A minor but charming addendum to 20th-century literary history.
Poet Field (Counting Myself Lucky, 1992, etc.) atmospherically depicts gay and avant-garde life in the decades following WWII.
His generation of bohemians, the author claims, were the last to reject any kind of fame or commercial success as “selling out.” They clung to poverty and artistic purity as they bounced from Greenwich Village to the Left Bank in Paris to Morocco, but their proudly unconventional odysseys too often ended in mental illness and premature death. The better-known names here—Frank O’Hara, Susan Sontag, James Baldwin, May Swenson—achieved varying degrees of mainstream renown; Field’s closest friends were more marginal figures. Typical in his self-destructive but oddly admirable eccentricity was critic and novelist Alfred Chester (the would-be Sontag spouse of the title), who had a brief moment of minor celebrity in the New York literary scene of the early 1960s before he descended into alcoholism and madness. Chester’s decline was sparked in part by the malevolent impact of time spent in Tangiers under the influence of Paul Bowles, one of the few people who gets a predominantly negative assessment from the author, who depicts Bowles as a self-protective vampire sucking his inspiration from the reckless acting out of both his wife Jane and Chester. In general, Field is gossipy and mildly bitchy but basically good-hearted as he profiles such now-forgotten figures as Gurdjieff disciple Fritz Peters, painter/friend-to-cannibals Tobias Schneebaum and poets Dunstan Thompson, Robert Friend and Ralph Pomeroy. He offers plenty of eye-openingly frank accounts of gay sex (penis size, orifice preference, etc.) and dish on who slept with whom. But Field also writes eloquently about his efforts to make his poetry more conversational and less literary, affectionately about settling down with lifelong partner Neil Derrick and shrewdly about the politics of literary bohemia. A touching final chapter about friends in the present-day Village reminds us that rebels get old too.
A minor but charming addendum to 20th-century literary history.Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2006
ISBN: 0-299-21320-X
Page Count: 280
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2005
BOOK REVIEW
Stricter than, say, Bergen Evans or W3 ("disinterested" means impartial — period), Strunk is in the last analysis...
Privately published by Strunk of Cornell in 1918 and revised by his student E. B. White in 1959, that "little book" is back again with more White updatings.
Stricter than, say, Bergen Evans or W3 ("disinterested" means impartial — period), Strunk is in the last analysis (whoops — "A bankrupt expression") a unique guide (which means "without like or equal").Pub Date: May 15, 1972
ISBN: 0205632645
Page Count: 105
Publisher: Macmillan
Review Posted Online: Oct. 28, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 1972
This is not the Nutcracker sweet, as passed on by Tchaikovsky and Marius Petipa. No, this is the original Hoffmann tale of 1816, in which the froth of Christmas revelry occasionally parts to let the dark underside of childhood fantasies and fears peek through. The boundaries between dream and reality fade, just as Godfather Drosselmeier, the Nutcracker's creator, is seen as alternately sinister and jolly. And Italian artist Roberto Innocenti gives an errily realistic air to Marie's dreams, in richly detailed illustrations touched by a mysterious light. A beautiful version of this classic tale, which will captivate adults and children alike. (Nutcracker; $35.00; Oct. 28, 1996; 136 pp.; 0-15-100227-4)
Pub Date: Oct. 28, 1996
ISBN: 0-15-100227-4
Page Count: 136
Publisher: Harcourt
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 1996
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
© Copyright 2025 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
