โ Scribed by Patrick White; Sophie Cunningham
No coin nor oath required. For personal study only.
The last Patrick White novel published in his lifetime, Memoirs of Many in One presents the eccentric, often fantastical recollections of the ageing actor, Alex Xenophon Demirjian Gray. These are 'edited' by the writer Patrick White, her friend and executor, who is often the target of her scorn. Witty and affecting, Memoirs reveals another side of White's fiction even as it echoes many of the themes running through his work.
'A strong case could be made for White as the finest and most profound novelist anywhere in the world now working in English...Memoirs of Many in One will fascinate any reader.' Washington Post
'A last work in which everything that was serious in the early books suffered a final daring transformation to burlesque: not least of all the author, that impossible person Patrick White.' David Malouf
๐ SIMILAR VOLUMES
The last Patrick White novel published in his lifetime, *Memoirs of Many in One* presents the eccentric, often fantastical recollections of the ageing actor, Alex Xenophon Demirjian Gray. These are 'edited' by the writer Patrick White, her friend and executor, who is often the target of her scorn. W
The last Patrick White novel published in his lifetime, *Memoirs of Many in One* presents the eccentric, often fantastical recollections of the ageing actor, Alex Xenophon Demirjian Gray. These are 'edited' by the writer Patrick White, her friend and executor, who is often the target of her scorn. W
The last Patrick White novel published in his lifetime, *Memoirs of Many in One* presents the eccentric, often fantastical recollections of the ageing actor, Alex Xenophon Demirjian Gray. These are 'edited' by the writer Patrick White, her friend and executor, who is often the target of her scorn. W
****An exploration of life at the margins of history from one of Russia's most exciting contemporary writers**** With the death of her aunt, the narrator is left to sift through an apartment full of faded photographs, old postcards, letters, diaries, and heaps of souvenirs: a withered repository of
"It's not one thing, Bill . . . It's the rain, and the winds, and the dust, and the heat . . . the food, things you can't identify, things that taste like string. No milk. No coffee. No eggs. No meat . . . Being hot, cold, drenched, parched, tired, and restless, all within an hour or so. Oh I could