Word: criticism
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...semiotician's practiced eye, society's every phenomenon and event is a text inviting interpretation, an opportunity for writing oneself into the margins of the scene as reader-critic-author. Not that the margins are without their privileges. Blonsky observes--as no less than a cataclysm--the recent deaths of Roland Barthes, Roman Jakobson, Michel Foucault, and Jacques Lacan, whose posthumous presence in the collection reflects how the "death of the authors" has ironically inaugurated a backward-looking era for cultural literacy. At the same time, Blonsky's exclusive salon is also visited by still-vital voices such as Umberto...
Sakharov, a 1975 Nobel Peace Prize winner and principal developer of the Soviet nuclear capability, has been an outspoken critic of Soviet policy and was exiled in 1980. Bonner was forced to join him in exile four years later...
...goes by a variety of names: Abul Abbas, Mohammed Abbas, Mohammed Abul Abbas Zaidan, Abu Khaled. He has been an ally and enemy of Syria's, a colleague and critic--simultaneously--of Palestine Liberation Organization Chairman Yasser Arafat's. Until a few weeks ago he was one of the more obscure leaders within the fragmented P.L.O., a member of its ten-man executive committee but directly in charge of only a splinter of a splinter, with perhaps fewer than 100 hard-core followers. His supposed allies openly deride Washington's characterization of him as a terrorist mastermind. Says one P.L.O...
Bizarre symbolism abounds in this tale. Red is everywhere, from the Coke cans to the ever enigmatic Santa suit. And why does Roberts choose to befriend a small marsupial, of all creatures, that he finds in his apartment. But this movie is definitely not, as one Boston critic put it, too weird for words. The comedy of Coca-Cola Kid is akin to that of Bill Forsyth, odd and ethnic, but not inaccessible by any means. In contrast to the supposed Oscar heavy-weights that have gone thud this fall, The Coca-Cola Kid doesn't take itself or anyone...
Calvino takes for his instrument a highly unliterary device: that great observation post of modern technological man, the gigantic telescope on Mount Palomar in Southern California. He perches a pair of unsteady eyeglasses on the balding crown of the observatory. The critical mass of our atomic age is passe; we have moved on to critical distance in the what-comes-next age. Middle-aged Mr. Palomar is the clumsy seer. Mr. Calvino is the critic, shooting from the hip the question for scientific man in his midlife crisis--"'What color is your parachute?'...or haven...