Word: memoirs
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...ANYONE WHO CARES TO MEET A JOURnalist who has been happy in his work, THE SWAMP ROOT CHRONICLE (Norton; $24.95) is heartily recommended. In this peppy memoir, Robert Manning traces his career through the wire services, TIME and John Kennedy's State Department, plus 16 years as editor in chief of the Atlantic until he was sandbagged -- there seems no better word for it -- by the magazine's present owner, Mort Zuckerman. It's hard to avoid smugness when recounting one's triumphs, and the author does not always succeed. Manning got his start at the Binghamton (N.Y.) Press, which...
...these ghostly materials Michael Ondaatje has fashioned a magic carpet of a novel that soars across worlds and times. Ondaatje, a Sri Lankan poet who lives in Toronto, has gained considerable acclaim before, most notably for his one-of-a-kind memoir of colonial Ceylon, Running in the Family. He has also established himself as one of the most inspired chroniclers, and exemplars, of the new cross-cultural mix taking shape all around us, able to light up Salman Rushdie-land with a visual daring that must have moviemakers salivating. Two weeks ago, The English Patient won England's prestigious...
...BOTTOM LINE: In this humid version of Marguerite Duras's memoir, the most dangerous part of sex is love...
Annaud at first seems an odd choice for director. The variety of landscapes and eras in his Quest for Fire, The Name of the Rose and The Bear suggests he is less an auteur than an explorer. And one with an imperialist bent: he pumps this intimate memoir into a David Lean-size epic. But once Annaud locks his movie in the dark bedroom, he finds metaphors of gesture for convulsive passions; he creates cliff-hanging drama from each shift of the girl's whim...
...HAUNTED BY WATERS," Norman Maclean wrote at the end of A River Runs Through It, his memoir-novella about growing up in Montana in the early years of this century. The phrase is both appropriate and curious: appropriate because his little story (104 pages) is mostly about standing in mountain streams with his brother Paul, fly-fishing for trout; curious because Maclean's prose is dry and laconic, nothing watery about it. It does not rush or eddy or -- heaven forfend -- gurgle. It runs steady and clear, and beneath its surface you sense the darting shadows of powerful emotions...