Word: steinbeck
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Since John Steinbeck thus described it in Cannery Row two years ago, California's famed fishing town of Monterey (130 miles south of San Francisco) has had a surfeit of quiet and magic. By last week, the fishing fleet in the sardine center of the U.S. had dwindled from 85 to 55 boats. Hardly any whistles blew along Cannery Row. "We just keep open," said the owner of one of its 59 plants, "hoping for a few fish to dirty up our canneries." But fish had mysteriously gone from their haunts off Monterey...
There were no publisher's cocktail parties last week for Author Capa. He was in Moscow with John Steinbeck, on assignment from the New York Herald Tribune. But in the current '47, his friend John Hersey spoke up for him, giving some lowdown that was news even to Capa's publishers. Capa, said Hersey, is "The Man Who Invented Himself." He was thought up in Paris by a poor Hungarian free-lancer named Andrei Friedmann and his sweetheart, Gerda. The better to sell Friedmann's pictures to unwilling French editors, they palmed them...
Canby writes with complacency of having "stuck his neck out" in a favorable review of one of Sherwood Anderson's early books. He also held out alone on the Book-of-the-Month Club jury for Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath. But such bravado was obviously rare. For Canby is not a daring or a penetrating critic. On the other hand, by his industry, fluency, and sincere impulse to "pass on sound values to the reading public," he made a place for himself in his period. He is as competent as any prophet to observe...
Only living U.S. authors to make the grade: John Steinbeck (a reissue of The Grapes of Wrath), Upton Sinclair (the Lanny Budd cycle), Ralph Ingersoll (Top Secret), Elliott Roosevelt (As He saw It), Erskine Caldwell, whose short stories about the seamy side of Southern life will top all other U.S. offerings with a 100,000-copy edition. Said the director of one Moscow publishing house last week: "We didn't see anything else that would interest Soviet readers...
...lack within itself: it does not have much of the kind of energy which usually distinguishes powerfully talented novels. Yet it shines bright and steady beside many novels which have such energy. It has none of the death-neurosis or neurotic heroics of Malraux; none of the softness of Steinbeck or Hersey; none of the chest-thumping and little of the romanticism of Hemingway. It is the work of a good rather than of a possibly great novelist; it is also the work of a mature and intelligent...