Word: cloaked
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...golden border. Then the black and white men of court return and Aegon thinks of "Lesbos when the beach turned gray" and "the gray stallion of the autumn." And finally Clytemnestra returns--with neither her husband nor his mistress, but with the blood of both. She flings her cloak open: it shines blood scarlet. She wraps it around her; still the scarlet lining shows, till the last light is out and there is silence...
...against avant-garde design in itself. Rather, I object to architecture that tries to cloak its sleaziness under something called "functional honesty." Architectural critics will tell me that Holyoke Center has nothing artificial about it, that it does not try to hide its functional aspects (like the unsightly utility core, which, God knows, ought to be hidden). "Functional honesty" seems to me a marvelously clever way of passing off cheapness and embarrassing people into acceptance of unfinished concrete exteriors. Hans Christian Andersen's emperor, after all, was dressed in a most functionally honest...
...school teacher who taught Maori children in back-country New Zealand. Herself a teacher for 17 years in Maori schools (but a grandmother rather than a spinster), Novelist Ashton-Warner endowed her heroine with an extraordinary gift for handling young Maori minds in conflict with civilization. Dropping the fictional cloak, she has now expounded her singular methods in Teacher. Published this week (Simon & Schuster; $5), it may well be the year's best book on education...
Native Passion. One fact to emerge from the recent wave of arrests is that the Soviet apparatus seems sentimentally fond of such old cloak-and-dagger standbys as false bottoms in valises, hidden compartments in talcum-powder cans and toothpaste tubes, and flashlights with message chambers instead of batteries. A Russian spy's residence usually has as many trap doors, hollow beams, false walls, secret passages and double-and triple-locked doors as a Grade B horror movie...
Lear is the most titanic figure in all drama. When Carnovsky first enters, dressed in a purple tunic, a silver-trimmed orange cloak, and a heavy gray embossed baldric, he mounts an improvised black bear-skin throne, stands with right hand alott, and all those present instinctively kneel. Though an octogenarian, this Lear is no weakling. He is not just a great man; he is not even just a king; he seems to be almost a god implanted on Olympus. (In an inspired touch, this same bit of business is pathetically echoed towards the end of the play...