Word: weeps
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Social Security. Although it is about bees, this is a human book. The sensitive might almost weep as Crompton tells how he has been obliged to silence diseased hives with Cyanogas, and heard the orchestral voice of his insect friends shut off "as if a hand had been placed over an echoing string." And he follows the worn old worker bee to her last rendezvous with social security. Her wings are torn; her last load of nectar is nothing much; she falls short of the hive. "Just at the time the youngsters at the hive are coming out for school...
Convention Hall roars to the Democratic war song. Red-eyed delegates sing, shout, weep, laugh, wring hands, whale backs and jostle one another in the aisles. Spotlights swing dizzily around the vast room; the convention floor is a riotous sea of waving signs. BANG! BANG! BANG! Permanent Chairman Sam Rayburn thumps endlessly for order: "The sergeant at arms will clear the aisles." Finally, a hush falls. Rayburn smiles for the first time in precisely four years. "Members of the convention!" cries he. "It is my great pleasure to give you the NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA...
...achieves a child's angle of vision makes his boy-hero Tanguy one of the most endearing and poignant figures in recent fiction. Child of Our Time is both a grim and a grand commentary on the human condition. The first response to this book is elemental-to weep. The second response is to marvel that Michel del Castillo endured what he did, and that, having endured, he could still forgive so much that is eternally unforgivable...
...could, perhaps-it is a small chance-bring back the only organized party in the country to a righteous path of service and sacrifice." But instead, "Mr. Nehru, by his decision, has taken away that little glimmer and left us in the darkness of a totalitarian future. Oh! Weep for Adonis...
...wave after wave, rising up even to her mouth full of moans." In this moment of platonically adulterous ecstasy, Janine discovers not the devil in the flesh but the genie of natural instinct, long stoppered by grubbing convention. But it is too late for her to do more than weep over love's labor lost...