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Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

On Paper By Nicholas A. Basbanes


The author, right, with Jackie, left
 ON THE PAPER TRAIL
BY JACKIE ATKINS
[WRITERSCLEARINGHOUSE NEWS SERVICE]

Our birth in the world is heralded officially by a small document proclaiming the date, our weight, sex, and parentage. Our death is on notice to the same world by a certificate which states date, more names, and sex. Each milestone in our lives, the graduations, marriages, divorces, driver’s licenses are decreed on other pieces we can hold, show, and offer as proof of our time on earth. Records may also be kept in vast caverns of data banks, but it is those which we can hold in our hands, which we store in our cabinets, and hold close to our hearts that trumpet our own special indenture, our enduring allegiance to paper.
 
Nicholas A. Basbanes, an investigative reporter, respected book critic, and renowned author of eight previous books on literary matters has decided to put a face on the pages of time, the immutable tablet of scribes, artists, and bean counters of our current and past civilizations.

Kazin Disses O'Hara

Alfred Kazin: Smug vs. Slug

IT'S PERSONAL, REAL PERSONAL
[WRITERSCLEARINGHOUSE NEWS SERVICE]

Despite his age, seventy nine, literary guru Alfred Kazin is as feisty -- and nasty --  as ever. Since I thought the old cuss was dead, I wasn't expecting that Kazin, now the unofficial heir to the Edmund Wilson mantle of public intellectual, to rise to any occasion, much less one of such loathing that I encountered recently [3 May 1994] when the eminence grise cum greasy geezer showed up at Harvard's Emerson Hall  for the first of a series of lectures reviewing his remarkable lit'ry life.
    Oh yeah, he still hates John O'Hara. And I mean it's real personal.
    I reread On Native Grounds just to refreshen my acquaintance to Kazin's animus for O'Hara. The book came out in 1942. Kazin was twenty-three. My God, this guy been nursing his O'Hara grudge that long! Not very good for the digestion.
    But why? Sure, O'Hara was often a difficult party -- often disliked; sometimes hated. Had he, like others, been the butt of one of O'Hara's drunken tear-ass spats? Or, was O'Hara, the master of 'the perceived slight,' simply seeking vengeance? Was this Kazin's revenge?
See 'Kazin Speaks Out of Class' in right gutter for more on the critic's venomous dislike of John O'Hara
     Kazin dutifully checked off all the pre-War writers he had known. Check. Check.Check. New Yorker contributors. Check. O'Hara?
    'Why didn't I mention O'Hara?' Kazin said, glaring at me. He gripped the lectern. Then standing back, he blurted, 'Why? I'll tell you [the you was meant to equate me with a moronic slug] why? Because O'Hara was a minor writer. That's why!'
    Anything personal?

Tuesday, 18 October 2011

Letters to the Editor


Blowing Smoke
 Dr. Albert C. Barnes, founder of the Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia
Boo Hoo
Darsh Gone, Dr. Barnes
is Still Getting Dissed
(In response to 'Matisse's Revenge,' published in the BroadStreetReview.com and below).
Thanks for your letter. We'll post it soon.
Sincerely,
Dan Rottenberg
Editor

On Oct 17, 2011, at 8:40 PM....

Comments:
I don't understand why so many presumably well informed writers feel it
necessary to slime Albert Barnes and why editors (Dan?) print this trash. In
a comparison of Matisse collections, is it necessary to allege Barnes'
marital infidelity? Do we need to read ONCE AGAIN that Barnes was
"irascible" and etc and etc ad nauseam? The man was an astonishingly
courageous connoisseur who was widely villified by "experts" and yet
assembled the breathtaking collection we all treasure. Show him some
respect!

Donald Eckard
St. Davids, PA 19087

Dan Rottenberg, Editor
Broad Street Review
1315 Walnut St.
Suite 904
Philadelphia PA 19107
Phone: (215) 735-1455
Fax: (215) 735-1455
drottenberg@broadstreetreview.com

Thursday, 15 September 2011

Letters

Touchy, Touchy....
A reader in California writes in regards to our recent notice on a cockup at Marseille restaurant:
I went back over this and it appears that you waited only half an hour, you were actually seated, before you started barking at the maitre.

What is wrong with you, d00d? You had to wait half an hour? Shit, that's like the Oakland Burgertown on a Saturday night. Do we all get so touchy as we age? I know I do, but I stifle it.

And did it take you this long to learn not to fuck with an old white-haired Frenchman with a tinge of power to him? Jimmy, they're the worst kind! Back the fuck away and wait!

Also, there is no way this guy figured you were American. Shit, I'm an American with an aging Boston marshmallow face and a name like six presidents, and half the frogs I run into think I'm at least from Moldava because I am simultaneously less stupid and more stupid than your average American. The white-hair guy undoubtedly thought you were Lebanese diaspora, maybe with a few generations run through Cuba.

Of course I could be wrong about all of this. But, on the other hand, they have been out of line ever since Napoleon.