Word: moods
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Rome displayed last week a little story, perfect as a gem, concerning small Bruno Mussolini, 9, younger son* of II Duce. Bruno's schoolteacher, it seemed, was recently examining him in grammar and desired to elicit the information that, in Italian, a verb may take the imperative mood in the second or third person but not in the first. "Now Bruno," said the examiner, "tell me in what person one cannot command...
...people. On the platform of the Chicago Coliseum, which Mrs. McPherson hired at $1,000 a day to tell about her notorious kidnaping of a year ago (TIME, June 7, 1926 ), the daughter last week followed her mother. She held her audience's attention, put them in a mood of sanctity, but she took no money from them. Mrs. McPherson did that, after her own sermon. Later, the two, with a dramatic troupe from their Angelus Temple in Los Angeles, set out to work towards Manhattan where they would arrive for the fall and winter evangelistic season...
Later, and in a more quiet mood, Pastor Straton found the opportunity to say: "... While Warren [his son] was praying, the power of God came over him just as it did over Paul and struck him down in the dust, as it came in ancient times over whole companies of men. I am not ashamed of it, nor is my son ashamed of it.... I am not a publicity hound.... I have been fighting unrighteousness since I came down to New York, and I have been doing it in a corner. What I would rather do than anything else...
Written in the mood, somewhat in the setting of South Wind (sophisticated classic by Norman Douglas) this book has some of its characteristics-a sharp satire, a style of suave surprises. But through its pages blows not a strong and pungent sirocco; instead a slow and tepid wind in which insects may hover lazily. Author Faulkner in this casual and breezy work seems always on the verge of an important irony which he never produces. His second novel is a step up in technique, a step down in importance from his powerful Soldiers...
...Significance. Of the many moods subtly fused into this book, the predominant mood is one of satire. Too wise to bear any rancor, too polite to make her rudeness obvious, Author Warner ever so softly annihilates Christian idiocies. Her weapons are neither rapiers nor bludgeons. They are satin sofa-pillows which she tosses laughingly but with accuracy. Breaking when they land, her missiles leave the recipient white and ridiculous with feathers. In prose as easygoing, as smooth and level as a buzzard's flight, she matches her astute intelligence with a fancy as varied as it is engaging...