UPTON Sinclair, prophet extraordinary, has been telling the world what it was coming to for thirty years; and, despite his unorthodox economics and occasionally almost unbelievable naivete, he has usually succeeded in striking the gong with uncanny precision. His latest assumption of the role of seer, however, is not likely to add to his reputation as an oracle. "I, Governor of California, and How I Ended Poverty," subtitled "A True Story of the Future," is an account of the manner in which one Upton Sinclair, novelist, captured the California Democratic primaries in August, 1934, was elected Governor in November, and two years later had not only abolished poverty in California but completely undermined the capitalistic system and sent the spectre of Fascism fleeing from the shores of America. The strangest thing is that Sinclair seems actually to believe in the possibility of his pipe-dream coming true.

The scheme is worth consideration. Convinced by past experience that he will never be elected to anything on the Socialist ticket, Sinclair has decided to follow La Follette's example and capture the nomination for governor of a major party, which California's direct primary law makes theoretically possible. Then, after winning the election with the votes of unemployed and otherwise unfortunate citizens, he proceeds to socialize agriculture by buying up tax-delinquent land and planting cooperative land colonies on it, and to socialize industry by buying up idle factories and putting the unemployed to work in them (at $15 a week) producing goods for the land colonists, who in turn produce food for the factory workers. All this is to be financed by a $300,000,000 issue of small denomination bonds, which people will be persuaded to buy with the money now lying idle in saving banks, and which will circulate as currency. Thus not only is the socialization of agriculture and industry financed, but also predatory (that is, all) banks are wiped out. Once set in motion, the land colonies and state factories gradually drive all capitalistic enterprise into bankruptcy, and in an incredibly brief time rich and poor become words of the past.

Further refinements, such as state pensions for the aged, blind, widowed, or otherwise incapacitated, a great increase in the property tax on parcels worth over $5,000, a 50 per cent inheritance tax and a stiffly graduated income tax, the substitution of scrip for money, etc., are incidental to the main project, which Sinclair expects to work out with such rapidity that after two years the historian of his reign will write, "The Governor made a last speech over the radio, saying that he had caused a thorough investigation to be made throughout the State of California, and that the only poor person he had been able to find was a religious hermit who lived in a cave. Therefore he considered his job done, and he purposed to go home and write a novel."

The coming governor relies largely on the current taste for catchy abbreviations, with its NRA and RFC and OWA and CCC, to put over his election. His plan is the EPIC plan--End Poverty in California. His instruments will be the CAL, the CAP, and the CAM--California Authority for Land, for Production, and for Money. The symbol of EPIC will be the Golden Bee (in contrast to the predatory Blue Eagle of the NRA) and its motto, "I Produce, I Defend." No doubt such things have a magic all their own, but it seems just a bit optimistic to expect them to make Sinclair the next governor of California. Opposition from the Dark Powers is of course foreseen by the prophet, but apparently mostly in the form of attempts to compromise him with a beautiful blonde.

The obstacles to the realization of the EPIC Utopia are so obvious as scarcely to need comment. They fairly jump at the reader of the book. Not only is Sinclair's economic theory shoddy, but his Rousseau-istic faith in the goodness of man is child-like in its simplicity. That all the wealthy people in California would allow themselves to be peacefully legislated out of their property in a few months presumes just a bit too much on the softening influence of California sunshine. Sinclair's name may appear on the Democratic ballot in the primaries this August, but no doubt Harry Chandler and William Randolph Hearst will find means to ensure his getting no more than the fifty thousand votes he has been accustomed to win as a perennial Socialist candidate. It really is unfortunate, too, for an attempt to work out the EPIC plan would be a refreshing variation in the mad scramble for booty that goes under the name of politics in California. The sincere, if unsophisticated, idealism of this man who has never worn a dress suit would loom in joyous contrast to the urbanity and nonentity of "Sunny Jim" Rolph.