Word: reader
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...Daniel Pardway's issue-Gene into "a lout among gentleman, a gentleman among louts;" Bert into a floorwalker and window-dresser; Phoebe into a dreamy sadist, via sex-starvation; Freddie into a Princeton fop, proud wastrel and frayed dope fiend-seems mechanical, arbitrary. Like their father, the reader sees little of these children until it is time for them to appear in bars and brothels. Their Presbyterian mother dies young and their worldy-wise Kentucky step-mother is taken up and pushed aside as brusquely by Author Cohen as by aging, bitter, impotent Daniel. A final tour de force...
...Significance. This not only should be but probably will be one of the celebrated novels of the year. The author's real desire to interest, inform, amuse and move her reader is felt and fulfilled without visible effort. There is wit, grace, fine feeling and a style which, while lively, never begs applause. The people are so real that there will be endless discussion of who is actually who: Sculptor St. George is Sculptor Saint-Gaudens, and so on. If the fabrication of fictitious letters and other personalia are remarkable, the character relations are even more so, especially...
...stays away from college he must work all the harder, and indeed in that very effort may sometimes lie the germ of successful authorship. Mark Twain was a student all his life, a great reader and an absorber of history. I remember when he became interested in a certain memory system which I was trying to master at the same time. It is said that while experimenting with it he committed to memory the front page of the New York Sun on a train between New York and Hartford, and recited it to his wife on his arrival...
...mottoes for this book. One is quoted from Heraclitus: "πavra pεi -All things change (flow)." The other is inadvertently inserted by Author William Clissold-H. G. Wells: "This book, at any rate, is not going to be a home of rest for the tired reader...
...absent lover, passing events in politics, art, literature, or upon life itself as she found it in her solitude. The texture of her mind was altogether extraordinary, far in advance of its time, indeed of this time too. Only a few pages are necessary to convince the reader that here is no hoax like The Diary of a Young Lady of Fashion in the Year 1764-65, published last winter by a whimsical Irish girl. Nor is there room left for wonder that this lady's descendants should have kept her journal in locked bureau drawers all these years...