Word: fleshed
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...Kosinski's seventh novel and we see more method to the madness of human grotesquerie that has always decorated his pages. Kosinski writes about the dark shadow self--our violent urges, homosexual lusts, transexual curiosities, murderous inclinations, heterosexual explorations, and, inevitably, our intense fear of surrendering control of the flesh and bones that give us life. None of these themes is new to Kosinski; what's new is the lucidity and restraint with which they're developed. Passion Play is his best novel...
...attracts fans like Richie. As he had the previous ten days, Richie took the subway up from Woodside to watch McEnroe dissect Connors in the semis. He sat in a courtside box that was clearly not his own, and burrows of ripped flesh criss-crossed his palm like tic-tac-toe patterns locked in mortal combat. There was blood on his hands, but the kid from Queens didn't feel guilty...
...Narrow Water became like a scene from some fictional war film," reported TIME'S Ed Curran from Belfast. "Everywhere in the debris was blood and human flesh. Overhead the late afternoon sky was obscured by dense smoke rising from the wreckage. The soldiers who had survived staggered around and some opened fire across the Lough at two young men whom they apparently took to be the bombers. The tragedy of Narrow Water was now complete. The two were merely gawking at what had happened. One was shot in the arm; the other was killed. In addition, 18 soldiers, including...
...like the word decadent. All shimmering with purple and gold. It throws out the brilliance of flames and the gleam of precious stones. It is made up of carnal spirit and unhappy flesh and of all the violent splendors of the Lower Empire: it conjures up the paint of courtesans, the sports of the circus, the breath of the tamers of animals, the bounding of wild beasts, the collapse among the flames of races exhausted by the power of feeling, to the invading sound of enemy trumpets. -Paul Verlaine, circa...
...stops along the river, including some obscure hamlets and locks, Carter leaped ashore to shake hands and kiss babies; in the first 200 miles alone, he caused the Delta Queen to make nine unscheduled stops so that he could press more flesh. "Hi, I love you," he said over and over. Nobody who saw Carter's scratched and swollen hands or the lines of fatigue etching his face in the dawn at places like rain-drenched Lynxville Lock, Wis., could doubt that he was working at least as hard on this vacation as at the White House. But Carter...