Christine Dolen, former theater critic for the Miami Herald, died over the weekend. She was that rare critic who seemed to be universally liked. Her passion for theater – all of the arts, really, and the people who make their living in them – came through in every word she wrote. She was also one of the most gracious people I ever met, and this too explains her beloved status.
The article by Michael Schulman in the Jan. 27th New Yorker contains this sentence: “Every house is haunted by its previous residents, but prewar apartments in the Village have particularly colorful ghosts.”
If I were still teaching writing, I would write this sentence on the board to illustrate how the word ‘but’ – an ugly word, one ‘t’ away from one of my least favorite – can often be replaced by ‘and.’ And not just for aesthetic reasons. A ‘but’ tells the reader something significant is coming, often something surprising, in which case the surprise is considerably lessened. An ‘and’ smoothly and seamlessly connects the two parts, leaving the reader unaware until the last delightful moment. ‘But’ is a divider with a spoiler tendency; ‘and’ is a uniter with a subversive streak.
In Sunday’s New York Times Book Review, Robert Harris, author of Conclave, was asked to name three writers he would invite to a literary dinner party. “My literary heroes,” he answered: “Graham Greene, George Orwell and Evelyn Waugh.”
I found his answer surprising for two reasons: Rarely, in these politically correct times, do people respond with the names of three dead white males, and rarely do their favorite authors correspond so closely to mine. Though I wouldn’t have all three men around for dinner. I would mix things up: Not in obedience to DEI but for the sake of a more lively conversation. Imagine the fun if fellow Catholics Flannery O’Connor and Richard Rodriguez joined Waugh at the table.
Speaking yesterday at the ceremony marking the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, King Charles listed as victims of the Holocaust, along with the six million Jews, “Sinti, Roma, disabled people, members of the LGBT community, and political prisoners.”
A number of Poles, including the former ambassador to the United States, have complained that he left out their compatriots. And it was an odd omission, especially when you consider that Poles make up one of the largest immigrant groups in England. But the king is not a politician dependent on votes. Which makes his statement, or its wording, even more curious. In the 1940s, there were homosexuals – and they were targeted by the Nazis – but there was no “LGBT community.”
I was hoping that Madison Keys’ victory at the Australian Open would bode well for the Buffalo Bills – the triumph of the long-denied – but unfortunately it didn’t work out that way. At least now I won’t have divided loyalties during the Super Bowl. Go Iggles!
Perhaps if Pegula had lifted the trophy in Melbourne.
I’m 100 pages into Zora Neale Hurston’s memoir Dust Tracks on a Road and am impressed by the writing, the spirit, the life – and she’s not yet out of her teens.