Word: cromptons
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...after reading this beautiful beeography, can again regard a spoonful of honey as merely a convenient way of disposing of a slice of toast. And only a captious reader will complain of sedulous Apiarist Crompton's unholier-than-thou attitude toward the bee. The bee is better than me, seems to be his buzz...
Unlike Maurice Maeterlinck, whose The Life of the Bee used the insects in part as a flight vehicle for his own soarings into the wild extramundane blue yonder, dedicated Beekeeper Crompton lets the bees buzz for themselves. He follows them, with cries of pride and lamentation, from their hexagonal cradles to their grave in the grass...
Boring Man. In a sense, A Hive of Bees is the story of a conversion, for Author Crompton records his emergence from the dark night of being a bee hater (he had been repeatedly stung). Although he adds little to the available scientific literature of the bees, he gives an exciting picture of what it must be for a man to have a hive and to know just what happens inside. The bees, says Crompton, are dedicated to Mom (who breeds incessantly), but they have solved certain Oedipal problems by permitting only one mother to exist within their waxen skyscrapers...
...bores bees, and bees will do much to keep this inept and sweaty creature away from the true business of production-honey. They will sting, and when they do, Author Crompton insists, the bees know that they give their lives for a good cause. The most successful career woman in the insect world converts her useless ovipositor into a weapon of aggression-and self-destruction. Only the queen bee has it made. Not for nothing did Napoleon have his robes embroidered with the bee symbol: that belated Beelzebub knew who was Lord of the Flies...
Social Security. Although it is about bees, this is a human book. The sensitive might almost weep as Crompton tells how he has been obliged to silence diseased hives with Cyanogas, and heard the orchestral voice of his insect friends shut off "as if a hand had been placed over an echoing string." And he follows the worn old worker bee to her last rendezvous with social security. Her wings are torn; her last load of nectar is nothing much; she falls short of the hive. "Just at the time the youngsters at the hive are coming out for school...