages).nPlains Song stands in stark contrast,ncompelling, its simplicity deceptive.nAptly titled, this novel about life on anDr. Pilon is the author 0/Notes Fromnthe Other Side of Night.nV^wmmmmmmmmmm^nChronicles of CulturenAfter ridding himself of the divinennemesis of the self-creating man, Liddynexulted in his decision to “live life armednonly with my own inner resources. I feltna surge of confidence and resolve … Inwas free.” Free from God, free fromnfear, beholden to no one in this worldnor beyond. Gordon Liddy thus realizednin his own life the urge of modernnWestern man to displace God. With hisneyes wide open Liddy entered that darknrealm of pridefulness where men exceedndivinely ordained boundaries, where willnis all, and where the meek and weak perish.nThere is something almost satanicnabout this, some deep, brooding potentialnfor evil that makes one’s skin crawl.nIt pains me to deal so harshly withnGordon Liddy, for he stood adamantlynand courageously against the malignantnforces that battered America in then1960’s. Edmund Burke once wrote thatn”they never will love where they oughtnto love, who do not hate where theynought to hate.” Gordon Liddy knowsnwhere to hate, and that counts for muchnin this feckless and fatuously tolerantnage of ours. But does Mr. Liddy—havingnsundered himself free from God andnapotheosized the triumphant will—nknow where to love.’ DnMidwestern farm—focusing especiallynon its steady, self-leashed women—hasnthe markings of a prayer: the slow pacenof carefully chosen language maskingnan original despair, and the solemnity ofnwaiting for a Messiah who cannot come,nat least not yet. Wright Morris has givennus an American classic: devoid ofnpathos. Plains Song captures the peculiarndrama that underlies so much of whatnlooks to the uninitiated like prosaic,neven slightly contemptible, workaholicnPuritanism.nThe novel begins with the end, or thennnend in any case of its protagonist, CoranAtkins, who reminisces, half-consciously,nunused as she is to introspection. Inna sense it is the author who does thenreminiscing for her: the ambiguity isndeliberate, to create more vividly a sensenof the woman’s irrevocable alienationnfrom her own self. Cora, who is indeednthe “core” of the novel and of the farmnthat she helps run with her husband and,non occasion, his brother, provides thenmain theme for the “song” of the plainsnshe has chosen (or, rather, was chosen)nto inhabit and tame for food. That songnis harmonious only insofar as there isnnot even an attempt at melodic texture,nrhythmic variation or the slightest crescendo:nthe monophone of farming. Yetnto portray Cora as a victim, and in particular,na victim of a patriarchal, “chauvinist”nsociety, would quite miss thenpoint of her own inability to know desire,nher nearly religious addiction tonwork and discipline, her genuinentenacity and ability to adapt to her taciturnnhusband and the demands of a productivenyet Sisyphean existence. Notnthat she fails to inspire compassion; andedicated, even loving, mother (if lovenis possible to someone so captivated bynduty), Cora is a faithful wife to a mannwho didn’t know how to allow her thenexpectations that save a wedding nightnfrom being little more than rape bynsomeone familiar. Her life happens, inndaily sequence, until it is spent; yetnbehind the monotony, Morris paints,nwith the faintest brush strokes, an imagenof Cora’s efficiently suppressed inklingnof what might have been, but fornGod’s will, a happiness she dared notnthink she might deserve.nMore than a main character, Cora isnindeed a symlxjl, a theme repeated innthe other women in the novel. Defyingnthe misogyny understandably typical ofnplains life, the genetic roulette spun offnonly female progeny in the Atkins family.nThough each is different, the Atkinsnwomen share Cora’s cross: the constantnritual of work against the tedious backgroundnof the Midwestern plains —ncolorless, endless, silent.n