Word: modelied
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...will go, and installing a claustrophobic bulletproof shield between driver and passenger -whose single aperture is cunningly contrived to pass only money forward and cigar smoke back. All this is designed to induce in the customer a paralytic yoga position: fists clenched into the white-knuckles mode, knees to the chin, eyes glazed or glued shut, bones a-rattle, teeth a-grit. To a lesser extent, the same conditions prevail in other taxi-ridden U.S. communities...
...only question to ponder in Something's Afoot is which guest at a mid-'30s English country manor will be stiffed next, and how. Will the hilarious mode of demise be an exploding balus trade, a poisoned dart, a lethally hid den gas vent or what? As for plot, the maze is the message...
...this second model that Kearns emulates. She opens with crucial stories about Johnson's youth on the Pedernales and then subtly juxtaposes the most important impressions with his later actions as a means to better understand his mode of decision-making. Sometimes it works well, as in explaining how he hoped to obtain the steady love he lacked as a child through political conquests. But far more often this type of analysis falls flat. The psychobiographical passages seem like attempts to explain an action in the future by citing any random action that occurred in the past. Programs...
...Ungar is not a robot. His thankfulness manifests itself in overly-gracious characterizations of the low level agents who risked so much to open up to him. The eight agents whom Ungar profiles rapidly in a seven-page section are all cut out of a likeable if not loveable mode. Ungar seems especially enamoured with the younger agents--members of the "Berrigan 1000" group who were hired after the Fathers Berrigan were accused of plotting to kidnap government officials and blow up buildings. Although we expect these recruits to be of a Young-Americans-for-Freedom stripe, they emerge...
This is the gaudy tightrope mode of Wallace Stevens, and few poets since Stevens have been able to escape the pit of arrant gibberish that yawns below. In his eighth volume, Ashbery once again proves that he can. What is striking in his poems is not the absence of simple semantic logic but the implication of a rationality that lies just out of reach. Ashbery makes clear his impatience with simple verisimilitude...