In the 1950s death lost its sting in The New Yorker. As in the opening line of Albert Camus’s novel L’Etranger, mothers – and others – keep dying without anyone shedding a tear over them.
With apologies to those of you who liked There will be blood, Schwartz trashes the movie for betraying the book on which it it is fraudulently based, Upton Sinclair’s Oil! Continue reading “296 Spoiling Oil!”
Ethel Portnoy, a dear friend, died at the age of 77. She was an embodiment of American Europeanness, creating in the Netherlands an international but entirely Dutch literary personality. She had the precious writer’s gift of giving readers a feeling that they were in her confidence.