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In this one, I especially did like the hit men who are definitely over the hill and not overwhelmingly bright, either. Thanks so much. And as always, the book recommendations are appreciated. Makes me want to read all of them. Between W. IRIS N. Newsletter 82 April 14, Those guys had the enviable conviction that their work was an important cultural contribution, and the also enviable expectation that their books would make money. The introduction by W.

The diamonds get carried around in an iron box, discussed, gone to law over, stolen— and worn only once or twice.

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The diamonds hold the novel together, which works very well for Trollope, a notorious improviser—that is, he wrote rapidly with minimal revision, always forging ahead. His broad understanding and appreciation of his world, however, make his writing in this novel, at any rate, lucid and exciting. You get a real tour of how far a woman could go in her transgressions in late Victorian England before she fell out of the social scene altogether..

I also had the pleasure of reading a delightful nonfiction book by a Montclair, New Jersey, writer, Deborah Davis. Davis seems to have set out to discover the story of woman in the painting— and she does tell a lot about Gautreau, but in the end, she focuses on Sargent and the milieu in which he made his career. Gautreau becomes in the end a sad figure, because her only art form is her looks, which she loses in due course with the advance of age. She becomes a recluse. Gautreau and Sargent both are Americans who live mostly in Europe, and what in the end is best about the book and very good indeed is a sketch of fin de siPcle and early 20th century upper class Parisian life.

I read the book with delight, especially after a recent visit to Boston and the Isabelle Stewart Gardner museum which has a lot of Sargent. Even the Boston Museum of Fine Arts has some big mythic murals painted by Sargent towards the end of his life.

I liked the book, and am pleased that it has done well because it is a solidly character-driven novel in spite of a flurry of mostly earned literarily speaking violence at the end. There is one particularly interesting technique for writers to note: the sections following the main character Miles and others are in past tense, but the second most important character, his teen-age daughter, has HER passages in present tense.

I like both of these characters, Miles and daughter Tick. I was aware as I read the last thirty pages of the book that my body had gone very still in that anticipatory way that means I am totally sucked in. My husband enjoyed a few Leonard novels but I just found them unreadable. Dunno if that film is based on a written fiction or is an original screenplay, but it was one of those movies that genuinely bothered me as a fiction writer precisely because it was so ultimately plotless, and believable and engaging plot with a building of tension is such a hard thing to accomplish in any narrative form.

Is the film not merely a charm bracelet of episodes, vignettes, sketches, very loosely connected, and maybe, at best, has the feeling of diffuse unity of a collection of interconnected stories, if that? But if so, the movie should announce what you're getting; otherwise feels like a false product to me.

There's no build up of tension or incident, and, moreover, so many of the incidents are screamingly politically correct, and all the tough-to-achieve propulsive narrative of fiction is non-existent With best wishes. And once again, my Queens nieghborhood library serves up a book that I'd have to reserve and wait months for in Manhattan.

It's a sharply observed, entertaining story about cancer researchers and what happens to them and their relationships when one accuses another of faked results. He faulted the structure while praising the characterizations. I thought the structure, which sounds gimmicky--the story starts at the end, then works back in time, showing the characters at key moments in , and then worked incredibly well, so well, in fact, that it left me wondering why every story isn't told this way. There was an unpeeling of layers that I found very effective. I had a little trouble, however, with some of the characters--for about the first half of the book I kept mixing up several of the main female characters, couldn't seem to tell them apart, which obstructed my involvement in the story as I kept getting confused about who was who.

This eased up as the book went on, but it was a problem since a big part of the unfolding-backward approach involves revealing how these characters' lives are intertwined and when I couldn't keep them straight this was hard to follow. Could be the problem was my own obtuseness; I'll be interested to hear whether anyone else has this problem. As in Waters' previous works, the sense of time and place and the richness of detail are wonderfully realized.

Artist Illustrates The Most Intense Love Story About A Soap Bar And It's Too Weird

Yes, the title has an exclamation point--you'll get it when you read the book. Here's a gifted young writer who's crafted a wacky-sounding idea into a beautiful, comic, sad, silly, profound, touching novel.

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In real life, Sinclair lived into the s and during his long life wrote many novels, all, like THE JUNGLE, intended to arouse the masses into revolutionary action and all panned by the literary powers that be. In Bachelder's book, Sinclair, like Joe Hill, never died--or, at least, not for good.

The writer lives, and dies, and lives again, an ineradicable symbol of the struggle for social justice: over and over, he is assassinated by right wingers who win fame and fortune for the deed, and over and over, he is exhumed and brought back to life by young folks determined to revive the struggle. With each renewed life, Sinclair writes more books, speaks at more underground meetings, touches more young hearts and minds.

The class struggle, it seems, just will not die. As if that message weren't enough to endear this book to me, there's also lots of slyly wonderful stuff about the question of political art and how capitalism tries to crush it; look especially for a great scene where Upton Sinclair and E. Doctorow chew this over at a Chinese restaurant.

Cat Pleska has a lot of good book reviews on her blog. They are definitely toiling in the literary fields in a way that deserves support. I just gave an afternoon reading to some college classes and others at Ramapo College in northern New Jersey. You can have the daily word e-mailed to you each day. Books will be available for sale and signing. Another Iris poet was featured on Poetry Daily. This event occurs during National Poetry Month, with Poets House hosting its annual poetry book showcase, with just about every poetry book published in on display. Wine and savory tidbits, too!

Barbara Crooker sends us a link to see the bookstores in 35 states who will be displaying the Making of Peace Poetry Broadside Series over fifty of them across the US and internationally. Deadline: June 26, -The U.

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While in Japan, artists work on an individual project that may include the creation of new work or pursuit of other artistic goals. Five awards are made annually. Friendship Commission. And now, a little less about my activities and a little more about books and reading.

I think I am reading with less and less skill, or is it less and less attention? I was aware 21 years ago, to be exact that I was reading less when my son was born and I was pressed for time. But I think there are more pressures on reading than mere time management. There are the other media, of course: television never particularly bothered me, or movies.

But the Internet has affected how I read, especially as I have become a small-time web master. Obviously I DO read, although not a lot compared to some of my friends and colleagues. Indeed, one of the reasons I began this newsletter was to get suggestions that would help me choose my reading better. From my personal point of view, the newsletter has been highly successful: a lot of my reading now comes directly from what people suggest to me here.

The problem seems to me to be that literary art and entertaining reading have become ever-more-separated. Some writers, centered often but not always around university writing programs, seem to write challenging work that demands to be studied. This kind of writing is not for relaxing at the end of a long day. What is valued most is a kind of beautiful, thickly layered, self-conscious language that often makes heavy, indirect references to other literature. At the opposite end of the continuum is entertaining schlock, written for nothing but relaxation and sensation and easy transference to the movies.

In the old days, when novels were the major entertainment game in town, there was more opportunity for work that was both entertaining and literary as well as perhaps striving for an ethical apprehension of life. I find myself impatient with some of our finest writing, especially when I realize that all the complexities and carefully balanced sentences often center on the experiences here comes Madame Curmudgeon of brilliant young people whose sharpest adult experiences are about sex and alcohol and drugs.

Where is the great literature that also tells me how to live my next thirty or forty years? Toni Morrison does the balancing act. If he feels a little low, he tightens the strap. In the meantime, she keeps Jack hidden in an old shed. She also checks out the point-to-point rules, in case there is a rule against non-horses.

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Dad, who knows nothing of what Jill is planning with Jack, has borrowed a horse, Scimitar, for the race, but is not fit enough to ride him. He continues to train, regardless of his condition. Scimitar is too big for Jill to use. Meanwhile, Jill and Jack begin training in earnest, using the jumps Eunice and Amanda have so kindly set up in Long Meadow. When the two bullies tease her about it, Jack really sends them off.

But then they discover where she is hiding Jack and hide her saddle. Jill is forced to ride Jack bareback and the bullies are shocked when she gets badly hurt trying to do so.

go here They send for help anonymously and then guilt has them quietly return the saddle. Jill, now recovered from her fall, resumes her training with Jack regardless. Once Dad sees Jack clear the jump that so many horses have shied at, he finally relents, and gives Jack and Jill his blessing for entering the point-to-point. So Jill sends in her entry form. At first Eunice and Amanda are laughing at Jill entering Jack in the point-to-point. But when they see what serious competition Jack and Jill have become, they decide to pull a dirty trick instead.

By the time Jill finds him he has indeed become ill from a bug he caught in the pond, and his condition worsens so much they fear for his life. Fortunately, Mr Darbury has experience with cows catching the same bug in that pond and makes up the remedy he used for them.