Word: reade
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Just how terrible a time the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe had with her children can be vividly illustrated by the statement that she had as many struggling brats as Walt Whitman had unruly ideas. The analogy becomes quite compelling after one has read this discussion of the politico-social ideas of Walt Whitman, in which Mr. Arvin makes it quite clear that the poet's mind was filled by the most numerous and most contradictory feelings on almost every conceivable subject. Mr. Arvin, who graduated from Harvard in 1921, although he does display an admirable understanding...
...third act is excellent. Here the shades of the past make their exit; here Captain Dale's will is read to his survivors--here, called away by those who went before him, he begs forgiveness for the weakness of his latter years...
...descendant of the founder of Jones & Laughlin Steel Corp.- a tall (6 ft. 3 in.), dark, personable young man with an earnest, attentive manner, a stubborn jaw and much practical business sense. He grew up on Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill and Laughlin says that he never read a book until he was 16. Then, at Choate, he studied under the erudite poet and translator Dudley Fitts, read Pound and Eliot before he read Wordsworth, began to write with such success that he won an Atlantic Monthly prize...
...first copies smuggled into the U. S. created considerable critical stir. The Saturday Review of Literature called Miller "the largest force lately risen on the horizon of American letters," while Pound announced: "At last an unprintable book that is fit to read." But when Edmund Wilson wrote that it possessed "a strange amenity of temper and style which bathes the whole composition even when we may find it tiresome or disgusting," Miller wrote an angry reply: "Damn all the critics anyway! The best publicity for a man who has anything to say is silence...
...such moments I can tell you for certain that this is the breakup, the cataclysm, the drop-curtain on the world. . . . In the Abbey they are still marking the places in the hymnbooks, oblivious of the fact that tomorrow we shall have forgotten how to read. . . . In London they are dancing round the Walpole. . . . In Calcutta the black sweep is wandering with crumbs in his eyes, touching the untouchable, and eating the uneatable. . . . It is all being washed up towards a madness never before seen. The heretics themselves are appalled: are building themselves Arks from the flotsam of the imagination...