Posted by Lizzie on 12/16/04
I can’t explain my current obsession with John P. Marquand and Richard Yates. Perhaps it’s the patina of war (I and II), now apropos. Perhaps it’s these authors’ steady examination of fate, the slow swing of the pendulum, in Yates’ case, resting on failure, and in Marquand’s, in a strange redemption (if you look left, you’ll see I already said that, but it’s late). In any case, if you want a peep-hole into WASP strivings and proof that Jonathan Franzen is indeed a very, very bad writer, try these two.
Filed under: Lit-ish |