Abroad: British Literary Traveling between the Wars

Oxford University Press, 17/06/1982 - 256 páginas
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A book about the meaning of travel, about how important the topic has been for writers for two and a half centuries, and about how excellent the literature of travel happened to be in England and America in the 1920s and 30s.

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ABROAD: British Literary Traveling Between The Wars

Procura do Utilizador  - Kirkus

"Before tourism there was travel, and before travel there was exploration." Fussell, who sounds in his wittier moments like S. J. Perelman turned professor, is too much the tenderfoot and ben vivant ... Ler crítica na íntegra

LibraryThing Review

Procura do Utilizador  - Lcanon - LibraryThing

When Fussell sinks his teeth into a major figure of the era -- Robert Byron, for instance -- he's very good. But other parts of the book are just whiny complaining about how modern-day tourism isn't ... Ler crítica na íntegra


Frozen Oranges
Nowhere to Go
I Hate It Here
The Passport Nuisance
All These Frontiers
From Exploration to Travel to Tourism
The Travel Atmosphere
Graham Greenes Parallel Journey
See It with Someone You Like
Norman Douglass Temporary Attachments
That Splendid Enclosure
The New Heliophily
The Places of D H Lawrence
Little Pots of Excrement for Sale
Evelyn Waughs Moral Entertainments
Travel Books as Literary Phenomena

One of the Cheapest Ways of Living
The Englishness of It All
Sancte Roberte Ora pro Nobis
LAmour de Voyage
The End
Direitos de autor

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Palavras e frases frequentes

Passagens conhecidas

Página 211 - Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again.
Página 208 - The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to That which is to come : delivered under the Similitude of a Dream. Wherein is Discovered, The manner of his setting out, His Dangerous Journey, and Safe Arrival at the Desired Country.
Página 56 - Fare forward, travellers ! not escaping from the past Into different lives, or into any future; You are not the same people who left that station Or who will arrive at any terminus, While the narrowing rails slide together behind youj And on the deck of the drumming liner Watching the furrow that widens behind you, You shall not think 'the past is finished' Or 'the future is before us'.
Página 182 - I do not think I shall ever forget the sight of Etna at sunset; the mountain almost invisible in a blur of pastel grey, glowing on the top and then repeating its shape, as though reflected, in a wisp of grey smoke, with the whole horizon behind radiant with pink light, fading gently into a grey pastel sky. Nothing I have ever seen in Art or Nature was quite so revolting.
Página 13 - Night would pass. Polly. Were I sold on Indian Soil, Soon as the burning Day was clos'd, I could mock the sultry Toil When on my Charmer's Breast repos'd.
Página 16 - The car ploughed uphill through the long squalid straggle of Tevershall, the blackened brick dwellings, the black slate roofs, glistening their sharp edges, the mud black with coal-dust, the pavements wet and black. It was as if dismalness had soaked through and through everything. The utter negation of natural beauty, the utter negation of the gladness of life, the utter absence of the instinct for shapely beauty which every bird and beast has, the utter death of the human intuitive faculty was...
Página 152 - Where, then, is the meeting-point: where in mankind is the ecstasy of light and dark together, the supreme transcendence of the afterglow, day hovering in the embrace of the coming night like two angels embracing in the heavens, like Eurydice in the arms of Orpheus, or Persephone embraced by Pluto?
Página 56 - When the train starts, and the passengers are settled To fruit, periodicals and business letters (And those who saw them off have left the platform) Their faces relax from grief into relief, To the sleepy rhythm of a hundred hours.
Página 52 - This music crept by me upon the waters" And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

Acerca do autor (1982)

Paul Fussell Jr. was born in Pasadena, California on March 22, 1924. He was drafted into the Army in 1943 while attending Pomona College. During his tour of duty, he won the Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts. He returned to college in 1945. He received a bachelor of arts degree from Pomona College in 1947 and a master's degree and a doctorate in English from Harvard University. He taught English at Connecticut College for Women, Rutgers University, and the University of Pennsylvania. During this time he wrote several books on literary topics including The Rhetorical World of Augustan Humanism: Ethics and Imagery from Swift to Burke, Poetic Meter and Poetic Form, and Samuel Johnson and the Life of Writing. In 1975, he published The Great War and Modern Memory, which was a study of World War I and how its horrors fostered a disillusioned modernist sensibility. This book won both the National Book Critics Circle Award for Criticism and the National Book Award for Arts and Letters. His other works include Abroad: British Literary Traveling Between the Wars, Class: A Guide Through the American Status System, Wartime: Understanding and Behavior in the Second World War, BAD: Or, the Dumbing of America, and Doing Battle: The Making of a Skeptic. He died of natural causes on May 23, 2012 at the age of 88.

Informação bibliográfica