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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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<text id=91TT0574>
<title>
Mar. 18, 1991: Sleeping Pill!
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
Mar. 18, 1991 A Moment To Savor
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 83
Sleeping Pill!
</hdr><body>
<qt>
<l>CURTAIN</l>
<l>by Michael Korda</l>
<l>Summit; 378 pages; $19.95</l>
</qt>
<p> This oddly lifeless gossip novel by Michael Korda, a
publishing exec whose works include the yuppie missals Success!
and Power!, is the sort called a roman a clef by the French and
"serving up something for the shopgirls" by the English. There
is a patronizing quality to the central notion, which is that
the reader is a lowbrow who will have naughty fun--"coo, oi
didn't know that about 'er"--guessing which real-life
celebrities are behaving scandalously behind aliases and
sketchy disguises.
</p>
<p> Celebrity detection is not difficult here. Felicia Lisle,
a beautiful British actress who wins an Oscar just before World
War II playing a Southern belle in Hollywood's grandest period
extravaganza, sounds a lot like Vivien Leigh. And her lover and
frequent co-star, the great Shakespearean actor Sir Robert
Vane, would need no letter of introduction to Laurence Olivier.
Do we recognize bits of the brassy showman Billy Rose? Is that
lovable, tormented, red-haired American comedian a scrap of
Danny Kaye? Yoo-hoo, Sir Ralph, do we see you?
</p>
<p> Of course all novels are gossip novels, and most are
rip-offs, generally of the author's friends and relatives. But
the ethics of pilferage becomes woozy when too recognizable
caricatures of dead grandees wallow in unlikely misbehavior.
Ethical questions waft away, though, when the theft works. Then
the stolen characters come to life; for instance, the dead King
whom Shakespeare slurred as a bottled spider struts in his play
as Richard III.
</p>
<p> So, yes, both good art and bad art are as sleazy as life
itself, and never mind morality. The difference, irritatingly
circular, is that good art is good. Korda's shabby novel is a
snooze, perhaps because, having purloined his characters, he
never felt they were really his to order around. The story does
not wake up fully even when Felicia, as Desdemona, runs wildly
from the theater because she objects to being strangled. The
gossip supplied is that Felicia was a victim of incest, Vane
a man of pallid sexuality and, oh dear, some great British
Shakespeareans were homosexuals. A wholly unbelievable murder
clears the stage for a mushy, mope-happily-ever-after ending.
Tomorrow is another book.
</p>
<p>By John Skow.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>