Word: likes
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Still, signs of inner strain were there: the chain-smoking, the use of drugs to get going in the morning and to stop at night, the increasingly heavy drinking. His remarkable face became a relief map of a ravaged land; Auden said he looked "like a wedding cake left out in the rain." Osborne does not flinch from presenting such evidence, but neither does he seem to know what to do with it: "On the Atlantic crossing back to England, he was uncharacteristically miserable, and on one occasion burst into tears, confessing to Isherwood that he could never find anyone...
...were silly like us," Auden wrote of Irish Poet William Butler Yeats, but the truth is that Yeats was sillier, more willing to appear foolish and embrace mumbo jumbo in service to his art. Auden's way was very different, circumspect; his poetry achieved greatness but never reached out for Yeatsian grandeur. He wrote...
...South America, the ubiquitous narrator makes love to a madwoman while slapping ferociously at mosquitoes "whose blood had been our blood only an instant before." One night in Israel, he hides naked on an apartment-house roof, like a character in a French farce, as a jealous husband prowls below. When he falls asleep he finds himself in a graveyard, playing with children long dead. In third-person tales, a homosexual's latent yearning for a woman leads to two murders and a suicide. In others, a rabbi contends with imps, demons, dybbuks and harpies; a woman sins with...
...Like John O'Hara, he was to yearn vainly for high literary honors (though he won a Pulitzer for Apley). But to some extent he was realistic about his gifts and limitations. Early on, Marquand discovered that he had a knack for writing Saturday Evening Post stories. These he tailored to the requirements of Editor George Horace Lorimer, grafting on happy endings when needed and making sure that there was plenty of boy-girl interest. He stayed clear of the literary world and regarded himself simply as an entertainer. When he encountered critical snobbery, as he began to break...
...Like John Osborne's Angry Young Man of the '50s, the hero of Quadrophenia is named Jimmy. Estranged from his family and bored with his London mailroom job, he has become a member of the mods, a loose, nationwide gang of motorbike dandies that sprang up with the Mersey sound. As the talented director Franc Roddam follows Jimmy and his cronies around, we watch a society being born. When The Who's pivotal song. My Generation, flips on at a boozy make-out party, the kids forsake their '50s dance steps for the tribal free...