Steve Alburty
Few writers understood better the limit of their talents than F. Scott Fitzgerald.
On the evening of November 14, 1851, one of Pittsfield, Massachusetts', great recluses sat alone at a table in Curtis's hotel in Lenox awaiting his sole guest.
The highly-respected English novelist A.S. Byatt says that women who write industrial-strength fiction are treated by critics as oddities, "like a dog standing on its hind legs."
You may soon have an opportunity to purchase America's largest collection of books. The asking price will be steep and you will have to compete with one of Forbes' "400 Richest Americans."
Vancouver, B.C., is currently dealing with a most welcome outbreak of Olympic fever.
How do you mourn a writer who died this week, but, for all intents and purposes, died 45 years ago?
Thanks to book tours, readers have many chances to hear favorite authors read from their own work, and most writers do so admirably.
The author Ray Bradbury has failed in his personal efforts to keep the H. P. Wright Library in Ventura, Calif., open. Mr.
