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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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022089
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02208900.066
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1990-09-17
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BOOKS, Page 101BOOKENDS
THE END OF TRAGEDY
by Rachel Ingalls
Simon & Schuster; 185 pages; $16.95
Rachel Ingalls specializes in refurbishing moth-eaten plots.
The four novellas in The End of Tragedy all begin with premises
that are numbingly familiar and wind up in ways that seem utterly
new and unpredictable. Friends in the Country sends a couple out
to a dinner party and deposits them in a sudden fog at what is
almost certainly the wrong house, an isolated, spooky Victorian
monstrosity; from then on, the mystery evolves into deciding who
is crazier, the hosts or the uninvited guests. In the Act is a
wickedly funny send-up of android sci-fi, featuring a voluptuous
male-fantasy robot (named, naturally, Dolly) who is much nicer than
any of the humans around her. In the title story, an actress in a
grade-B theatrical company falls for an odd, possibly psychotic
lawyer who wants to use her in a complicated revenge and
moneymaking scheme. Her only onstage talent is her ability to
scream convincingly; at the end, she screams for real but also for
a reason impossible to guess beforehand. Ingalls, an American
living in London, has built a cult following through her six
previous books. This one may draw larger crowds to her spare,
skewed, unforgettable visions.
INFORMATION ANXIETY
by Richard Saul Wurman
Doubleday; 356 pages; $19.95
People with a particular talent -- especially a visual talent
-- are seldom the best theorists of what they do. Georges Seurat,
for instance, was tiresome on pointillism. So perhaps Richard Saul
Wurman, a graphic designer who creates the delightfully unorthodox
Access guides to cities, should have left it to someone else to
explain how people can organize the overflow of data that saturates
contemporary life. Information Anxiety is an intermittently
diverting self-help guide, Megatrends crossed with What Color Is
Your Parachute? But it is more a collage than a book -- with
digressive marginalia, diagrams, stray factoids and snatches of
autobiography.
Wurman's prescriptions are sound enough: be a good listener,
be a contrarian, avoid gratuitous precision, avoid cliches. He also
makes some more or less fresh points: that all information is
inherently selective and subjective, and that the mind is not an
ultra-complicated computer but a place full of unprogrammable and
meaningful lapses, quirks and non sequiturs. Yet as he approvingly
predicts the proliferation of directories of directories and a new
Secretary of Understanding in the Cabinet, Wurman seems to be
suffering from Information Giddiness.
RICHARD BURTON: A LIFE
by Melvyn Bragg
Little, Brown; 533 pages; $22.95
Pen pal of Christopher Isherwood and Stephen Spender. A
compulsive reader whose idea of a grand evening was to curl up,
sober, by a fireplace with a stack of paperbacks. A man who told
his famously beautiful wife that the only thing to venerate in life
is not love but language. This, surely, is not the Richard Burton
of the boozy brawls, the ruined talents, the tossed-away millions
on baubles for Elizabeth Taylor, the woman he obsessed over but
could not stay married to. Yet both personalities come alive in
Melvyn Bragg's meticulous biography. Not many surprises can remain
about a man who spent a life in the headlines. But the raw material
made available by Burton's widow included letters and 350,000 words
of diaries. That unforgettable speaking voice turns out to have
been matched by a colorful and trenchant writing voice. This is not
exactly Burton's autobiography. But 'tis enough, 'twill serve.
THE WATCH
by Rick Bass
Norton; 190 pages; $16.95
Already this first collection of stories is attracting heavy
he-man literary comparisons to Jim Harrison and others. But while
Rick Bass, 30, a Southerner who now lives in Montana, can fight the
bears with the best of them, there are more unusual reasons to
praise him. His writing is so assured that he can do handkerchief
tricks on the page. Just try to spot the magic. His characters,
mostly country people, along with some layabout Houstoners ("We
drank margaritas as often as we could stand it"), are portrayed
with rare tenderness; Bass is even tolerant of his blackhearted
men. The title story is the most ambitious, a frightening descent
into deep Southern swamps. But a dippy little yarn called
Mississippi is just as satisfying. It is about a man who loses his
girl because . . . well, because, like a horse with a straw hat
on, he kept pausing to take in the foliage.