Word: gilliatt
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...first, these elliptical discussions seem arch and aimless. But Gilliatt, a film critic for The New Yorker and the author of several brilliant short story collections and novels, subtly builds them to establish the existence of a singular bond between singular men. In time, Peregrine becomes a barrister and then a curmudgeonly journalist whose essays excoriate the modern world. Benedick becomes an electronic harpsichordist and marries a difficult woman named Joanna, who speaks eight or ten languages and runs what appears to be an armaments brokerage from a telex machine in their Wiltshire house. When Joanna restlessly and ruthlessly divorces...
...Gilliatt seems to have discovered a few of the master's old raiments herself, for the reader is invited to believe in her characters not as authentic personae, but as profound sketches of imaginary people. It is impossible to refuse the invitation. Gilliatt's narrative line is sure, and her antic spirit is unflagging. What is fully drawn and wholly believable, curiously enough, is the great love between the two brothers. If the result is fiction as eccentric as its subjects, no matter. Most current novels err in the direction of stultifying detail and would be better...
...seems odd to emphasize personal jockeying, it won't after you've read the book. For only the personalities emerge from it with some clarity and vigor. You may not find much important about The Virgin and the Gypsy and Five Easy Pieces from Penelope Gilliatt's and Jacob Brackman's respective reviews in the New Yorker and Esquire, but you will remember that the critics write long summaries in seamless prose, and are apt to get a bit drippy when the right nerve-end is touched. You might remember even more: that Gilliatt likes cultural detachment and civility...
SUNDAY, BLOODY SUNDAY. A low-key, painfully believable contemporary love story, intelligently written by Penelope Gilliatt and flawlessly acted by Peter Finch and Glenda Jackson...
With her nerve and enormous vitality, it is hard to imagine Miss Gilliatt happy at Harvard, though the university has offered her a place teaching either fiction writing or literature. And she is considering the position for sometime after the spring of '73. As a candid and ardent artist, she is sure to have none of 'fitting in, shutting up and making...