Word: minde
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...realize the particular plight that Williams is in now, one must understand the inner tension of his finest plays. Williams has been overwhelmingly a man of feeling rather than thought, a disciple of the heart's reasons rather than the mind's reasonings. The emotional proposition at the core of The Glass Menagerie, A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is undeviating: life is an undeclared war. As Williams has dramatized it, that war is conducted on two fronts. The lacerating confrontations between Blanche DuBois and Stanley Kowalski, between Big Daddy...
This little charade is just a conversational pleasantry. Or is it? Who can ever be sure with Nabokov? Perhaps he has something more in mind. Devout Nabokov watchers might find clues in those references to Julius Caesar and Pope Gregory. They might see implications of the fall of Rome, the rise of Byzantium, and a consequent gap between East and West that makes comparisons impossible between Anglo-Saxon writers (Shakespeare) and Slavic writers (Nabokov...
...greatest living American novelist, and the most original writer and stylist since Joyce. He is also an exile, a man who has triumphantly survived this century of the refugee, a man who has lost everything, yet transformed his losses through art and levity into a habitation of the mind...
Nabokov, who is essentially a prose poet, has always had something quite different in mind. "By poetry I mean the mysteries of the irrational perceived through rational words," he has explained. "True poetry of that kind provokes not laughter and not tears but a radiant smile of perfect satisfaction, a purr of beatitude?and a writer may well be proud of himself if he can make his readers, or more exactly some of his readers, smile and purr that way." When as a young man in Berlin, Nabokov decided to translate an English masterpiece into Russian, the book he chose...
...bright eyes. I am awakened by my own snore, which is a Nabokovian paradox. Helpful pills do exist, but I am afraid of them. My habitual hallucinations are quite monstrously sufficient, thank Hades. Looking at it objectively, I have never seen a more lucid, more lonely, better balanced mad mind than mine...