Of Miss Davidman's Letter to a Comrade there is less to say than of any of the books on our list.  She is more evenly a poet than any but the two we have not yet mentioned; she has respect for the language, for the traditions of poetry, and for her own intelligence; she is forthright and what is more important she is candid.  For the most part she writes with authority because she mostly limits herself either to what she knows or knows that she wants to know.  She resorts neither to dogmas nor to any of the devices for stilling the consciousness, and succumbs only to those blueprint symbols and spirit natural to a growing mind affected by the megalopolitan culture of this decade.  The spirit which conceives and the intellect which articulates the predominant element of protest in her poems are not entirely hers, not digested, not matured, but are a non-incorporated framework borrowed perhaps from the land of the New Masses where the best of these poems previously appeared.  She has, that is, permitted her sensibility to be violated by the ideas which have attracted her.  This is because the technique of her verse is not yet strong enough or plastic enough to cope alone with the material her sensibility has absorbed, and takes meanwhile any help it can get.  There is nothing surprising in this; the very forms of our education, and the very formlessness of our taste, seem fairly designed to set us in immaturity by preventing us, so to speak, from the maturity we had only to assent to to inherit.  Miss Davidman gives us as her greatest promise that she has within her the ability to make that assent.