Word: writers
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...Time of Your Life (by William Saroyan; produced by the Theatre Guild Inc. in association with Eddie Dowling). Last season Short-Story Writer William Saroyan made his bow as a playwright with a long, whimsical one-acter, My Heart's in the Highlands, drew praise from many critics. Last week, with his first full-length play, Saroyan had most of the critics throwing their hats in the air. They were willing to forgive The Time of Your Life its lack of form and dearth of plot because of its "poignant beauty," "high quality of imagination," "ever-warming tenderness...
...Take the High Road is capable of interesting a far more general, more sedentary audience than those whose interest in flying is already active. For Author Langewiesche has an uncommon talent for conveying, not merely describing, physical sensations. He is, moreover, both as airman and writer, a skilled amateur, with the wisdom never to desert his amateur standing. Of the 25 photographs, most are well above the shoddy average for book illustration, a few are magically good...
Soon it appears that what was intended as an absolutely honest autobiography has turned into a fearlessly candid biography of his wife. A social worker, lecturer and minor fiction writer, Edith was not (as Daudet said the wife of a writer should be) a feather bed. Petite, restless, intense, she scolded at Havelock's manners, dress, undemonstrativeness, called him a mixture of satyr and Christ, alternated between tantrums and protestations of undying love. "The worst of me is in my tongue," she reassured him, but once she kicked him in the head. He discovered strong homosexual tendencies...
National service of this sort was indeed already being rendered by talents so widely diverse as Mystery Writer Dorothy Sayers, who wrote cheerio editorials for the newspapers, and Herbert Read, art critic and scholar, who prepared an anthology of prose and verse to be called (for its destination) The Knapsack-"just the sort of thing I wanted myself in the last...
Into a war so gingerly regarded from the start by almost every mature writer of Britain, many writers were going while yet immature and unknown. Nobody could foresee who might survive it, nor what writing might come of it. Yet there were many to remember Wilfred Owen, the round-faced, silent young officer who was killed a week before the Armistice in 1918, and the few terrible poems published after his death...