Word: memoirs
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Author Roosevelt's memoir has little of the high historic excitement of Robert Sherwood's Roosevelt and Hopkins and none of the hero-worshiping quality of Grace Tully's F.D.R., My Boss; she just runs along easily as though she were showing the family album to some old friends. Yet every few pages she comes to a striking, familiar snapshot of the great ones among whom she and her husband moved. Random shots...
...make his memoir consistently interesting, Author Paul would have had to present himself as a compelling personality, or his characters as three-dimensional realities. Readers will give him low marks on both counts. Eighteen-year-old Elliot appears only as a set of eyes & ears collecting gossip about the people around him; and the people themselves are named, framed with an anecdote or two, then written off in a few pat parenthetical paragraphs. With a long way to go before his peripatetic life story is brought up to date, Author Paul already sounds a little weary of the whole project...
...these early years, the new biography by the poet's grandson, Charles Tennyson, supplies much material never published before; Alfred hated to talk about them and his son, Hallam, had to scant them in his standard memoir of 50 years ago. Nothing, however, could so testify to Tennyson's magnetic power as this veneration by the second and third generations of his family. Charles, a distinguished lawyer and civil servant who is now 70 himself, remembers his towering grandfather in old age, shuffling downstairs in the morning and extending his great withered brown hand to the children...
...amusingly this time. Christopher Morley's new novel, The Man Who Made Friends With Himself, is a long epigram-studded footnote on the life of Richard Tolman, a literary agent who commutes and ruminates between his Long Island home and his Manhattan office. His story is a memoir found after his death...
...Knife (by Clifford Odets; produced by Dwight Deere Wiman) is Odets' first play in seven years, and probably his poorest ever. A kind of savagely spluttering memoir of Hollywood, where Odets has spent most of those seven years, it is a lament for crushed ideals and identities, a screeching indictment of vicious methods and heartless men. Its anger is real; everything else about it is contrived...