Word: writer
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...truth and transforming it into social fairy tales, but always publishing under the realistically lucid umbrella of fact. The result of years with a notebook out there in the jungles of real life, this novel--Bonfire of the Vanities--purports to lend everything a purpose and win the writer a one-way ticket through the annals of literary history. Tom Wolfe has published his first Novel...
Listen to what Wolfe himself writes about that heady time, when clever skill was the writer's champagne. A writer could break all rules, make up words that had never been heard before and get away with it--yes, even get praised for it! Take grammar and fly in the face of tradition. Everything's new in society, but this stuff, this journalism, this is New. Then, The Novel was receding into the novel, and journalism was becoming New Journalism...
French Academies of yesteryear have transformed into the harsh scrutiny of academics in today's literati scene. To be truly accepted, a writer must be intelligent, as well as amusing. What a writer needs for inclusion in the haughty ranks of literature is substance, not style. Otherwise, it's mere journalism for you--and the "j" is said with a spitting noise, a guttural indictment of inferiority. Wolfe's critics call him a mere chronicler of the times whose attention to detail has caught our fancy, but maybe not for long...
...real test, of course, is in the tasting, and here the Aussies are doing just fine. Anthony Dias Blue, a San Francisco-based wine-and-food writer who was a judge at last year's Qantas Wine Cup, an annual taste-off of U.S. and Australian varietals, says, "I expected to lose in the Rieslings, Sauvignon Blancs and sparkling wines, but I never in a million years thought we would lose in Chardonnays and Cabernets." Down Under wines, Blue concludes, "are going to be accepted on a par with California. They've gotten their foothold...
When George Poveromo goes fishing, he doesn't fool around. Entering precise coordinates into the computerized navigation system of his 26-ft. sport- fishing boat, the Miami-based writer speeds directly toward a favorite haunt, a stretch of the Atlantic three miles southeast of Fort Lauderdale. When the computer beeps to tell him he is approaching the spot, Poveromo flicks on a bread-box-size electronic instrument, his "fish finder." By sending sound waves into the water, the machine, operating much like a radar device, probes for objects beneath the surface. The findings are recorded by a stylus that moves...