Word: yellow
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...third of the way through Doris Lessing's new novel, a great white bird appears-4 ft. tall with a straight yellow beak. The light shines off its feathers "like sun off a snowfield." Its eyes are round, golden and steadily staring-in invitation, in challenge...
...work. The sections of the notebook divide themselves by color. Black: dealing with Africa-the failed hope of homeland for one of her principal characters. Red: dealing with politics-the failed hope of Communism. Blue: dealing with emotions-the failed hope of possessive love. Yellow: the story within the stories-the hope of art to make sense of all the rest. In effect, Miss Lessing has been working through this sequence of disillusion toward a private religion of her own. In Briefing for a Descent into Hell she has arrived...
...psychiatric hospital of Charles Watkins, 50, a classics professor, who was picked up rambling and confused near London's Waterloo Bridge at midnight, under the impression that he had survived an odyssey as bizarre as anything out of Homer. Watkins fights to remember his visions, which involve legendary yellow beasts as well as the great white bird, and a bloody, obscene war between a species of monkeys and "rat-dogs." Doctors X and Y try to make him remember his wife, his family, his name and occupation-what they call reality. A fantastic prose-poem myth struggles against...
...instance, in several sequences the Groove Tube camera plays cleverly with fingers that walk around like the Yellow Pages fingers; it follows them with close-up as they mimic perfectly the actions of a man meeting a woman on a stroll, in one sequence, and in another, they imitate a ballet dancer roaming over hills. In both sequences it's an interesting idea that is executed well-but Groove Tube's leering humor makes the first sequence depend on the appearance of a thumb between one pair of finger-legs and upon the inevitable seduction, while in the other sequence...
...sinks onto the cluttered couch of gold brocade, dropping a leather jacket on the floor beside him. He squints. His cold, blue eyes do battle with the yellow afternoon sun that streams through the foggy windows before him. He stretches, his tall, slim body, stretching in the warmth like a lithe, tense cat. His beard is cropped close, ash-blond, almost grey in the translucent light, and blends, quite unostentatiously, with his shaggily trimmed hair. His eyebrows-enormous tensile spans that arch across his brow-seem to be all that is holding him together, so much so that you forget...