LAST WORD Make Patriotism Great Again Harold Bordwell George Berkeley (1685-1753), the Anglican bishop of Cloyne in County Cork, Ireland, was one of the most interesting men of his age, perhaps...
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SHORT TAKE Harold Bordwell Faith on the Front A WORLD WAR I CONVERSION STORY The French writer Henri Gheon (1875-1944) remembers evenings in the mess hall in Belgium in 1915, not far from the...
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THE LAST WORD Skull & Bones Harold Bordwell Some time ago I made plans for my death, also called Preneed Funeral Planning. My "advanced planning counselor" and I sat down over a cup of tea in my...
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THE LAST WORD Take & Eat Harold Bordwell The supermarket, that cornucopia of modern life, has no greater gift to the shopper than the apple. Tiered bins of Granny Smiths, McIntoshes, Fujis,...
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Harold Bordwell A Beggar to the End LÉON BLOY'S CRANKY GENIUS Invective seldom harms the reputation of a writer. "A Frenchman must be always talking," Samuel Johnson said, "whether he knows...
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THE LAST WORD Begin Afresh Harold Bordwell Deftly, admirai, cast your fly Into the slow deep hover, Till the wise old trout mistake and die; Salt are the deeps that cover The glittering...
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The Last Word Pernickety Harold Bordwell In her 2007 biography of Edith Wharton, Hermione Lee describes Charles Du Bos (1882-1939), the French critic and diarist, as "pernickety, vain,...
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In the 1940s, the small community of SaintBenoit-sur-Loire near Orleans had some thirteen hundred inhabitants. It was the site of a celebrated abbey church whose fortunes had changed with...
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Harold Bordwell Late Conversion waS RiMBauD a SaiNT? W hen Arthur Rimbaud reached Marseilles in August 1891, he had only three months to live. He had come from Roche, in the Ardennes,...
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The Last Word Treading Lightly Harold Bordwell g eR 4 r~ T he Guadalquivir River makes a dramatic loop southward as it passes the city of C6rdoba on its way to the Atlantic. A Roman...
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BOOKED Harold Bor dwell I am in Powell's Burnham Park bookstore, just south of the Loop in Chicago, on a book crawl, and I am thinking of Bruce Cook, friend, and novelist who died in Los Angeles...
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Blue Wagon Left out in the rain far too long, For too many seasons, now rust Has crept along its stenciled sides, Turned its white wheels brown and black, Left its steering rudder scoured Down...
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