Word: ende
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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DIDION'S SENSITIVITY--the very quality that powers her writing--defeats her in the end. She is mired in an emotional bog; the weight of her evocative detail does not allow her to stand back and assess the images she conjures. The White Album's collection of little insights does not add up to one big one. Didion writes about an intensely debated, copiously documented period, but she doesn't try to impose any order on the chaos. Didion cannot ultimately discipline her own sensitivity, and therein lies the failure of this tightly written, perceptive book...
...very end of the play, after each couple has been united, the actors--in stark white or black costumes till then--remove their robes to reveal bright, almost dayglo renaissance costumes. Like the discarded scripts at the beginning, Sellars undoubtedly meant this touch to say to the audience, "This is what I could have done, but that would have been boring...
...whose checkered career includes a Sorbonne degree in philosophy and two convictions on French smuggling raps. In recent years he has made millions as an arms procurer and builder of military bases in Saudi Arabia. Ojjeh's spokesman dismissed the reports as nonsense, and at week's end he was said to be negotiating a $293 million deal to buy aircraft from Dassault-Breguet, the French planemaker, presumably on behalf of the Saudi government. Nor has Ojjeh's opulence declined. At last count he owned ten Rolls-Royces, 30 Mercedes and two Boeing 707s. Says...
...turning the world into a wall-to-wall bureaucracy. "We are not completing anything," the Soviet says. "And we are not being used up in order for anything to be complete." The mechanics of policy, he adds, which should merely be the peripheral protection for life, has become an end in itself, "taking up the space and the time, until no one knows anything else...
...wandering among the Waterford goblets." Yet the author is too honest a historian to let sympathy alter circumstances. The first taste of revolution is a heady draft, but the dregs of doom lie at the bottom of the glass. "It was all poetry," observes one survivor wistfully at the end. This thoughtful, graceful elegy is no less...