Body Maps

Janette Turner Hospital, 7 April 1994

‘It’s not so easy, just living a life,’ says the unnamed female narrator of ‘Living at Home’, second of the three novellas that make up this collection. The narrator...

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Missingness

John Bayley, 24 March 1994

The sad ballad has always given satisfaction, whether it was a Last Goodnight, or seeing your love dressed all in white, but come back only from the grave. The Victorians revelled in it. Stephen...

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On the highway

Jonathan Coe, 24 March 1994

Young English novelists have a hard time of it these days. Not only must they work in the knowledge of an informed critical consensus which holds that their current productions are generally...

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Two Poems

James Lasdun, 24 March 1994

General McClellan Pride, questioner, and pride’s obverse, fear; Fear of failure. The Times of London Noted my Air of Success. Our grand Potomac army loved me as I’d planned. I was...

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Larceny

Adam Mars-Jones, 24 March 1994

The hero of The Fermata has an intermittent gift for stopping time, which he exploits entirely for purposes of sexual satisfaction, but Nicholson Baker’s trademark as a novelist has always...

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Horrible Dead Years

Christopher Prendergast, 24 March 1994

While Baudelaire, speech-bereft, lay on his sick-bed in Brussels, his mother, rummaging through his overcoat, came across some photographs of her son taken by Nadar. It was a strange but...

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Dark Underbellies

Lorna Scott Fox, 24 March 1994

Here are three strangely similar book openings: Many years later, in front of the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to recall that distant afternoon when his father took him to...

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Ever so comfy

James Wood, 24 March 1994

Every handful of John Updike’s silver has its square coin, its bad penny, its fake. This exquisitely careful writer tends to relax into flamboyance: it is the verbal equivalent of...

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Collapse of the Sofa Cushions

Ruth Bernard Yeazell, 24 March 1994

New literary movements often declare themselves by denouncing their immediate predecessors, but the Modernist attack on Victorian poetry has endured longer than most. In his Introduction to The...

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Wet Socks

John Bayley, 10 March 1994

The high noon of imperial expansion towards the end of the 19th century produced an archetypal tale. Kipling’s version of it is ‘The Man Who Would Be King’, which like all...

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Kooked

Mark Ford, 10 March 1994

The poetic legacy of Ezra Pound has been divided up, sifted, plundered by an extraordinary variety of claimants. A list of poets who have profited from his achievement would include Allen...

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In memoriam H.S. It is sweet and decorous To light the fire in the hearth and dream Of the death of poets. The boulders Follow him, scoring huge trenches To where he sits on a hill, letting the...

Read more about Poem: ‘From: The Advice of Proteus Orpheus Dies, and the God Seeks Out Silenus’

Diary: On the Phi Beta Kappa Tour

Elaine Showalter, 10 March 1994

‘We’re ideally situated,’ said my host from the University of Lethbridge: ‘We’re three hours’ drive from Calgary and an hour from Glacier National Park.’...

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Lauraphobia

Jenny Turner, 10 March 1994

Laura Riding, so Deborah Baker tells us, first emerged into the public world of books in 1924. She was 23 years old and living in Louisville with her husband, a history professor whom she met...

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Why the birthday party didn’t happen

Michael Wood, 10 March 1994

Robert Altman’s Short Cuts is a long, loose-looking movie, but the looseness is an effect, carefully worked for. Plenty of themes recur throughout – insecurity, chance, rage, damage,...

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Two Poems

Patricia Beer, 24 February 1994

Autumn Weeds start up out of the wall now that summer has ended. Holiday-makers already begin to turn yellow. Shadows look brave but have lost the bone-marrow of August. Introducing two recently...

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Farewell Hong Kong

Penelope Fitzgerald, 24 February 1994

Samuel Pink is brought up in an English country rectory in the 1880s. He knows that the Pinks are not his real father and mother. He believes that he is the illegitimate son of Queen Victoria by...

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Poem: ‘Oxblood’

James Lasdun, 24 February 1994

Mid-October, our Blackjack oak Peppers the tar-paper roof with its ripened acorns; Day and night, two weeks of it, Priapic Scattershot clattering down With every gust of wind from the mountain; I...

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