Word: faulknerisms
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...professor of English will conduct a course on in the Eighteenth Century . The course, to be given in the will "focus mainly on English A survey of "American Fiction 1890" will be undertaken by Poirier, assistant professor of English Among the authors to be Howells, James, Dreiser, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner...
...should be the duty of book juries to reward the all-out professional author and not to dig around and rescue a writer from obscurity, said Novelist John O'Hara a few years ago. "I don't believe that there are better writers than Hemingway, Faulkner, Cozzens, and me pining away in Brown County, Indiana, or in an espresso joint on Third Street, or on the faculty of East South Dakota A. & M." Last week, U.S. book publishers took cognizance of O'Hara's benediction for professionalism and tapped three veteran writers...
Sanctuary (20th Century-Fox) is Hollywood's second attempt to make a movie of Author William Faulkner's woolhat horror story of murder, impotence and rape in Mississippi. As in The Story of Temple Drake (1933), most of the hairier moments of the original novel (which Faulkner frankly wrote "to make money") have been clipped, and the film dissolves into just another jugful of Hollywood's standard Southern Discomfort...
...maid mumbles something about saving the heroine from herself, but her principal function is obviously to rescue Faulkner from the moiling unmotivated mess of his plot. Actresses Remick and Odetta sometimes polarize the disorder with a powerful, paradoxical image of salvation: the black earth-mother hanged on a flimsy white flibbertigibbet. But on the whole, Producer Richard (son of Darryl) Zanuck's attempt to clean up Faulkner for the family seems a bit like trying to smear the whole of Yoknapatawpha County with underarm deodorant. It might just possibly be done, but it sure does seem a peculiar thing...
...only serious weakness is his suspicious fluency. One feels that he could write ten sequels to The Tents of Wickedness in a year, and that hardly seems fair. But "Requiem for a Noun" has a lovely beginning: The cold brussels sprout rolled off the page of the book (by Faulkner) I was reading and laying inert and defunctive in my lap. Turning my head with a leisure at least three-fourths impotent rage, I saw him or rather the reverse, the toy the fat insolent flet and then above that the bland face beneath the shock of hair like tangible...