Word: reader
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These letters, spanning the years 1912 to 1936, punctuate a relationship evidently more than satisfying to its protagonists, but disturbing in the extreme to the non-partisan reader, and I would hope, to the partisan as well. Freud's egoism, his supreme indifference to anyone's work or to contributions other than his own, his condescendingly terse replies to Lou's "blithe optimism," as he terms it, suggest the reasons for the defections of Freud's less willing disciples. In the face of so little reception, of the glaring silences with which most of Salome's efforts to communicate...
This editorial has striven to open to the reader a logical and reasonable explanation for the happenings within the City of Cambridge within the late 1960s. There is room here for only an outline; it is up to the free scholars of Cambridge and Harvard to fill in the specifics of detail...
...even the most casual reader of Rooseveltiana knows, Eleanor's life was full of woe. Her beloved father, a problem drinker, died young, and early death claimed her mother and brother as well. She grew up shy and lonely, self-conscious about her plain looks...
Muriel Spark has posed in a fetching peignoir with a sinister black cat draped over her shoulder. In her prose, too, she has mostly worn her rue with a deference to the reader's need to take his shots of cold mortality with a little sweet vermouth. Lately, however, the author has grown more flatly somber, shorter on style, wit and patience, like a lonely spinster who has become too preoccupied, too saddened by the world to go through the reassuring motions of genial small talk...
...does the reader. "Literature of sentiment and emotion," Muriel Spark recently predicted, "must go. It cheats us into a sense of involvement with life and society." In its place she then proposed an art of "satire and ridicule." Hothouse, presumably, is an example. But precisely because it is lifeless, few people will worry about whatever the book is trying to say. Various possibilities exist. Time past is time present. Late, rich middle age, especially in Manhattan, is a kind of death in life -sterile, futile, hopelessly preoccupied with the past, most depressingly so when earlier years have been marked...