Word: novels
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...magazine is an ingenious conglomeration--from the the heavy stylization of Edgar de Bresson's "A Chapter From A Novel," a stylization which seems remarkably successful in its design to obscure the fact that he has nothing to say, to a condescending essay on the local literary scene by Lowell Edmunds, who apparently has no conspicuous desire to report accurately. And there is "A Preposition," by Kurt Blankmeyer, chiefly distinguished by its first sentence, 596 words long, and also by its incomprehensibility...
...dirty work. The deed-getaway car and all-is planned coldly by Agustin, a young painter for whom art is not enough. The crime fails not because his plan is faulty but because David cannot pull the trigger as he faces the easy victim.* The gang splits. Before novel's end, a murder does take place, one almost as pointless as the planned killing would have been...
...tone in which an author normally begs his publisher for a handout. But Daniel Skipton is no normal author. Pamela Hansford Johnson has modeled him on that unholy terror Frederick William Rolfe, alias "Baron Corvo," who was recently reintroduced to U.S. readers in his previously unpublished novel Nicholas Crabbe (TIME, Feb. 2). Rolfe bit every hand that fed him and died penniless in Venice in 1913. Novelist Johnson has changed his name and shifted time and place to modern Bruges in Belgium, but she has kept intact his characteristics. Skipton boasts a Corvo-like title: Bulgarian "Knight of the Most...
Author Johnson's novel covers the last summer of Skipton's life. A party of English tourists comes to Bruges, and Skipton sets out to fleece them for his winter wear. He finds a whore for one of the men and snob delights for the woman in the party; for both sexes he arranges a Pigalle-type "spectacle." But by summer's end Skipton has himself been swindled out of what little money remains to him: his sole consolation is that death is close enough to save him from the agonies of another winter...
Unlike Boris Pasternak's novel, Glazanov's work does not stand up to that of the West. He has had neither the benefit of training nor of example. In all probability, if he is martyred, few people will remember. And Soviet realists will continue to produce panoramas of exhuberant peasants, peasants whose pearl-like teeth bear faint resemblance to the steel variety in the mouth of Khrushchev himself...