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TIME: Almanac of the 20th Century
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<text>
<title>
(1930s) Autobiography Of Alice B. Toklas
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1930s Highlights
Books
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas
</hdr>
<body>
<p>(September 11, 1933)
</p>
<p> Ernest Hemingway, Sherwood Anderson, Francis Scott Fitzgerald,
Carl Van Vechten, supposedly sensible and certain popular
authors, have sat admiringly at her feet. When Hemingway was 23,
just married, and learning to write in Paris, he went to
Gertrude Stein with a letter of introduction from Sherwood
Anderson. He sat, listened, looked at her "with passionately
interested" eyes, returned again & again. She read and
criticized everything he had written, became godmother of his
first child. Author Anderson went to see her. She seemed to him
"an American woman of the old sort, one who cares for the
handmade goodies and scorns the factory-made foods, and in her
own great kitchen she is making something with her materials,
something sweet to the tongue and fragrant to the nostrils."
</p>
<p> The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas is a perfectly
comprehensible, eminently readable memoir. It has been approved
by the bluestocking Atlantic Monthly (where part of it was
serialized), and is sponsored by the Literary Guild. Though it
is actually the autobiography of Gertrude Stein, unwary readers
might get all the way to the 310th and last page without
discovering the mild hoax. For no author's name is on the
title-page, and the book is written as if by Alice B. Toklas
herself.
</p>
<p> Who & What is Gertrude Stein? "Widely ridiculed and seldom
enjoyed," she is one of the least-read and most-publicized
writers of the day. Her incomprehensible sentences, in which an
infuriating glimmer of shrewd sense or subacid humor is
sometimes discernible, have generated the spark for many a
journalistic wise-crack; except to the adventurous few who have
been hardy enough to read her in the original (and to some of
those) she has the reputation of a pure nonsense writer. To the
man-in-the-street, she is the synonym for what Critic Max
Eastman calls "the cult of unintelligibility."
</p>
<p> Alice B. Toklas tells who and--to a certain extent--what
Gertrude Stein is, but it will leave pedestrian readers still
puzzling their heads over why this obviously shrewd and salty
old lady, whose sentences may seem rather primer-like but are
just as lucid as a primer's, should have gathered such a lurid
reputation as murderess of the King's English. Such readers
should remember that in Alice B. Toklas Authoress Stein is on
her best behavior. If they are sufficiently curious to look up
some of her wilder work, this is the kind of thing they may
find:
</p>
<p> "Red Roses. A cool red nose and a pink cut pink, a collapse
and a sold hole, a little less hot.
</p>
<p> "A Sound. Elephant beaten with candy and little pops and chews
all bolts and reckless rats, this is this.
</p>
<p> "Custard. Custard is this. It has aches, aches when. Not to
be. Not to be narrowly. This makes a whole little hill.
</p>
<p> "It is better than a little thing that has mellow real mellow.
It is better than lakes whole lakes, it is better than seeing.
</p>
<p> "Chicken. Alas a dirty word, alas a dirty third, alas a dirty
bird."
</p>
<p> Some readers laugh, some are annoyed: some snort with disgust
or indignation. Gertrude Stein, writer for posterity ("I write
for myself and strangers") does not mind. Says she slyly: "My
sentences do get under their skin..."</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>