Word: mama
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...leader of the gang to which Peyson belonged, the rumor went, was burly, 180-lb. Boysie Singh, alias Julie Mama. Like Blackbeard, who braided ribbons into his beard and went into action with smoldering fuses behind his ears, Singh knows the value of a proper appearance. During the war, when he owned a string of nightclubs, he wore a ten-gallon hat, a sharply draped zoot suit, and numerous rings. More recently he has assumed the role of owner of a modest fishing fleet and prefers a fisherman's sweater and khaki trousers...
While the young sulk, the elders cavort. Papa Pomfret has an obliging mistress and Mama Weatherby flirts freelance. Each laments the drab respectability of the new generation. "Sometimes," says Mama Weatherby of her son, "I almost wonder if he knows the facts of life even. You see he respects girls so!" And Papa Pomfret wryly complains that he "has to implore his child not to be home at certain hours...
Philip and Mary announce their engagement, but they are no match for Mama Weatherby, who doesn't want her son to marry anybody as dreary as Mary is. While pretending to plan their marriage, she subtly sabotages it. Meanwhile she makes an all-out play for her old flame, Pomfret, with cozy dinners, warm reminders of old excitements, heartbreaking tears and a comfortable readiness to be kissed at the right moment. At the novel's end, Mary and Philip have gone off in different directions, but their elders are floating in the old euphoria...
Together with the routine hoopla of life with Papa and Mama Merrill and their five noisy but insistently wholesome children. Author Steele has Debby engage in some of the most ingenuous mental operations ever recorded outside clinical notebooks. Theoretically, there is nothing to prevent somebody from writing a fine, compassionate novel about such a mental cripple; the trap in such an exercise is bathos, and it yawns for Author Steele...
...barn is as neat as an operating room. In it he does pictures of deserts strewn with bones, buttons, needles, nuggets, varicolored eggs and an occasional cactus-all impeccably painted. One such canvas hung in Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art last week. Its dramatic title, Mama, Papa Is Wounded!, bore no discernible relation to the objects represented...