Word: fleshed
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Rodin is no surprise. He had ample reason to believe that the famous French sculptor had snitched at least one good idea from him. While exploring the play of light on figures, Rosso came to feel that a man's shadow cast on the ground seemed solid as flesh. So he molded in solids the natural penumbras of cast shadows, like a cape sloping from the figure's shoulders. Several years after Rodin had visited his studio and written Rosso that he was "struck by a wild admiration for you," the older sculptor employed the technique...
...world's messiest killers, a blind, translucent larva that is the aquatic young of a sciomyzid marsh fly. No species is more than three-quarters of an inch long, but they tear into the snails that are their natural prey with fierce abandon, ripping their flesh to ribbons with sharp mouth hooks...
Radioactive Skimmings. University of Alaska Zoologist William O. Pruitt, an authority on caribou, gave the beasts a thorough going over and found that their flesh contained an unusual amount of caesium 137. After that, the story unfolded with dangerous logic. The caribou's winter food is largely lichens, a primitive plant that has no roots but gets its moisture and nutrients entirely from the air. Its spongy tissues soak up the scant Arctic rain like blotting paper and retain a large part of it. The fallout that is carried down by the rain is retained too. Instead of mixing...
This demi-paradise, this Eden for the voracious young, throbs with girlish concern for love and money, in that order. But evil, when it is finally faced firmly by Mrs. Spark, comes in the form of lust, not for human flesh but for one of the club's principal assets -a taffeta Schiaparelli dress that is lent around among the sleeker girls for evenings on the town. Does lust for a Schiaparelli justify the burning of Eden? Is Author Spark just pulling the reader's leg? A final scene is not much help. In it, the vicar...
...trouble with Cities of the Flesh, the second novel, is not, as might be thought, that Author Oldenbourg has now begun to meet herself coming and going. It is rather that the real history is so compelling that the histrionics of her characters sometimes seem frivolous and shoddy intrusions. It is hard, really, to care much about the courtly romance between Roger de Montbrun (Catholic knight of Toulouse) and Lady Gentian d'Aspremont (Cathar heretic), which takes up one-third of the book, at a time when, for example, human heads were actually being used as gun stones...