Word: stilles
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...almost certain that he was scurrying off to some clandestine meeting, deep in the entrails of Boylston Street, so Vag took pursuit. Of course it was bitterly disappointing to Vag's visions of international intrigue when he saw the little man turn off and head for Harvard Hall, but still hopeful, Vag followed him into the lecture room and procured a seat directly behind him. Instantly the little man produced a decrepit volume of Shakespeare's works and began to fondle the pages with fanatic tenderness. In his infrequent moments of coherence, Vag could distinguish such things as "Take...
...found himself knocking on the door. As he recalls it, he was going to ask if this were where someone named Smith lived. Now there was not a sound. The voice had halted abruptly with "...When he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?". Vag tapped again--still no sound. Vag tried the door and to his amazement it was unlocked. Warily he pushed it open, and there was an eerie creak of rusty hinges. The room was almost empty except for a case of ancient folios thick with dust. In the middle of the floor...
Based on the wild and woolly saga of the Family Barrymore, the play makes little attempt to disguise the famous trio, Ethel, John, and Lionel, under any pretense of fiction. Even under the pseudonym of Anthony Cavendish, John is still breaking up cameras and swatting directors; even as Julie Cavendish, Ethel is still having great hand-wringing emotions. Perhaps the element of cats looking at kings, of theatre audiences looking at the royalty of the stage with their hair down, is what makes the play so entertaining and so eminently satisfying to the humble playgoer. Even the Barrymores have earthly...
Four years ago a young English writer, Wystan Hugh Auden, incorporated these lines in the chorus of a play. Auden's poems were at that time widely talked about and widely misunderstood-with some reason. They seemed brilliant, veiled, obscurely revolutionary. By October 1939, however, few Englishmen could still look blank over such lines as these. Their meaning was all too painfully clear...
...finished last summer, is Wells's pre-war answer to a challenge to describe "the world as I see it and what is happening to it." Scanning the globe and the human ephemerae upon it from the point of view of a millionaire in years, Wells still considers that "Nazi Germany may well bring down conclusive disaster on our species." For war, once a selective elimination of "the young male surplus," has become through technology a prodigious wastage. Wells sees general enlightenment as the only hope. Against groups that he thinks impede it he lets his anger ride...