Word: tales
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Starting with the days of John Smith and the later date of 1620 when into Virginia were brought those famous ninety maids who were to make the plantation "grow in generations and not to be pieced out without", the tale of heroism, progress and emancipation of womanhood is one which cannot fail to interest even the most ardent anti-suffragist...
...escapers, men, women, and children. Almost everything we do, except the supreme acts of higher enjoyment, which partake of higher reality, are escapes in some manner or degree." With this metaphysical prologue Francis Yeats-Brown, author of "Tales of a Bengal Lancer", introduces a strange procession of characters. Plucked from the dusty corners of history by his sympathetic hand, they have one thing in common. Each has escaped from something or somebody, and each has a tale to tell. The result is a diverting hodgepodge of narrative...
...gaol not only cheated the gibbet many times but made him a popular hero. Latude, whom a whim of Madame la Pompadour kept thirty-five years fast incarcerated in the Bastille, retained his sanity by taming rats and spiders in his cell. Then there is the whimsical tale of Benvenuto Cellini and the mad constable of St. Angelo...
...Chicago packer. He lived to see his wealth make his wife hate him and go mad, turn his sons into rotten social parasites, who uniformly come to a bad end and produce more children who are well on their way to an equally bad end. This same doleful tale was told in "He Loved a Woman," which was at the University a few weeks ago. It was a fused picture of the Armour rise and collapse and the Insull flasco. Always there is painted with vivid morbidity the panorama of where wealth collects and men decay...
Fairies, in the best and worst sense of the term, are the theme of Authoress Kay Boyle's far-from-unadorned tale. She handles her emotional subject with a cold greenish brilliance that is perhaps its own justification but that will make her book antipathetic to readers who like to warm their hands over something more human. In Gentlemen, I Address You Privately she writes, with what seems an almost deliberate avoidance of charm, about people who cannot be said to exist, who would hardly matter if they did. Authoress Boyle, nearly as far astray from normality as Faulkner...