Alan Moorehead





Alan Moorehead


Born
in Melbourne, Australia
July 22, 1910

Died
September 29, 1983

Genre


Alan Moorehead was lionised as the literary man of action: the most celebrated war correspondent of World War II; author of award winning books; star travel writer of The New Yorker; pioneer publicist of wildlife conservation. At the height of his success, his writing suddenly stopped and when, 17 years later, his death was announced, he seemed a heroic figure from the past. His fame as a writer gave him the friendship of Ernest Hemingway, George Bernard Shaw and Field Marshall Montgomery and the courtship and marriage of his beautiful wife Lucy Milner.

After 1945, he turned to writing books, including Eclipse, Gallipoli (for which he won the Duff Cooper Prize), The White Nile, The Blue Nile, and finally, A Late Education. He was awarded an
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Average rating: 4.05 · 2,789 ratings · 287 reviews · 29 distinct works · Similar authors
The White Nile

4.10 avg rating — 818 ratings — published 1960 — 25 editions
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Gallipoli

3.98 avg rating — 582 ratings — published 1956 — 18 editions
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The Blue Nile

4.17 avg rating — 508 ratings — published 1962 — 18 editions
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Cooper's Creek

3.88 avg rating — 209 ratings — published 1963 — 16 editions
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Darwin and the Beagle

4.12 avg rating — 149 ratings — published 1969 — 12 editions
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The Russian Revolution

3.72 avg rating — 130 ratings — published 1958 — 6 editions
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The Fatal Impact

3.95 avg rating — 126 ratings — published 1966 — 13 editions
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Desert War: The North Afric...

4.25 avg rating — 97 ratings — published 1959 — 2 editions
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Eclipse

4.23 avg rating — 31 ratings10 editions
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No Room in the Ark

3.71 avg rating — 28 ratings — published 1959 — 8 editions
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More books by Alan Moorehead…
“The photograph is in my hand. It is the photograph of a man and a woman. They are at an amusement park, in 1959. In twelve seconds time, I drop the photograph to the sand at my feet, walking away. It’s already lying there, twelve seconds into the future. Ten seconds now. The photograph is in my hand. I found it in a derelict bar at the gila flats test base, twenty-seven hours ago. It’s still there, twenty-seven hours into the past, in its frame, in the darkened bar. I’m still there, looking at it. The photograph is in my hand. The woman takes a piece of popcorn between thumb and forefinger. The ferris wheel pauses. Seven seconds now. It’s October, 1985. I’m on Mars. It’s July, 1959. I’m in New Jersey, at the Palisades Amusement Park. Four seconds, three. I’m tired of looking at the photograph now. I open my fingers. It falls to the sand at my feet. I am going to look at the stars. They are so far away. And their light takes so long to reach us… All we ever see of stars are their old photohraphs.”
Alan Moorehead, Watchmen