Word: beerbohm
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...author-just as the poet wished. A Cambridge don who shunned any mention of his verse, Housman hid behind a late-Victorian mask of colorless propriety. The flamboyant London literary scene of the turn of the century left him cold. "He was like an absconding cashier," recalled Max Beerbohm. "We certainly wished he would abscond...
Pritchett is a master of the casual apothegm. He accounts for Max Beerbohm's cultivated eccentricities by noting the "foreign strain" in his parentage: "Expatriation allows one to drop a lot of unwanted moral luggage, lets talent travel lightly and opens it to the histrionic." He speculates on the Edwardians' taste for the novels of George Meredith, for satire and high comedy: "One can see why: an age of surfeit had arrived. The lives of the upper classes were both enlivened and desiccated by what seems to have been a continuous diet of lobster and champagne-a diet...
David Levine is the best-known political and literary caricaturist since Max Beerbohm. His cartoon of Lyndon Johnson's gall bladder scar in the shape of Viet Nam is a classic, and it is impossible to see a picture of Kafka, Mailer or Proust without remembering the artist's caustic lines. But there is another, gentler Levine: a water-colorist of enormous delicacy and control. The Arts of David Levine (Knopf; 205 pages; $25) celebrates both with generous samples of serious portraiture, beach scenes and parodic sketches that recall the nervous poignance of Daumier and fully justify John...
...slick weekly magazine comes about only as a result of a particular view of the world: that people are basically crazy, and that the only way to survive at all is through laughter. This philosophy has been carried through the centuries by the likes of Chaucer, Sheridan, Twain and Beerbohm. For the past fifty years the cartoonists in The New Yorker have espoused it, and have presented our frailties to us with wit, grace and, most of all, total disrespect for the supposed importance of our lives...
...possessed a town house with painted ceilings and marble fireplaces that he rather hated and a charming wife in Schiaparelli originals whom he loved, and he showed off both. Parties the Clarks gave and attended were exercises in name-dropping: Noël Coward, Max Beerbohm, Arthur Rubinstein, T.S. Eliot, Winston Churchill...