Word: victimization
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...level of violent incidents has risen from 5,000 a year to 25,000, the work of elite three-man cells that travel from job to job, like any gangster gun for hire. They take pride in their work, often pinning a note on the chest of a victim describing the reasons for his execution. They do not like to be blamed for other people's murders. Sometimes the V.C. go so far as to issue leaflets denying responsibility for a killing and blaming the death on bandits posing as Viet Cong...
Blue Suede. Shob Carter's murder was apparently solved when a police officer spotted the victim's battered black Volkswagen, bearing stolen license plates, 35 miles north of San Francisco. In the car were $2,657 in cash evidently stolen from the prosperous peddler, and the driver, a daredevil motorcycle racer named Eric Dahlstrom, 23. Beside him on the seat was a grisly piece of evidence: Carter's right forearm, neatly sutured at the severed end and wrapped in a blue suede...
...Ghastly Death." Was Stalin, at 73, the victim of a doctors' plot, as some people still believe? Svetlana says no. In fact, she writes, he was so fearful of a conspiracy that, in 1953, in the last months of his life he banned doctors from the Kremlin and treated himself with doses of iodine. Svetlana was at her father's bedside in his final three days. In the last twelve hours, his breathing reflexes numbed by the spreading hemorrhage, he slowly, painfully choked to death. It was, writes Svetlana, a "ghastly death. I felt like a good...
...glass-topped casket, mourn him as well. Blindly, stupidly, they still love him-the discarded wife, the girl friend whose family he once imprisoned, the aging professor whose career he ruined. In fact, Author Mnacko's outrage goes deeper than politics: with Swiftian anger, he condemns the victim as well as the tyrant. As a writer, however, he is no Swift. The novel is at times clumsy and dated: conversations are imagined by the narrator, glances between characters are supposed to be significant enough to stand for a paragraph or so of exposition, flashbacks fly off like the calendar...
...American photographer to the end of his skid. It is a masterwork on the psychology of the dropout, an exemplary model of existentialism in the service of fiction. Utterly bored, the photographer drifts through Latin America and slips into drunkenness at a sinister plantation bar. Unconsciously, he falls victim to conspiracy, accident, destruction. "What is freedom in the last analysis," he says to himself, "other than the state of being totally, instead of only partially, subject to the tyranny of chance?" The photographer becomes Bowles's modern antihero, participating in "an invisible spectacle whose painful logic he followed with...