Word: reader
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1970-1970
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...hectares of jewels and velvet, observing Marie, attended by nymphs, monsters, peacocks, courtiers, gods, satyrs and angels, as she makes a near mythological progress from a shaky Italian girlhood to the role of Queen Regent for Louis XIII. This huge book-the year's most fabulous-acquaints the reader with the history and shows off the art far better than any number of visits to the Louvre...
Micro-Art by Lewis R. Wolberg, 291 pages. Abrams. $25. A first-class attempt to prove visually that less is more. Photographer Wolberg offers a short history of microscopes, then dazzles the reader's retina with 220 amazing photographic enlargements of everything from the female sex organs of moss (blown up 300 times), to a virus (160,000 times its actual size) that greatly resembles an archipelago. The colors and textures are gorgeous, but at the price, they are a costly pleasure...
Built into the very timber and structure, the energy and bravura of the sixties' new journalism, there has always been such cultural one-up-man ship. As readers of Esquire and New York, we might not be all that very different from the type of personalities we read about, but just the plain and simple fact of the situation, that a writer should be guiding us through a critical evaluation- however obliquely that criticism might be made- seemed to suggest our own superiority. It certainly contributed to our self-consciousness. And as long as we were conscious of our foibles...
...title seemed a paradox. The self-contradictions carry over into Cioran's life. He is not the heavy, black presence a reader might expect, but a slim, rather unformidable fellow with light blue eyes who smiles a lot. A man whom Susan Sontag has sponsored as a guru of Now happens to be the son of a Greek Orthodox priest, raised in a small Rumanian village in the Carpathian Mountains. True, he went to Paris as a graduate student of philosophy in 1937. But he is in Paris, not of it. He scrapes by as a translator and manuscript...
...acts of brutality and the psychology of the armed forces which primes our soldiers for them. Reading this book is like taking a ride in a spin-dry Laundromat filled with blood. Approximately one-fourth of the way into the book, there remains nothing for the most naive reader to discover, and the same events keep repeating themselves in wave after inexorable wave of nausea. After a cycle or two of these atrocities, all the blood has spun right out of the reader's head, the events lose all their reality, and all that's left is a grey blur...