The last time I cried at the cinema was when Louis Armstrong welled up on the soundtrack of Good Morning, Vietnam, singing ‘What A Wonderful World’ in that black croon-drawl of his as scores of raw American recruits, poor boys all, trundled past the camera on their way to faraway deaths. It was a devastating pincer movement. On the one hand, Vietnam, which, for reasons too various to enter into here, always produces strong emotions; on the other, old Satchmo himself, the most loveable and, yes, the greatest musical entertainer of this or any other age. Just as he stole the picture in High Society from the likes of Bing Crosby, now he stole it from Robin Williams: only this time without even appearing on the screen.
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'The return of nature to Wordsworthian commentary is a corollary of the environmentalist spirit of the age.'
Seamus Perry on Jonathan Bate's 'Radical Wordsworth'.
My review of Samanta Schewblin's 'Little Eyes', in this month's issue of @Lit_Review
'Has the printed book finally outlived its span?' asks @AdamCSDouglas. 'If so, how long can the rare book trade continue? And how much longer can we keep flying in fat-bellied jets to gather in some foreign land to exhibit our wares?'