Word: triumphe
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...London's Guildhall when he won, surrounded by people from his U.K. publishing house, Atlantic Books. The mood at the table was one of ecstatic disbelief. Toby Mundy, chairman of Atlantic, told me: "I'm completely gobsmacked. I'm completely nonplussed." To Mundy, this was not just a literary triumph but a commercial one. He reckons the book could now sell as many as a million copies worldwide, including 500,000 in the U.K. alone. Such is the financial power of the Booker Prize, Britain's most prestigious literary award...
...headed back to his hotel at around 1 a.m., he was both giddy with delight and keenly aware of the enormous expectations that will face him at every turn. He chuckled when I told him that a renowned novelist had jokingly berated one of the judges, complaining that a triumph this early in a novelist's career was bound to destroy him. He already feels the pressure. For now, though, there is a barrage of interviews to endure before he returns to Bombay later this week. And then, it's back to the joyous solitude of writing his next book...
...this respect it accomplishes little more than a well-written magazine piece. Fleder and Leavitt conspire to consolidate a vast range of sports movie tropes into a single film. The broad template is that of a single hero facing adversity armed with talent and determination; uplifting triumph inevitably follows. The makers of “The Express” iterate this sequence not only in the overarching narrative, but in smaller, similarly predictable subplots that seem to start and end every 20 minutes. To their credit, Fleder and Leavitt do an admirable job of situating Davis’s plight...
...striking reminder of the resilience and vulnerability of the human spirit. The story of jockey Gabriel Saez, who led Eight Belles across the finish line before the grey thoroughbred collapsed and broke her two front ankles, acted as a metaphor for the play. It was a moment of simultaneous triumph and tragedy—and, as with the play, it was the tragedy that resonated. —Staff writer Ama R. Francis can be reached at afrancis@fas.harvard.edu
...wasn’t too bright—but he watched her with such a look as if his life depended on her understanding these words.Felicity glanced at him seriously, then leaned her knitted brown on her hand and began to read. Several minutes later, she glanced up with triumph. “I understand!”He quickly erased what was written, gave her the chalk, and got up from the table. Felicity wrote, “Y...Y...Y.”The Prince gave what he hoped would look like a wolfish grin...