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Writers At Work: The Paris Review Interviews #2
Writers at work : the Paris review interviews, second series
Writers at Volume 2 George Writers at Volume 2 Penguin FIRST First Edition Thus, 7th Printing (1974). Not price-clipped. Published by Penguin Books, 1963. Octavo. Paperback. Book is very good with sticker residue on front cover. 100% positive feedback. 30 day money back guarantee. NEXT DAY SHIPPING! Excellent customer service. Please email with any questions. All books packed carefully and ship with free delivery confirmation/tracking. All books come with free bookmarks. Ships from Sag Harbor, New York.Seller 354506 Reference We Buy Books! Collections - Libraries - Estates - Individual Titles. Message us if you have books to sell!
256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1963
About the author
George Plimpton
313 books106 followersGeorge Ames Plimpton was an American journalist, writer, editor, actor, and gamesman. He is widely known for his sports writing and for helping to found The Paris Review.
He was the grandson of George A. Plimpton.
He was the grandson of George A. Plimpton.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
January 5, 2010
Always fascinating to read interviews with great authors such as William Faulkner. Orhan Pamuk says in his introduction that the original interviews in Paris Review helped encourage him and keep him sane when he was growing up in Turkey. ....' By reading these author's interview, i discovered that there were many otheres wo shared my passion, that the disatnce between what i desired and what i achieved was normal, that my loathing for normal everyday life was not a sign of sickness but of intelligence,and that I should embrace most of the little eccentric habits that fired up my imagination and helped me write.'
December 23, 2008
The Paris Review Interviews are simply the best documents on writers and the process of writing that exists. A must for anyone interested in serious writing. Any and all of them. Whenever I have time I love going over them time after time.
August 1, 2026
**** Robert Frost
*** Ezra Pound
*** Marianne Moore
*** T. S. Eliot
**** Boris Pasternak
*** Katherine Anne Porter
*** Henry Miller
***** Aldous Huxley
** Ernest Hemingway
***** S. J. Perelman
**** Lawrence Durrell
**** Mary McCarthy
**** Ralph Ellison
* Robert Lowell
Robert Frost — Interviews with writers are funny in the standard questions that get asked, like how this one starts with the mechanics of writing where Frost tells them he never writes at a table or a desk, but prefers a “writing board” (what we would now call a lap desk) or even the sole of his shoe. This is a fun interview with Frost who was in his 80s at the time. I think of Frost as the quintessential American poet, never to be confused with Europe even though his first success came in England when Ezra Pound (an American, but then living in England) reviewed one of this first books. But Frost, even more than Carl Sandburg, is an American poet, whose words reflect the New England he lived in for most of his life. The fact I can name at least three Frost poems, and quote lines from a few others, signifies how much he is a part of American culture. In this interview, he talks like a man who has nothing to hide and nothing to fear. He’s not concerned about a legacy or the next generation of poets, just to be a simple wordsmith and happy with what he accomplished.
Ezra Pound — I’ve grown tired of modern, free verse, which seems to me like walking on a tightrope that’s really a sheet of glass over a piece of string. Pound gives me some words for this: “If a thing isn’t worth getting the technique to say, it is of inferior value.” That is, if you can’t take the time to put some structure to your poetry, maybe it’s not worth what you want to say.
Marianne Moore — What’s interesting in reading this interviews with writers who came of age at the turn of the 20th century is just how small the world of literature was back then. Part of that smallness is that not everyone went to university, so if you were one of the privileged few who could, that alone could provide you entry into rarified societies. (Now, you have to go to an elite college, and join the right groups there, and I’m not even sure that will get you anywhere unless you also have something else behind you.) The story about how a New York Public librarian came to ask her mother if Marianne would be interested in joining the staff at the library because of her interest in books and talking about them with people—oh, yeah, that’s never going to happen now. Then later, two friends brought out her first book of collected poetry without her knowledge.
T. S. Eliot — When talking about his plays, Eliot criticizes himself, saying that sometimes he stayed too close to his Greek sources, whereas he had intended, and thinks it best, as only to use them as a springboard. In short, “take the situation, rethink it in modern terms, develop your own characters from it, and let another plot develop out of that.” A number of fantasy and SF these days attempts to do this, but ends up often adhering to closely to that source material. Later, Eliot and Hall bemoan the commonality of language as enforced by mass media in the form of radio and then television, which has only increased since this interview. Eliot considered himself an American poet, even though he moved to England when he was 25 and lived there until his death at age 76 in 1965—although he admitted that his poetry wouldn’t have been the same if he’d stayed in America or had been born in Britain, as it was a combination of the two. But, he felt, more in common with his American contemporaries.
Boris Pasternak — This is a striking interview in which the interviewer, while not really becoming a part of the interview, is integral to the structure (as one would be). Carlisle describes her attempt to visit Pasternak using a hired taxi, the driver of which says he knows where to go but obviously doesn’t. And in this way, Carlisle shows rather than tells of her anxiety in approaching and broaching the famous writer. Such that, when she does finally appear on his doorstep, the resulting discussion that ensues over the course of three meetings has more meaning. Rather than the typical Paris Review format, this one is presented almost like a short story, befitting its subject. It’s fascinating, even for one not familiar with the writer.
Katherine Anne Porter — Thing I learned from this interview: this Porter was related to Sidney Porter (albeit a sixth or seventh cousin), better known as O. Henry. She declares that she didn’t feel the sins of the fathers should be visited on the third or fourth generations, but at this moment in time, given the resurgence once again of racial hatred and bigotry, I do wonder. I was amused at her advice to a would-be writer to get a job “hashing” at a restaurant rather than at a newspaper. Again, the joy of these interviews with older writers is how opinionated they are and willing to say things younger writers might not, like Porter here dissing both William Styron and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Her view that writing should be done as an artform, rather than commercial, may have resonance with some while others attempting to make a living at writing will dismiss it. I’m in the former category, however, likely due to my current situation in life.
Henry Miller — I’m not a fan of Henry Miller, having tried to read some of his books as a young man and not seeing the point in them. I keep thinking I should try again, but reading this like this interview don’t push me into doing so. For example, Miller says, “I think it’s bad to think.” That’s totally antithetical to my reading and writing, which I want the writer to have thought about and I want, as a reader, to be forced to think about. And, of course, he contradicts himself, for later he says that most writing doesn’t happen at the typewriter, but in the “quiet, silent moments, while you’re walking or shaving or playing a game or whatever, or even talking to someone you’re not vitally interested in. You’re working, your mind is working, on this problem in the back of your head. So, when you get to the machine it’s a mere matter of transfer.” If that’s not “thinking,” then I’m not sure how Miller wants to define that word. Contradictory is kind of a theme of this interview. At one point, he says “the enemy of America is the artist, because he stands for individuality and creativeness, and that’s un-American somehow. I think that of all countries—we have to overlook the communist countries of course—America is the most mechanized, robotized, of all.” This might very well be true, but it’s opposite of what most Americans think, as they celebrate themselves as rugged individualists.
Aldous Huxley — Things I learned from this interview include the fact that Huxley moved to Los Angeles in 1937 and that Brave New World began as a parody of H.G. Wells’s Men Like Gods. In Huxley’s later years he published more non-fiction than fiction but this interview shows him still thinking, and working, on a novel. I had also forgotten, before reading this, that Huxley had experimented a lot with lysergic acid (aka LSD), but in discussing this with him, he comes at it rather scientifically, of the Victorian type, full of curiosity about it but determined to record its effects minutely. Although he’s most known for Brave New World (and somewhat for The Doors of Perception, his book about his experience taking LSD, which then inspired the name of the rock band, The Doors), Huxley states that he thinks his best work was Time Must Have a Stop, which I have never heard of. This anecdote about his friendship with D.H. Lawrence was golden: “My wife typed out the manuscript of Lady Chatterley’s Lover for him, even though she was a bad typist and had no patience with English spelling—she was a Belgian, you know. Then she didn’t always appreciate the nuances of the language she was typing. When she started using some of those four-letter words in conversation, Lawrence was profoundly shocked.”
Ernest Hemingway — Plimpton begins this interview unlike any of the others that appeared in The Paris Review with a very long introduction that describes Hemingway’s working space in the bedroom of his Havana home. Interspersed in that are a couple of quotes, but for the most part, it’s seeing the writer from the outside. When the interview finally begins, Hemingway proves to be as curmudgeonly as one might expect, although there are a few bon mots thrown to Plimpton to keep him satisfied. I enjoyed the idea that a writer could be influenced as much by artists and musicians as other writers (I find that true in my own case). For the rest of the interview, though, it seemed as if Hemingway was as much of a combatant with Plimpton as a research subject.
S.J. Perelman — I’ve read one book by Perelman—Eastward, Ha!—and enjoyed it, but I do agree with him that written humorists such as himself were a passing fancy in literature of the 1920s and 30s. It’s not that they don’t exist today, but they don’t exist in the packs and numbers they did a century ago, and it’s a combination of the lack of markets and the displacement of comedy from the printed page to the screen. Perelman also states that the long-form comic novel is probably one of the most difficult forms to achieve and lists only three entirely successful ones: Cakes and Ale (W. Somerset Maugham), Count Bruga (Ben Hecht), and Lucky Jim (Kingsley Amis). As someone always on the lookout for humorous novels, I really appreciated this portion of the interview. I also appreciate his making a distinction between comic writers and comedians, the latter who might write their own material but that it’s written to be performed, not read, which makes all the difference. He bristles when the interviewers query him about Hollywood and his association with the Marx Brothers; suffice to say, he’d put a distance between himself and the place and had no inclination to return, calling it “a dreary industrial town controlled by hoodlums of enormous wealth, the ethical sense of a pack of jackals, and taste so degraded that it befouled everything it touched.”
Lawrence Durrell — I tried to read the Alexandria quartet several times but it never caught my attention. After reading this interview, I’m tempted to give it another go, as Durrell is droll and down-to-earth and makes me think his writing would be the kind of thing I would admire. The best quote here is his definition for writing poetry: “To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off.
Mary McCarthy — In this interview from 1961, McCarthy (no relation to the US senator from Wisconsin) talks a lot about politics and World War II, because she had been involved in some rather partisan groupings. But the funny part is when she talks about the hope that came with the peace after the war and how the Russians getting the atomic bomb and then the hydrogen bomb destroyed that. She followed that up with the science fictional concept that the only hope for the future was for people to go into space and then return to Earth as tourists, similar to the immigration of Europeans to the new world who then would visit Europe as tourists. Later, the interview hits the normal beats, which prove interesting to me for I’ve heard of many of the books and writers named, and it’s always refreshing when one writer calls another one “odious.” As an author myself, I found her discussion around the problem with point of view starting with Henry James’ imperative of “dramatize, dramatize” is an interesting idea: that before James, the author could be a part of the book—for example, that opening of Pride and Prejudice is all in Austen’s voice, not one of the character’s, and is certainly not dramatic, and yet it works even today, but no author today would try to carry it off. Why not?
Ralph Ellison — Ellison’s novel Invisible Man is now considered a classic. At the time of its publication, it was awarded the National Book Award. But in this interview, Ellison downplays his achievement, going so far as to speculate that the book will be forgotten in two decades. He was wrong, but that’s about the only thing I can see he was wrong about in this interview. His erudite analysis of the situation of the “Negro” writer is spot on for its time, and it has taken a half century (or more) to improve that condition. He says that the challenge facing Black writers is that they write for a white audience, while the challenge for white readers is to be able to read what is written by Black writers without drawing their whiteness around them. This hasn’t changed any, I don’t think.
Robert Lowell — In answer to the question of why poets teach, Lowell gives the best answer: “…they also do it because you can’t write poetry all the time.” The also is there because he said that the main reason to have a livelihood. I’m not sure there ever was a time you could make a living by writing poetry alone (and, recently, the same could be said about only writing short stories—the authors who make a living by writing must write books by necessity). It’s interesting to hear him talk about the submission of poems, about the feedback from the journal editors, so like today and yet also very unlike what happens now. On the whole, though, this was a rather dull interview. Perhaps it would have been more interesting had I been more familiar with Lowell’s work, but even then, it seems rather long-winded, as if Lowell the craftsman needed to go back into this and cut out the extra verbiage that he would have done in his poetry.
*** Ezra Pound
*** Marianne Moore
*** T. S. Eliot
**** Boris Pasternak
*** Katherine Anne Porter
*** Henry Miller
***** Aldous Huxley
** Ernest Hemingway
***** S. J. Perelman
**** Lawrence Durrell
**** Mary McCarthy
**** Ralph Ellison
* Robert Lowell
Robert Frost — Interviews with writers are funny in the standard questions that get asked, like how this one starts with the mechanics of writing where Frost tells them he never writes at a table or a desk, but prefers a “writing board” (what we would now call a lap desk) or even the sole of his shoe. This is a fun interview with Frost who was in his 80s at the time. I think of Frost as the quintessential American poet, never to be confused with Europe even though his first success came in England when Ezra Pound (an American, but then living in England) reviewed one of this first books. But Frost, even more than Carl Sandburg, is an American poet, whose words reflect the New England he lived in for most of his life. The fact I can name at least three Frost poems, and quote lines from a few others, signifies how much he is a part of American culture. In this interview, he talks like a man who has nothing to hide and nothing to fear. He’s not concerned about a legacy or the next generation of poets, just to be a simple wordsmith and happy with what he accomplished.
Ezra Pound — I’ve grown tired of modern, free verse, which seems to me like walking on a tightrope that’s really a sheet of glass over a piece of string. Pound gives me some words for this: “If a thing isn’t worth getting the technique to say, it is of inferior value.” That is, if you can’t take the time to put some structure to your poetry, maybe it’s not worth what you want to say.
Marianne Moore — What’s interesting in reading this interviews with writers who came of age at the turn of the 20th century is just how small the world of literature was back then. Part of that smallness is that not everyone went to university, so if you were one of the privileged few who could, that alone could provide you entry into rarified societies. (Now, you have to go to an elite college, and join the right groups there, and I’m not even sure that will get you anywhere unless you also have something else behind you.) The story about how a New York Public librarian came to ask her mother if Marianne would be interested in joining the staff at the library because of her interest in books and talking about them with people—oh, yeah, that’s never going to happen now. Then later, two friends brought out her first book of collected poetry without her knowledge.
T. S. Eliot — When talking about his plays, Eliot criticizes himself, saying that sometimes he stayed too close to his Greek sources, whereas he had intended, and thinks it best, as only to use them as a springboard. In short, “take the situation, rethink it in modern terms, develop your own characters from it, and let another plot develop out of that.” A number of fantasy and SF these days attempts to do this, but ends up often adhering to closely to that source material. Later, Eliot and Hall bemoan the commonality of language as enforced by mass media in the form of radio and then television, which has only increased since this interview. Eliot considered himself an American poet, even though he moved to England when he was 25 and lived there until his death at age 76 in 1965—although he admitted that his poetry wouldn’t have been the same if he’d stayed in America or had been born in Britain, as it was a combination of the two. But, he felt, more in common with his American contemporaries.
Boris Pasternak — This is a striking interview in which the interviewer, while not really becoming a part of the interview, is integral to the structure (as one would be). Carlisle describes her attempt to visit Pasternak using a hired taxi, the driver of which says he knows where to go but obviously doesn’t. And in this way, Carlisle shows rather than tells of her anxiety in approaching and broaching the famous writer. Such that, when she does finally appear on his doorstep, the resulting discussion that ensues over the course of three meetings has more meaning. Rather than the typical Paris Review format, this one is presented almost like a short story, befitting its subject. It’s fascinating, even for one not familiar with the writer.
Katherine Anne Porter — Thing I learned from this interview: this Porter was related to Sidney Porter (albeit a sixth or seventh cousin), better known as O. Henry. She declares that she didn’t feel the sins of the fathers should be visited on the third or fourth generations, but at this moment in time, given the resurgence once again of racial hatred and bigotry, I do wonder. I was amused at her advice to a would-be writer to get a job “hashing” at a restaurant rather than at a newspaper. Again, the joy of these interviews with older writers is how opinionated they are and willing to say things younger writers might not, like Porter here dissing both William Styron and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Her view that writing should be done as an artform, rather than commercial, may have resonance with some while others attempting to make a living at writing will dismiss it. I’m in the former category, however, likely due to my current situation in life.
Henry Miller — I’m not a fan of Henry Miller, having tried to read some of his books as a young man and not seeing the point in them. I keep thinking I should try again, but reading this like this interview don’t push me into doing so. For example, Miller says, “I think it’s bad to think.” That’s totally antithetical to my reading and writing, which I want the writer to have thought about and I want, as a reader, to be forced to think about. And, of course, he contradicts himself, for later he says that most writing doesn’t happen at the typewriter, but in the “quiet, silent moments, while you’re walking or shaving or playing a game or whatever, or even talking to someone you’re not vitally interested in. You’re working, your mind is working, on this problem in the back of your head. So, when you get to the machine it’s a mere matter of transfer.” If that’s not “thinking,” then I’m not sure how Miller wants to define that word. Contradictory is kind of a theme of this interview. At one point, he says “the enemy of America is the artist, because he stands for individuality and creativeness, and that’s un-American somehow. I think that of all countries—we have to overlook the communist countries of course—America is the most mechanized, robotized, of all.” This might very well be true, but it’s opposite of what most Americans think, as they celebrate themselves as rugged individualists.
Aldous Huxley — Things I learned from this interview include the fact that Huxley moved to Los Angeles in 1937 and that Brave New World began as a parody of H.G. Wells’s Men Like Gods. In Huxley’s later years he published more non-fiction than fiction but this interview shows him still thinking, and working, on a novel. I had also forgotten, before reading this, that Huxley had experimented a lot with lysergic acid (aka LSD), but in discussing this with him, he comes at it rather scientifically, of the Victorian type, full of curiosity about it but determined to record its effects minutely. Although he’s most known for Brave New World (and somewhat for The Doors of Perception, his book about his experience taking LSD, which then inspired the name of the rock band, The Doors), Huxley states that he thinks his best work was Time Must Have a Stop, which I have never heard of. This anecdote about his friendship with D.H. Lawrence was golden: “My wife typed out the manuscript of Lady Chatterley’s Lover for him, even though she was a bad typist and had no patience with English spelling—she was a Belgian, you know. Then she didn’t always appreciate the nuances of the language she was typing. When she started using some of those four-letter words in conversation, Lawrence was profoundly shocked.”
Ernest Hemingway — Plimpton begins this interview unlike any of the others that appeared in The Paris Review with a very long introduction that describes Hemingway’s working space in the bedroom of his Havana home. Interspersed in that are a couple of quotes, but for the most part, it’s seeing the writer from the outside. When the interview finally begins, Hemingway proves to be as curmudgeonly as one might expect, although there are a few bon mots thrown to Plimpton to keep him satisfied. I enjoyed the idea that a writer could be influenced as much by artists and musicians as other writers (I find that true in my own case). For the rest of the interview, though, it seemed as if Hemingway was as much of a combatant with Plimpton as a research subject.
S.J. Perelman — I’ve read one book by Perelman—Eastward, Ha!—and enjoyed it, but I do agree with him that written humorists such as himself were a passing fancy in literature of the 1920s and 30s. It’s not that they don’t exist today, but they don’t exist in the packs and numbers they did a century ago, and it’s a combination of the lack of markets and the displacement of comedy from the printed page to the screen. Perelman also states that the long-form comic novel is probably one of the most difficult forms to achieve and lists only three entirely successful ones: Cakes and Ale (W. Somerset Maugham), Count Bruga (Ben Hecht), and Lucky Jim (Kingsley Amis). As someone always on the lookout for humorous novels, I really appreciated this portion of the interview. I also appreciate his making a distinction between comic writers and comedians, the latter who might write their own material but that it’s written to be performed, not read, which makes all the difference. He bristles when the interviewers query him about Hollywood and his association with the Marx Brothers; suffice to say, he’d put a distance between himself and the place and had no inclination to return, calling it “a dreary industrial town controlled by hoodlums of enormous wealth, the ethical sense of a pack of jackals, and taste so degraded that it befouled everything it touched.”
Lawrence Durrell — I tried to read the Alexandria quartet several times but it never caught my attention. After reading this interview, I’m tempted to give it another go, as Durrell is droll and down-to-earth and makes me think his writing would be the kind of thing I would admire. The best quote here is his definition for writing poetry: “To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off.
Mary McCarthy — In this interview from 1961, McCarthy (no relation to the US senator from Wisconsin) talks a lot about politics and World War II, because she had been involved in some rather partisan groupings. But the funny part is when she talks about the hope that came with the peace after the war and how the Russians getting the atomic bomb and then the hydrogen bomb destroyed that. She followed that up with the science fictional concept that the only hope for the future was for people to go into space and then return to Earth as tourists, similar to the immigration of Europeans to the new world who then would visit Europe as tourists. Later, the interview hits the normal beats, which prove interesting to me for I’ve heard of many of the books and writers named, and it’s always refreshing when one writer calls another one “odious.” As an author myself, I found her discussion around the problem with point of view starting with Henry James’ imperative of “dramatize, dramatize” is an interesting idea: that before James, the author could be a part of the book—for example, that opening of Pride and Prejudice is all in Austen’s voice, not one of the character’s, and is certainly not dramatic, and yet it works even today, but no author today would try to carry it off. Why not?
Ralph Ellison — Ellison’s novel Invisible Man is now considered a classic. At the time of its publication, it was awarded the National Book Award. But in this interview, Ellison downplays his achievement, going so far as to speculate that the book will be forgotten in two decades. He was wrong, but that’s about the only thing I can see he was wrong about in this interview. His erudite analysis of the situation of the “Negro” writer is spot on for its time, and it has taken a half century (or more) to improve that condition. He says that the challenge facing Black writers is that they write for a white audience, while the challenge for white readers is to be able to read what is written by Black writers without drawing their whiteness around them. This hasn’t changed any, I don’t think.
Robert Lowell — In answer to the question of why poets teach, Lowell gives the best answer: “…they also do it because you can’t write poetry all the time.” The also is there because he said that the main reason to have a livelihood. I’m not sure there ever was a time you could make a living by writing poetry alone (and, recently, the same could be said about only writing short stories—the authors who make a living by writing must write books by necessity). It’s interesting to hear him talk about the submission of poems, about the feedback from the journal editors, so like today and yet also very unlike what happens now. On the whole, though, this was a rather dull interview. Perhaps it would have been more interesting had I been more familiar with Lowell’s work, but even then, it seems rather long-winded, as if Lowell the craftsman needed to go back into this and cut out the extra verbiage that he would have done in his poetry.
February 15, 2015
It's always a pleasure to read and re-read these interviews. I love discovering once-famous authors who've faded into obscurity and reading new things about those who endure. Some literary gossip, some talk on craft, each interview is like a dinner party with people who truly share your passion.
August 27, 2010
A great collection of interviews from The Paris Review. Goes beyond what you find in mainstream publications, and into the heart of writing, writers' lives and what they think.
January 12, 2018
some fantastic interviews with gems throughout, others didn't interest me at all and felt stale and dated.
June 9, 2022
A collection if in-depth interviews with well known writers of the first half of the twentieth century. I picked it up mostly to hear about Robert Frost, T. S. Eliot, Henry Miller, Aldous Huxley, Ernest Hemingway, and Ralph Ellison. It also included interviews with Ezra Pound, Marianne Moore, Boris Pasternak, Katherine Anne Porter, S. J. Perelman, Lawrence Durrell, Mary McCarthy, and Robert Lowell. Of these, Pound was the only one I'd read, and it was disturbing to learn that he wrote for the state when Mussolini was in charge. In fact, the first three, Frost, Pound and Moore had fascist leanings. I hated to hear that about Frost since he was the only poet I remember actually liking from High School.
Hemingway came off as a bit of a dick, which I'd already imagined he could be. I liked a lot of what Katherine Anne Porter said and ordered a collection of her short stories. I also liked the self deprecation and honest of Robert Lowell, and will have to pick up some of his poetry.
My favorite interview was with Ralph Ellison, who made a bunch of insightful comments. I very much like Ellison's writing, topped only by my enjoyment of Hemingway from this group. Huxley also came off well in his interview and I've enjoyed a lot of his work.
Hemingway came off as a bit of a dick, which I'd already imagined he could be. I liked a lot of what Katherine Anne Porter said and ordered a collection of her short stories. I also liked the self deprecation and honest of Robert Lowell, and will have to pick up some of his poetry.
My favorite interview was with Ralph Ellison, who made a bunch of insightful comments. I very much like Ellison's writing, topped only by my enjoyment of Hemingway from this group. Huxley also came off well in his interview and I've enjoyed a lot of his work.
June 9, 2023
Like the first one, it is the bomb form of writing and the tidbits about great literary names. If you are a writer, you'll get to know how the masters do their writing,
Among the masters I encountered in the Second Series are Ezra Pound, T.S Eliot, Boris Pasternak, Henry Miller, Aldous Huxley, Ernest Hemingway, Truman Capote who turned out to be a badass writer and theoretician of note, and E.M Forster.
Without a pause, I proceed to Writers at Work Series 3. By the end of the series, I should be having a fair knowledge of writing.
Among the masters I encountered in the Second Series are Ezra Pound, T.S Eliot, Boris Pasternak, Henry Miller, Aldous Huxley, Ernest Hemingway, Truman Capote who turned out to be a badass writer and theoretician of note, and E.M Forster.
Without a pause, I proceed to Writers at Work Series 3. By the end of the series, I should be having a fair knowledge of writing.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews