Word: novelists
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Night Flight, Pilot-Novelist Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's fine story of commercial aviation, an airline manager gazes gloomily out at a heavy night, in futile search for a lost plane. Absently he fingers a sheaf of teletypes on his desk. "These are the paths death takes to enter here," he says, "messages that have lost their meaning...
...Anything Happened." One day last week Saint-Exupéry's goddaughter rode high in the sky over the Atlantic. Dark-haired Suzanne Roig was the daughter of Georges Roig, an old friend of the novelist and one of France's pioneer aviators himself. "I'll never get tired of traveling," she wrote to a friend recently. Last week she was back at her job as stewardess of a huge Air France Constellation just making ready to come in for a landing at Azores' Santa Maria airfield. The sky around her ship was clear, and laced...
...Tammany Hall could award the next Nobel Prize for literature, it might well choose Scotsman Bruce Marshall. Novelist Marshall (Father Malachy's Miracle, Vespers in Vienna) cannily laces his fiction with all the flourishes of the practicing ward heeler. He is always for the little fellow, cries out loudly against the interests, roots piously for religion, winks broadly at the moral delinquencies of the unfortunate...
...literally. In word, thought and deed he kept trying to walk in His steps, and kept getting his shins kicked for his pains. The reader meets him in his Paris parish in 1914 when he is 35 and hopeful, leaves him near-blind, buffeted but beatifically resigned just before Novelist Marshall lets his typewriter cool. In World War I he fights as an infantry soldier, becomes a wounded hero and learns the worldly lesson that glory lasts but a day. A little while later he learns that the lovely little girl he befriended has become a prostitute. Novelist Marshall never...
...Gaston is so clearly on the side of the angels that his worst enemy is none of those that Novelist Marshall sets up, but Novelist Marshall himself. In To Every Man a Penny, goodness becomes a cloying surfeit, and sentiment runs over into Parisian bathos...