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Dawn Powell: Novels 1944-1962

door Dawn Powell

Andere auteurs: Tim Page (Redacteur)

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From the publisher. American literature has known few writers capable of the comic elan and full-bodied portraiture that abound in the novels of Dawn Powell. Yet for decades after her death, Powell's work was out of print, cherished only by a small band of admirers. Only recently has there been a rediscovery of the writer Gore Vidal calls "our best comic novelist," and whom Edmund Wilson considered to be "on a level with Anthony Powell, Evelyn Waugh, and Muriel Spark." In a two-volume set, The Library of America presents the best of Powell's quirky, often hilarious, sometimes deeply moving fiction. Dawn Powell -- a vital part of literary Greenwich Village from the 1920s through the 1960s -- was the observant chronicler of two very different worlds: the small-town Ohio where she grew up and the sophisticated Manhattan where she lived for nearly fifty years. If her Ohio novels are more melancholy and compassionate, her Manhattan novels, exuberant and incisive, sparkle with a cast of writers, show people, businessmen, and hangers-on -- all caught with Powell's uniquely sharp yet compassionate eye. A playful satirist, an unsentimental observer of failed hopes and misguided longings, Dawn Powell is a literary rediscovery of rare importance. My Home Is Far Away (1944), the last of Powell's Ohio novels, is a fictionalized memoir of her difficult childhood. With The Locusts Have No King (1948), the story of a scholar's unexpected brush with the temptations of celebrity and riches, Powell resumed her lifelong dissection of New York's pretensions and glamour. The first of three brilliant postwar satires, it was followed by The Wicked Pavilion (1954), a novel that lays bare its characters' illusions about love and success against the backdrop of the Cafe Julien, a relic of a bygone era in the history of Greenwich Village. The volume concludes with Powell's final novel, The Golden Spur (1962), in which she drew on her time spent among painters at the famed Cedar Tavern for an affectionate if pointed satire on Manhattan's art world.… (meer)
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Toon 5 van 5
Dawn Powell's work remains nearly forgotten but should be regarded as an excellent series of publications from 1926 to 1964. Her fiction was often satirical in nature but based on life's experiences. Her "A Time to be Born" is a portrait of a character whose hubris failed to observe anything but her own imagined reality, for example. Nevertheless, her work would be overshadowed by the growth of science fiction writers & Steinbeck's monumental works. The drawback of her writing though hurt her more so as she focused far more on NYC's world in her later writings. Unlike the broad strokes of Steinbeck's or Faulkner's, her work fell short to reach the level attraction even to compete in her lifetime with the sci fi writers. After her death in 1965, her work was soon forgotten which is a shame. ( )
  walterhistory | Oct 27, 2022 |
This novel is Powell's merciless observation of the "art world" in New York City post World War II. It's a tight little circle of wannabe's, cuddabeens, patrons and parasites, most of whom couldn't tell a Rembrandt from a Picasso and don't remember whose bed they woke up in last week. I am impressed with the writing, the insight, the "snark"---and the "modernity" of some of the dialog. I find the disconnect between what the characters are actually doing in their lives, and what they profess to be offended by, is rendered brilliantly. Powell certainly had her finger on the sleazy side of human nature in artistic circles. I don't like or sympathize with any of the characters, but they are interesting, and precisely because I don't care about them in an empathetic way, I can be delighted by their peccadilloes, and even their awfulness, most of the time. Once in a while, though, I think Powell drives her blade a little too deep.
September 2020 ( )
1 stem laytonwoman3rd | Dec 21, 2020 |
This review is only for My Home is Far Away as I have not yet read the other three novels in the volume. My Home is Far Away is the story of Marcia Willard who grows up in northeastern Ohio in the early twentieth century and it is based closely on Powell's own life. The characters are wonderful -- Grandma, Mr. Willard and his friends, the stepmother, Bonnie Purdy and Vance. Every one of them is a distinct individual described in such detail you could single them out in a crowded room, and so true-to-life that you have to believe these people are continuing on long after the book has been closed and placed back on the shelf.

Marcia is the middle child and this accident of birth causes her no end of anguish as her sisters get all of the attention. The other burdens she carries include a drunken, irresponsible father, the death of her mother, poverty, and rejection by relatives who could come to the rescue. It is a stroke of genius to make these misfortunes appear to be relatively equitable to Marcia. Her life streams by and she has no power to change its course, any more than she can change being the middle child. Money and sex are the levers that push one towards either success or failure, but unlike her older sister, Marcia has found literature to be a more effective escape route than boys.
That Marcia can escape the life of her relatives and forge her own way is due to her ability to imagine another life and to steel her nerve enough to go seek it out. Now I want to know what happens next. Powell must have wanted to know too as she began, but never finished, a sequel. ( )
1 stem PatsyMurray | Jul 5, 2019 |
read only My Home is Far Away.

Her NY novels don't appeal to me ( )
  kayclifton | Apr 23, 2017 |
"My home is far away", "The locusts have no king", "The wicked pavilion", "The golden spur"
  IICANA | May 9, 2016 |
Toon 5 van 5
"If you can't say anything good about someone," Alice Roosevelt once said, "sit right here by me." It is hard to think of anything as relentlessly unforgiving as Powell's New York novels; even Swift had his Houyhnhnms. Powell's New York has the moral atmosphere of The Alchemist—human beings are divided into fools and knaves...

The easiest and most commonplace way to mask oneself is, of course, to get very drunk, and one of the most astonishing things about Powell's novels is their unprecedented, fabulous crapulence. The scale of the drinking in any of the New York novels defies belief; they are as liquid in the memory as an Esther Williams movie... Powell is a supremely deserving candidate for admission to The Library of America, a writer of consistent and startling pleasure, cruelty, and ingenuity. Next to her the celebrated wits of the Algonquin look self-conscious and willful, their exercises in pathos whiny and thin. Powell's hardness was genuine, and the pain beneath it profoundly troubling.
toegevoegd door SnootyBaronet | bewerkThe Atlantic
 

» Andere auteurs toevoegen

AuteursnaamRolType auteurWerk?Status
Dawn Powellprimaire auteuralle editiesberekend
Page, TimRedacteurSecundaire auteuralle editiesbevestigd
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From the publisher. American literature has known few writers capable of the comic elan and full-bodied portraiture that abound in the novels of Dawn Powell. Yet for decades after her death, Powell's work was out of print, cherished only by a small band of admirers. Only recently has there been a rediscovery of the writer Gore Vidal calls "our best comic novelist," and whom Edmund Wilson considered to be "on a level with Anthony Powell, Evelyn Waugh, and Muriel Spark." In a two-volume set, The Library of America presents the best of Powell's quirky, often hilarious, sometimes deeply moving fiction. Dawn Powell -- a vital part of literary Greenwich Village from the 1920s through the 1960s -- was the observant chronicler of two very different worlds: the small-town Ohio where she grew up and the sophisticated Manhattan where she lived for nearly fifty years. If her Ohio novels are more melancholy and compassionate, her Manhattan novels, exuberant and incisive, sparkle with a cast of writers, show people, businessmen, and hangers-on -- all caught with Powell's uniquely sharp yet compassionate eye. A playful satirist, an unsentimental observer of failed hopes and misguided longings, Dawn Powell is a literary rediscovery of rare importance. My Home Is Far Away (1944), the last of Powell's Ohio novels, is a fictionalized memoir of her difficult childhood. With The Locusts Have No King (1948), the story of a scholar's unexpected brush with the temptations of celebrity and riches, Powell resumed her lifelong dissection of New York's pretensions and glamour. The first of three brilliant postwar satires, it was followed by The Wicked Pavilion (1954), a novel that lays bare its characters' illusions about love and success against the backdrop of the Cafe Julien, a relic of a bygone era in the history of Greenwich Village. The volume concludes with Powell's final novel, The Golden Spur (1962), in which she drew on her time spent among painters at the famed Cedar Tavern for an affectionate if pointed satire on Manhattan's art world.

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