Word: witness
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...when to give their parties. As a reporter, she is rarely seen taking notes but no detail escapes her. The Enquirer ran 29½ columns of society news on the festival last week. Mr. Benjamin W. Lamson "deserted his own box party to enjoy Miss Ferguson's charming wit and humor." Mrs. Harry Elstner Talbott of Dayton "wore her pearls and diamonds in her ears." "Miss Mary Elizabeth Rogan was a dainty charmer. . . ." Mrs. Charles Dana Gibson "was, as always, very distinguee." Mrs. Henry Probasco was "very Grande Dame." The Hinkle box was "a scene of constant...
When Tess Slesinger's first novel, The Unpossessed, appeared last year (TIME, May 14, 1934), critics gave it three rousing cheers. But few thought it Dostoevskian, none noticed that its title was a salute to the Russian master. Critical consensus was that Author Slesinger was a wit, which did not mean that her story was altogether funny. Last week her second book, a collection of short stories, not only deepened but broadened the impression her first one made. In Time: The Present Author Slesinger shows herself the somewhat proud possessor of what professors call "creative imagination." She has already...
...Boston sense of propriety is adjudged fit for undergraduate consumption. The Harvard Corporation and administration at least conscientiously follow liberal policies in their control of the undergraduate presses. The university comic is not banned by those who are most sensitive to the reflections it may cast on undergraduate wit there...
...what strikes me particularly is that the purpose of the whole publication seems to have missed fire. I remember reading in Mark Twain's Sketch Book not long ago a most gruesome (to the unsound of wit) story about "My Bloody Massacre." Briefly, it describes how Mark Twain wrote under the guise of a murder story a biting satire about a certain person, but no one who read the paper paid any attention to the little details that showed what a great fiction it all was As I remember one bit: "Gosh, Jim, he scalped his wife and b'iled...
Cummings may indeed get a pure text but if the present volume is any indication it will not be "pure" in the Brattle Street sense. With his usual acumen, he has already ensured against that. For his recipe for poetry is apparently a dash if wit, a sprinkle of imagery, and a pinch of smut. The last condiment is easy to find despite his commendable ruse in transliterating into Greek certain English monosyllables which always arouse Mr. Dirty Mind, the true-born censor. There is a blank page, whose missing text appears only in the holograph edition, and the penny...