Word: satirists
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...Satirist Grenfell gathers material for her all-too-humans from observation: "But I'm really not conscious of observing people any more. I think I did it all years ago and just stored up. My characters are all composites. I never set out to be beastly. There's a little bit of me in all of my characterizations...
...could have been at further remove from the new-found refinement of the great country houses than Satirist William Hogarth, whose province was the raucous underside of London. Hogarth painted The Painter and His Pug as an unframed self-portrait, propped up by volumes of Shakespeare, Swift and Milton, and intended it to be used as the frontispiece for his collected engraved works. Later, after he engaged in a ferocious political quarrel with John Wilkes and Charles Churchill (no kin), Hogarth issued a fresh impression. In it his portrait was replaced by a vitriolic caricature of "Bruiser" Churchill, drawn...
...excitement over the new 1958 fashions last week was all about the extremes: long, telescopic dresses, tubular coats, enormous, helmetlike fur hats. The styles were so odd, in fact, that the Women's News Service syndicate hired Fashion Expert Iris Hartman, sister-in-law of Dance Satirist Paul Hartman, who took one horrified look and reported: not the New Look, the Mummy Look or the Kept Woman Look, but clothes that looked toadlike. Headlined the New York Journal-American: IT'S GRUESOME LOOK FOR '58. Said Iris...
Cozzens' favorite writer is Swift. Among moderns, he prefers Maugham, Huxley and the early Waugh-all of which suggests that he is an ironist in default of being a satirist, possibly for lack of humor or savagery. Like any good storyteller, James Gould Cozzens peddles no "message." Says he: "I have no thesis except that people get a very raw deal from life. To me, life is what life...
Bagged in Manhattan by a London Sunday Dispatch interviewer, sad-eyed old Satirist Aldous Huxley, 63, rhapsodized about his Hollywood hermitage, where "foxes, possum, raccoons, even coyotes, are always trotting across my terrace," lamented the pointless counterpoint of the brave new world. On Manhattan: "The psychological cost of living is rather high in New York. I find the streets horrifying and spend most of my time in my hotel room in a sort of fool's paradise." On television: "Who needs that little screen with disgusting little grey figures hopping around?" On writing: "It's getting...