Word: deere
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...cabin is gone now, packed up by FBI agents, its perimeter ringed by a chain-link fence with a KEEP OUT sign that only the occasional rabbit and passing deer will see. A few feet away, the garden that Ted Kaczynski once tended so carefully has gone to ruin; the red bicycle that he rode four miles down a dirt road into town lies in pieces, rusting and overgrown with weeds. In the town of Lincoln, Mont., no one talks much about the ex-neighbor, the Unabomber suspect. Only strangers ask about him. But two weeks ago, two strangers showed...
...room apartment in Japan, where I write this, has an address six lines long that winds through a confounding sequence of dashes, numerals, English words (Memphis Apartments) and lyrical Japanese terms that sound as if they escaped from the Emperor's New Year haiku ("the Southern Slope of Deer" is the meaning of one), all of which is doubly embarrassing since, as everyone knows, the Japanese don't have street addresses. And to call my office from this apartment involves a seven-digit access number, a 14-digit personal code and then another 14 digits. The days when I used...
...record ER. She's been basking happily the past six years in the shadow of her mogul husband Ted Turner (vice chairman of Time Warner), watching the buffalo roam and writing a cookbook (perhaps the only one with a section on eating disorders). Now, however, she has left the deer stand (she hunts with Ted) and returned to the klieg lights. What lured her was a pressing need--to reduce teen pregnancy--and an enemy, conservative Republicans who attached strings to $250 million for sex education; to get the money, schools must preach "abstinence only" to young people...
Updike's prose, as ever, makes a fantastically beautiful read. New England hills and frozen golf courses become the landscape of the female body and skinny, thieving prostitutes are virginal deer under his masterful pen. The language of growth, fertility and nature is strewn throughout the book, forming an ideal realm against which the disintegrating, technoiogically advanced world of man seems ridiculously fumbling and doomed...
...spite of occasional lapses into gratuitous sex and idiocy, Towards the End of Time is a lovely and rich work. The melancholic reflections of Ben Turnbull are often quite moving, and his descriptions of the women, deer and flowers he encounters alone make the book worth reading. While the sense of cohesiveness and completion of many of his earlier works is lacking, in a book about losing control and ambition, that may be just the point. Anyone wondering whether Updike has lost any of his formidable potency may rest assured that indeed he has not. On the contrary, like...