Word: idylled
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...idyl ended in 1960 when Trudeau's parents were divorced. Garry, then 13, enrolled at St. Paul's School in Concord, N.H., where football skills were prized far above artistic flair. "It was an unbelievably bad climate to be an artist," recalls Classmate Joseph Wheelwright, still a close friend of Trudeau's. "Garry took a lot of grief." The grief included an incipient ulcer, friends say, but the sensitive, unathletic kid refused to stifle his artistic instincts. He served as president of the Art Association ("Twenty of us little wimps reading Artforum," says Wheelwright), became co-editor...
Director Jaecklin treats O as if it were an idyl on the order of, say, A Man and a Woman. Fog filters are extensively employed; whenever a whip is raised, Jaecklin quickly averts his camera's eye. If it is absolutely necessary to show the results of the disciplinary efforts expended on O, he sees to it that she is most prettily posed for the occasion. She recovers physically and psychologically from her sufferings with a speed that defies both medical science and common sense...
...Frederick D. Grant, Julia was a lively brunette beauty of 22 when she met a dashing Russian prince, Michael Cantacuzène, during a holiday in Rome in 1899. They were married that fall and set up housekeeping on his 80,000-acre estate in the Ukraine, but the idyl ended suddenly in 1917 when the Bolshevik revolution forced them to flee to the U.S.-she with her jewels, including the ring of an Empress of Byzantium, and five oil paintings concealed in her skirts. Back in her native Washington, the princess eventually divorced the prince, who died...
Pixilated Idyl. Those who thought that success would spoil Exley's romance with failure underestimated his capacity for masochism. In Pages from a Cold Island, he comes up with a new hero to feel dwarfed beside. No mere football star, either. This time he has chosen the century's pre-eminent American critic and man of letters, Edmund Wilson. Once he creeps into Wilson's shadow, Exley happily sets off on another binge of literary self-deprecation...
Bellow. His life settled into a long, pixilated idyl: winters of bohemian sloth on Singer Island, Fla., sleepy summers at his mother's house in upstate New York, side trips to Europe and Nassau, and an endless supply of booze and accommodating young women. Still, he insists, "my life-style of lugging my own soiled sweat shirts and skivvies to the laundromat and lunching on cheeseburgers and draft beer had altered not a whit...