Word: saint
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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PICTURES OF FIDELMAN, by Bernard Malamud. Yet another schlemiel-saint in fiction-but this one is canonized by Malamud's compassionate talent...
...since Pope Paul's birth-control encyclical has a Vatican announcement caused more fuss. A new universal liturgical calendar issued by the Vatican last week dropped or downgraded more than 200 saints-among them such popular figures as St. Christopher, St. Valentine, St. Nicholas, St. George and St. Patrick. Christopher-the giant of a man who, according to legend, earned his way to heaven by carrying the Child Jesus across a raging stream and thus became the patron saint of travelers-met a most ignominious fate. Though his image, emblazoned on medals, statuettes and key rings, has traveled literally...
...Beethoven, Berlioz, Wagner, and Schoenberg were regarded, with varying vehemence, as musical antichrists, Yet now that they are heard, with deadening frequency, they are widely caricatured as rebels or prophets, venerable and unapproachable. They are accorded all honors except the simple duty of critical listening. As Bernard Shaw's Saint Joan laments upon realizing that her belated 1910 canonization was due to a stupid society's mute guilt rather than its compassion: "Woe to him whom all men praise...
...Jewish hero! After Elkin and Roth and Bellow and Bruce Jay Friedman and Yahweh-knows-who! Will it never end? Apparently not. And what is most trying, this latest exemplar deserves special attention. For Bernard Malamud has invented a mixed-up little anti-hero all his own: the schlemiel-saint-eyes on heaven, feet on the banana peel. He has appeared in short stories (The Magic Barrel) and novels (A New Life, The Fixer). The Malamud man wobbles between laughter and tears. One minute he can be all suffering profile, squirming against his private cross. The next minute...
...then her own never got her so much as an honorable mention on the best-dressed list, whereas a simple YSL (for Yves Saint Laurent) or a pair of Bs, back to back (for Bill Blass) spell instant class. No more fidgeting about in the theater, making sure the oldfashioned, inside-the-coat, Norman Norell label is draped visibly over the seat; no more calculated dropping of the $190 handbag, the better to reveal the Hermes plaque buried within. No longer the need to base chic upon a series of subtle clues-the interlocking bridle bit that makes the shoe...