Profoundly sad characters that crack me up. Here's a platter of emotionally-removed people mumbling iro...moreWonderful follow-up to "The End of Vandalism".
Profoundly sad characters that crack me up. Here's a platter of emotionally-removed people mumbling ironically-detached dialogue -- note that Drury's been writing before Wes Anderson ever schmucked around in his velvet suits and ascots.
Still prefer its predecessor (mostly because I don't give two hoots about teenagers and their coming-of-age garbage), and I didn't need any of it to be set in Hollywood, but I laughed out loud here, guys. Fun, light read. (less)
Somehow, I felt for this ignorant misogynist. Somehow.
"So you walk along Bunker Hill, and you shake your fist at the sky, and I know what your'e think...moreSomehow, I felt for this ignorant misogynist. Somehow.
"So you walk along Bunker Hill, and you shake your fist at the sky, and I know what your'e thinking, Bandini. The thoughts of your father before you, lash across your back, hot fire in your skull that you are not to blame: this is your thought, that you were born poor, son of miseried peasants, driven because you were poor, rambling the gutters of Los Angeles because you are poor, hoping to write a book to get rich, because those who hated you back there in Colorado will not hate you if you write a book. You are a coward, Bandini, a traitor to your soul, a feeble liar before your weeping Christ. This is why you write, this is why it would be better if you died.
Yes, it's true: but I have seen houses in Bel-Air with cool lawns and green swimming pools. I have wanted women whose very shoes are worth all I have ever possessed. I have seen golf clubs on Sixth Street in the Spalding window that make me hungry just to grip them. I have grieved for a necktie like a holy man for indulgences. I have admired hats in Robinson's the way critics gasp at Michelangelo."(less)
"In one of the fiction-writing manuals, it says that there are only two stories: a hero goes on a journey, and a stranger comes to town. I don't know....more"In one of the fiction-writing manuals, it says that there are only two stories: a hero goes on a journey, and a stranger comes to town. I don't know. This being life, and not literature, we'll have to make do with this: A middle-aged man, already bowing and half broken under his psychic burdens, decides to take on the stress of being one of the most unqualified players in the history of the Big Game. A hapless loser goes on a journey, a strange man comes to gamble."
"On breaks I parked myself at a one-armed bandit. Out of sight of the Poker Room, scanning my poker tips. 'Play the cards they have,' my notes said, 'not the cards you want them to have.' Don't get all starry-eyed and ignore what the cards are saying just because you like the flop. 'Are Ace-Jack suited really worth rising your tournament life???' Underlined, starred in the margin, circled in unignorable loops. I don't know how 'STAY SEXY' snuck in there, but I nodded thoughtfully."(less)
"Magazines boomed, too. Advertising revenues leaped 500 percent in the decade, and many publications of lasting importance made their debut ...Time wa...more"Magazines boomed, too. Advertising revenues leaped 500 percent in the decade, and many publications of lasting importance made their debut ...Time was perhaps the most immediately influential. Founded by two former Yale classmates, Henry Luce and Briton Hadden, it was very popular but wildly inaccurate. It described Charles Nungesser, for instance, as having 'lost an arm, a leg, a chin' during the war, which was not merely incorrect in all particulars but visibly so since Nungesser could be seen every day in newspaper photographs with a full set of limbs and an incontestably bechinned face."
"The critic Edmund Wilson wondered in an essay why it was that something so dull and unimaginative as the Snyder murder excited such earnest attention, without pausing to reflect that the same question could be asked of his essay."
"Ruppert's most arresting peccadillo was that he kept a second home in Garrison, New York, where he maintained a shrine to his mother in the form of a room containing everything she would need if she came back to life. This may go some way toward explaining why he never married."
"President Coolidge made a short speech of welcome, pinned the Distinguished Flying Cross on [Lindbergh's] lapel, and with a gesture invited Lindbergh to speak. Lindbergh leaned into the microphone, for it was set a little low for him, expressed pleasure at being present, said a very few words of thanks, and stepped back. A moment of eerie stillness followed as it dawned on the watching throngs, most of whom had been standing in the hot sun for hours, that they were in the presence of two of the most taciturn men in America and that this ceremony was over."
"[President Coolidge's] most celebrated trait was his taciturnity. An oft-told story, which has never been verified, is that a woman sitting next to him at dinner gushed, 'Mr. President, my friend bet me that I wouldn't be able to get you to say three words tonight.' 'You lose,' the president supposedly responded."
"The last word on the matter should perhaps be left with Avrich. 'It is frustrating to ponder,' he wrote in 1991, 'that there are still people alive -- the widow of Sacco among them -- who might, if they chose, reveal at least part of the truth.' None ever did. They are all dead now."