Word: satirists
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...novel whose message-all is vanity and venality, and even the noblest of men knows not the way to the washroom-was not always audible over the author's sousaphone accompaniment. The present book appears to contain the same admonition, though this is by no means certain. The satirist's voice is heard, but the words are indistinct. Worse, the Katzenjammer that muffles it is not Condon's funniest...
Creature of Habit. The problems that the commuter poses to the nation's cities are great and prickly-but they are not unique. In the 2nd century, the satirist Juvenal graphically described the swarming streets of ancient Rome. They were thick with litter bearers, chariot jams, and furious drivers who knocked people down and ran over them in their haste to get home to dinner. Many a Roman mumbled in his toga: "Quid hercle faciamus de obstructione?"* But it was not until late 19th century London that the commuter appeared as a distinct type. London's rapid growth...
...course, I'm not really satirizing a place. My novels deal with a frame of mind and a certain social strata. A female satirist has a difficult row to hoe, because if you are too nasty, people think you are a five-letter word. Actually, I'm terribly torn as to where I fit in. There is an affirmative side to all my novels; I guess it's my Puritan tradition which makes my novels point a moral. Some people think I should do straight satire and are disappointed that the novels have this other aspect...
...problems a satirist has is that she is always accused of writing about people she knows. My last novel, Fires of Autumn, is about a tiny Maine community very much like the one in which we stay during the summer. It's a lot gentler than my earlier novels and now I find all these ladies who are resentful because they can't find themselves in it. One of them will come up to me and say, 'I know somebody who knows who every single character in your book is supposed...
...more sense to him than his hollow existence as an academician. The savages consider him a master prophet, and he is on the point of believing it himself when, like a paddle ball on a rubber cord, he is snapped back to civilization. The irony is delicately put, and Satirist Elliott leaves no doubt as to which society he is shaving with his razor's edge...