Word: tweeds
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...Ginger Man on, J.P. Donleavy's novels have been simultaneously cruel, sentimental, repetitive and sporadically funny. Donleavy heroes are ridiculous figures who wallow in self-pity behind their mannered fronts and anesthetize deep personal hurts with sex and alcohol. Like Cornelius Treacle Christian, the errant knight in tweed armor of A Fairy Tale of New York, Donleavy's people move around a lot-"Moving all the time," says Christian, "hoping for a master stroke of solace somewhere...
Chic Anarchy. Finally Sack trots out Calley again, this time interviewed before his trial while he was playing tourist in New York. Dressed in a brown tweed suit with a credit card in his wallet, Calley glues himself to a telescope atop the Empire State Building and looks for sunbathing girls. Downstairs it's a four-Bloody Mary lunch and reminiscences about Asian whores. "Normal, normal," says Sack, "like sugar in water, he had been dropped in a city street scene but he didn't displace anything." It is a little late in the century, though...
...sort who normally take well to lecturings from their juniors, but they were very interested in hearing this one. The "youngest Republican," as he cheerfully proclaims himself, was Big John Connally-five months young as a registered member of the G.O.P., but about as politically junior as Boss Tweed in his heyday. The audience loved...
...being nobody, the "Mr. Pulp of All Existence"? A lot of people do, Reb suggests. Actors of the latest lifestyle, they call it being contemporary. Count Jack out: he has been somebody once, and he must be somebody again. He meets his first Scotsman, "a moody sort" who wears tweed pants and smokes a pipe. The new hoot-mon studies his archetype and buries himself in Scottish history until his eyes throb. At the end of this surreal little journal of tribal transfer, not only Jack's heart but Jack's body-packing a volume of Robbie Burns...
...tables. On one side sat six lawyers for President Richard Nixon, headed by University of Texas Professor Charles Alan Wright; on the other, the special Watergate prosecutor, Harvard Law Professor Archibald Cox, and three assistants. For 20 minutes they sat waiting in their blue leather chairs. Wright adjusted his tweed vest. Cox toyed with his half-moon spectacles. Finally, at 10, to the bailiff's ceremonial cry of "God save the United States of America and this honorable court," Judge John J. Sirica strode in, sat down in his red leather chair, and called on Wright to step...