Matthew Kneale


Born
in London, The United Kingdom
November 24, 1960

Genre


Matthew Kneale was born in London in 1960, read Modern History at Oxford University and on graduating in 1982, spent a year teaching English in Japan, where he began writing short stories.

Kneale is the son of writers Nigel Kneale and Judith Kerr, and the grandson of essayist and theatre critic Alfred Kerr.

Average rating: 3.89 · 7,622 ratings · 851 reviews · 11 distinct worksSimilar authors
English Passengers

4.05 avg rating — 5,474 ratings — published 2000 — 40 editions
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When We Were Romans

3.36 avg rating — 966 ratings — published 2007 — 20 editions
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Sweet Thames

3.48 avg rating — 236 ratings — published 1992 — 4 editions
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Small Crimes in an Age of A...

3.59 avg rating — 248 ratings — published 2005 — 19 editions
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Rome: A History in Seven Sa...

3.90 avg rating — 280 ratings — published 2017 — 15 editions
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An Atheist's History of Bel...

3.83 avg rating — 248 ratings — published 2013 — 14 editions
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Mr. Foreigner

2.76 avg rating — 158 ratings — published 1987 — 10 editions
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Powder

3.40 avg rating — 5 ratings
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Inside Rose's Kingdom

3.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1989
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Anglicy na pokladzie

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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“My opponents' first argument was that the rocks of the earth--which are generally agreed to have once been in a hot and melted state--would have required far longer to lose their heat than the Scriptures described. My reply was that the earth had indeed cooled at great speed, being made possible by a process I termed Divine Refrigeration.”
Matthew Kneale, English Passengers

“I began my ministry with some zeal, endeavouring to improve the lives of my flock by launching a little campaign to have the alehouse open only three days in the week instead of seven, and offering--as a nobler recompense--two extra church services. Sadly this little initiative was answered, in certain quarters, with something like hostility.”
Matthew Kneale
tags: humor

“All at once I felt myself haunted by a terrible vision, of a world without guidance: a land of emptiness, where all was ruled by the madness of chance. How could one endure such a place, where all significance was lost? I myself would mean nothing, but would merely be a kind of self-invention: a speck upon the wind, calling itself Wilson. I felt my spirit waver, as if it were toppling into the abyss before me.”
Matthew Kneale, English Passengers



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