national review takes pride in announcing that four able young writers have agreed to join the magazine as “associates and contributors.” Hugh Kenner, who has appeared in our pages frequently in recent months and whose latest review was the exciting “The Sureness of Belloc” (April 25), has written a book on T. S. Eliot which will be published in a fortnight by McDowell, Obolensky. (Eliot has called him one of the outstanding young critics in America.) Francis Russell, a free lance writer, is a frequent contributor to Time and Tide, the Observer, Modem Age and American Heritage. An appraisal of Bertrand Russell by J. D. Futch, a young soldier now serving in Italy, will be published shortly. Mr. Futch, a Johns Hopkins graduate, plans to complete his graduate studies in history upon his discharge. Aloise B. Heath, well known to the readers of national review for her infrequent (we mean it’s like pulling teeth—ed.) and amusing commentaries on current foibles, goes on the masthead with the fervent hope of the editors that as a “contributor” she will feel impelled to, well, contribute.
For those who think national review is too academic, we say: on the contrary, we write pretty hot copy—in fact, flaming hot. At least so it was demonstrated last week when, arriving at the office one morning, we found the daily envelope from the printer at the front door, merrily blazing away. After a valiant lady in the circulation department had stomped out the flames we investigated and found the galleys inside well-done—ranging from a readable gold-brown to an undecipherable charred black. You can say it was an accident, that a carelessly flicked cigarette or something had landed on it, but we know better. If you ask us, it was a Red-hot plot!
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