Essays of E B White PDF ê of E B Epub Þ E B

Essays of E B White PDF ê of E B Epub Þ E B


Essays of E B White (Perennial Classics) ❮Download❯ ➵ Essays of E B White (Perennial Classics) Author E.B. White – Capitalsoftworks.co.uk The classic collection by one of the greatest essayists of our time

Selected by EB White himself, the essays in this volume span a lifetime of writing and a body of work without peer  I hav The classic collection by one of the E B PDF/EPUB ¾ greatest essayists of our timeSelected by EB White himself, the essays in this volume span a lifetime of writing and a body of Essays of PDF/EPUB ² work without peer  I have chosen the ones that have amused me in the rereading, he writes in the Foreword, alone with a few that seemed to have the odor of durability of E B Epub Þ clinging to them These essays are incomparable; this is a volume to treasure and savor at one's leisure.


10 thoughts on “Essays of E B White (Perennial Classics)

  1. JanB JanB says:

    The blurb says it all: “Widely read for his eloquence and wit, widely taught for his superb clarity, White remains one of the greatest essayists of this century. Some of the finest examples of contemporary, genuinely American prose.-- The Washington Post

    I have such fond memories of reading Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little to my children but this is my first experience with his essays. His writing is as charming, poignant, and as relevant today as it was when he first penned these words. Wise and funny, they lend themselves well to hearing the essays read aloud. The narrator of the audiobook was perfect. I have a copy of the paperback in my cart to purchase for my keeper shelf.

    This was a balm to my soul during a very sad time, a month when we lost both of our sweet Havanese dogs within weeks of each other. I found comfort in how lovingly E.B. White writes about his dogs and other animals. There’s only a handful of favorite authors that writes about the ordinary in an extraordinary way. EB White is now on my short list.

    Beautifully written and a complete pleasure. Thank you to my Goodreads friend Anne whose lovely review led me to this book.


  2. Diane Barnes Diane Barnes says:

    These essays are the reason I love reading essays to begin with. Five or ten minutes in the company of Mr. White's opinions, written by the master stylist that he is, leaves me feeling happy, refreshed, relaxed, and most of the time, amused. They are wonderful and he wrote a lot of them during his time at the New Yorker, so I don't have to stop with this book.


  3. Anne Anne says:

    All that I ever hope to say in books is that I love the world.

    E.B. White's love of the world is evident throughout these essays. So is his modesty, curiosity, gentleness, honesty and cleverness. I listened to the audio version which felt like having a beloved uncle/father/grandfather telling stories about the good old days. I adored some of the essays more than others but there was not one that was not priceless just because it was written by White in his inimitable style. Some of my favorite topics included his love of and nostalgia for NYC and it's unique denizens, rhythms and ways. Packing up his 8th and final apartment after having lived in NYC for 30 years was both humorous and poignant. His farm in a small town in Maine brings out much of his humor, sadness and fear whether he's discussing the death of a pig, a fire in his fireplace or the over-reporting of a hurricane. I loved reading about his life long love of the sea and sailing as well as taking his young son on his first camping trip on a lake in Maine which brought back so many memories of the very same trips he took with his own father that he often found himself wondering am I the father or the son now? The essay about a trip to Alaska in his youth on which he worked for his passage is priceless.

    White often speaks about my wife in loving tones. Katherine Angell was the first fiction editor for The New Yorker which is where they met. I met Katherine through her fabulous garden writing. She gardened in Maine at the farm where E.B. White makes appearances. The love and respect the two of them had for each other was evident and I was always curious to know more about him. So, it is really through Katherine that I became interested in her husband and not White's Elements of Style nor his children's books for which he is so famous. I'll bet you won't read that anywhere else.:))

    All of these essays taught me so much about this lovely man. I feel bereft having finished these essays but I know that there are more where these came from. Plus, I plan to buy his essays in print form so that I can read them over again as the mood suits.

    Highly recommended.


  4. Roy Lotz Roy Lotz says:

    There is really no way for a man to put his arms around a big house plant and still remain a gentleman.

    E.B. White’s name, along with Will Strunk’s, is now synonymous with good style. If that isn’t a compliment to a writer, I don’t know what is.

    My first encounter with the duo was in my high school English class of junior year. My teacher was old-fashioned enough to believe that we should learn how to use punctuation. This came as a shock, since none of her predecessors had spared so much as a moment on a semicolon. It was with bewilderment and wonder, then, that I opened up The Elements of Style and encountered this sentence: “The colon has more effect than the comma, less power to separate than the semicolon, and more formality than the dash.” How often is so much instruction packed into so few words?

    In college I picked up the habit of rereading Strunk and White at least once a year. Probably I should do so more often, since verbal profligacy—Strunk’s sworn enemy, the capital sin of writing—is something that I can’t seem to shake, no matter how often I try. One of the reasons I picked up this book was the hope that, by observing White at work, his example might serve where his precepts failed.

    With White, the style is the man; and any discussion of his works inevitably becomes an analysis of his prose. To begin with, White is not what I’d call a vocal writer. A vocal writer is one whose writing seems to come alive and speak, whose writing cannot be read in your own voice, only in the author’s own accent. White’s writing, while personable, charming, and full of feeling, does not leap from the page into your living room. It is writerly writing.

    His style is conversational, not aphoristic. His sentences are not pointed, his wit is not barbed, his lines are not militantly memorable. His writing is loose; it breathes like a cotton shirt; it is drafty like an old wooden cabin. You might say that his essays are a controlled ramble, a balancing act that looks like a casual stroll. They take their time. Like a scatterbrained errand boy, they pause in a thousand places for momentary rendezvous and covert dalliances before reaching their destinations.

    White seldom speaks in abstractions, and hardly makes an argument. His writing is held together not by the logic of ideas but by the tissue of memory. This is partly why the style is unfilterable from the content. There is no thesis to take away. He is not trying to make a point, but to communicate his perspective, to encapsulate a piece of his personality.

    White’s personality is delightful. Modest and gently humorous, he is animated by a curiosity for the little things that comprise his world. He can study a train schedule with avidity, he can spend hours gazing at a spider’s web, he can write poetry on the life-cycle of a pig. This is what makes him such a consummate essayist. In the humdrum facts and quotidian occurrences of life he hears music and meaning, and spiderlike weaves his own web to stitch them into a delicate structure:
    As I sat at table, gnawing away at a piece of pie, snow began falling. At first it was an almost imperceptible spitting from the gray sky, but it soon thickened and came driving in from the northeast. I watched it catch along the edge of the drive, powder the stone wall, and whiten the surface of the dark frozen pond, and I knew that all along the coast from Kittery on, the worst mistakes of men were being quietly erased, the lines of their industrial temples softened, and U.S. 1 crowned with a cold, inexpensive glory

    There is not much to be said against these essays, except what can be said against all stylists. Since what White says is less important than the way he says it, upon finishing the reader is left with nothing but echoes and aftertastes. Yet it is a delicious aftertaste, tart and tangy with a touch of smoke, and it whets my appetite for more.


  5. Joe Joe says:

    Like the majority of American liberal artists, I know E.B. White principally from his editorial work. The Elements of Style was the principal explicit force behind my own understanding of the sentence and the essay, and I assumed its writer would possess that bright cogency that tickles the alert reader into giggles.

    I also knew E.B. White as the author of books for children, and though it has been nearly two decades since I read Charlotte's Web, I remember vividly the story and the prematurely deep emotion it aroused.

    Lastly, I knew E.B. White was the resident essayist for years at the New Yorker, and I had read a piece or two of his during college and graduate writing programs, and found them—as I expected from the editor of the Elements of Style—to be refined and distinct, even if I believed they were too patricianly contented for my taste.

    Now, I've worked my way through this collection concurrently with David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, and I couldn't think of a more illuminating contrast. Both artists reside within a tiny honored circle of American essayists. Both artists, per William Strunk's instruction, labor to omit needless words. Both artists ask that every word tell. But Wallace crams his sentences full of meaning, each written as though it would be his last and only, while E.B. White seems to let some sentences breathe the open air. What's more, Wallace often mercilessly whips his essay, even his day-to-day accounts, in pursuit of his philosophical rabbit. He is as methodical as the baseline tennis player of his teenage years, piling precise sentence on sentence, calculating and increasing the advantageous angles, till triumph is inevitable. E.B. White seems, by contrast, to be at times an amnesiac playing billiards with one hand: scattering the balls, then studying them, judging their position anew, and firing away.

    In his missives from Maine, for instance, White will digress into accounts on the weather, reports on egg production, measurements of snowfall and the tides, before meandering to his point. But when White finally finds the balls aligned to his liking, he strikes with such a devastatingly beautiful, caroming shot! Consider his essay, Death of a Pig, filled with mournful puns (such a thing is possible!), portraits of gruff veterinarians and sympathetic neighbors, explanations of his farm's terrain. It seems a sweet, orchard-smelling essay, but comes around to a gorgeous and devastating final sentence comparing the curious spirit of his daschund Fred and the haunting regret he, as a failed caretaker, feels at his pig's inescapable death: The grave in the woods is unmarked, but Fred can direct the mourner to it unerringly and with immense good will, and I know he and I shall often revisit it, singly and together, in seasons of reflection and despair, on flagless memorial days of our own choosing. Even pulled from context, the lovely pace and light, precise kiss of this sentence takes away your breath. Within the slow, sad, wandering story, it is devastatingly melancholic.

    Or, consider the lively and humorous essay on the 1939 World's Fair in Queens, NY, which pokes gentle fun at the antiseptic world of tomorrow. And at the end, the essay arrives the peculiar image of a couple of bare-breasted Amazon girls sitting in a robot automaton's giant rubber palm: a silly image, ripe for the simple, sly irony and gentle humanism that characterizes an essay filled with tots making long distance phone calls, cracks about the rainy weather. But White opts, in the last sentence, to just put aside the nibbles of soft irony and just take one voracious bite. And so, from nothing: Here was the Fair, all fairs, in pantomime; and here the strange mixed dream that made the Fair: the heroic man, bloodless and perfect and enormous, created in his own image, and in his hand (rubber, aseptic) the literal desire, the warm and living breast.

    And just one more, to really amaze you, the final two paragraphs of an essay ostensibly about Ford's discontinuation of the Model T line, the car of White's (and, in a sense, modern America's) youth:

    Springtime in the heyday of the Model T was a delirious season. Owning a car was still a major excitement, roads were wonderful and bad. The Fords were obviously conceived in madness: any car which was capable of going from forward into reverse without any perceptible mechanical hiatus was bound to be a mighty challenging thing to the human imagination. Boys used to veer them off the highway into a level pasture and run wild with them, as though they were cutting up with a girl....

    The days were golden, the nights were dim and strange. I still recall with trembling those loud, nocturnal crises when you drew up to a signpost and raced the engine so the lights would be bright enough to read destinations by. I have never been really planetary since. I suppose it's time to say good-bye. Farewell, my lovely!

    Well, what about that!


  6. Rebecca McNutt Rebecca McNutt says:

    From the author of Charlotte's Web, this collection of essays is as powerful as it is original, and definitely a classic in every sense of the word.


  7. Cheryl Cheryl says:

    Especially for Mr Forbush's Friends....
    -----------
    Ok, wow. So many observations, some made eight decades ago, are still relevant. The very first, about how 'stuff' accumulates so that when one tries to move to a new home one has to take the time to review one's life, is gorgeous. (Good-Bye to Forty-Eighth Street) That whole first section, on farming, is a must-read for fans of Michael Perry. The tale of his trip to Alaska, as a callow youth in the early 20s, is memorable. There are some references to current events and notable figures no longer known, but they are minimal. More interesting are the current events that are still current, for example urban sprawl and pollution. Included is the staple of Freshman English, Once More to the Lake.

    From Unity: We cannot conceivably achieve [peace] merely by relaxing the tensions of sovereign nations; there is an unending supply of them.... You could relax every last tension tonight and wake tomorrow morning with all the makings of war, all the familiar promise of trouble. White goes on to explain very carefully why 'disarmament' is no solution. Very interesting.

    (Fascinating how the man wrote so well on so many different subjects. From experiencing a hurricane to reminiscing about The St. Nicholas League to writing a tribute to Don Marquis to political commentary as the above.)

    I want to investigate Thoughts Without Words and Finley Peter Dunne.


  8. Chrissie Chrissie says:

    Keep in mind that usually I do not enjoy either essays or short stories, but here the writing is exceptional. It is this that makes all the difference.

    The essays cover many different topics, such as the art of writing, appreciation of life’s small delights, wildlife (animals, flowers, birds), books and authors such as The Lives and Times of Archy and Mehitabel by Don Marquis, Henry David Thoreau aand The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr., trips to Alaska and Florida, the tribulations of adolescence, Christmas holidays, disarmament, energy…….

    The very best are those essays where the topics covered although related also diverge - Adlai Stevenson, Truman, Eisenhower, religion, faith, dogs and politics; this one was entitled Bedfellows and was my very favorite!

    The book concludes with a concise biography of E.B. White and his wife, which I highly appreciated. It is worth picking up the book just for this. It is ten times better than Michael Sims’s The Story of Charlotte's Web: E.B. White's Eccentric Life in Nature and the Birth of an American Classic.

    The audiobook narration by Malcolm Hillgartner is impeccable. Clear, easy to follow and read at a perfect speed. THIS is how I want all audiobooks to be read!

    I can tell you what the essays cover but it is how they are written that enchants. No, I wasn’t captivated by all of them, but most I would rate with three or four stars, and one or two are worthy of five stars. The book as a whole I enjoyed very, very much and thus am giving it four stars. The narration I have given five stars.


  9. Terri Terri says:

    Charlotte's Web by E.B. White is one my favorite books from childhood and thinking about the book continues to give me a warm feeling. He wrote for the magazine The New Yorker starting in 1927 where he met his wife who edited his work. Some of the witty and descriptive essays in this book appeared in different publications as well as the New Yorker. Reading this book is a pleasure and treat in every way. Charming book. Highly recommend.


  10. David David says:

    Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays.

    To come upon an article in the Times called The Meaning of Brown Eggs was an unexpected pleasure.
    Someone told me the other day that a seagull won't eat a smelt.
    I spent several days and nights in mid-September with an ailing pig.
    Mosquitoes have arrived with the warm nights, and our bedchamber is their theater under the stars.
    I wasn't really prepared for the World's Fair last week, and it certainly wasn't prepared for me.
    Waking or sleeping, I dream of boats -- usually of rather small boats under a slight press of sail.
    On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.
    I see by the new Sears Roebuck catalogue that it is still possible to buy an axle for a 1909 Model T Ford, but I am not deceived.

    Do I really need to continue? With opening lines like these, you know you are in good hands. 22 of the 31 essays in this collection appeared originally in The New Yorker . Many of the pieces evoke a very particular time and place. They are all so beautifully written that reading them is a pleasure.


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10 thoughts on “Essays of E B White (Perennial Classics)

  1. JanB JanB says:

    The blurb says it all: “Widely read for his eloquence and wit, widely taught for his superb clarity, White remains one of the greatest essayists of this century. Some of the finest examples of contemporary, genuinely American prose.-- The Washington Post

    I have such fond memories of reading Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little to my children but this is my first experience with his essays. His writing is as charming, poignant, and as relevant today as it was when he first penned these words. Wise and funny, they lend themselves well to hearing the essays read aloud. The narrator of the audiobook was perfect. I have a copy of the paperback in my cart to purchase for my keeper shelf.

    This was a balm to my soul during a very sad time, a month when we lost both of our sweet Havanese dogs within weeks of each other. I found comfort in how lovingly E.B. White writes about his dogs and other animals. There’s only a handful of favorite authors that writes about the ordinary in an extraordinary way. EB White is now on my short list.

    Beautifully written and a complete pleasure. Thank you to my Goodreads friend Anne whose lovely review led me to this book.

  2. Diane Barnes Diane Barnes says:

    These essays are the reason I love reading essays to begin with. Five or ten minutes in the company of Mr. White's opinions, written by the master stylist that he is, leaves me feeling happy, refreshed, relaxed, and most of the time, amused. They are wonderful and he wrote a lot of them during his time at the New Yorker, so I don't have to stop with this book.

  3. Anne Anne says:

    All that I ever hope to say in books is that I love the world.

    E.B. White's love of the world is evident throughout these essays. So is his modesty, curiosity, gentleness, honesty and cleverness. I listened to the audio version which felt like having a beloved uncle/father/grandfather telling stories about the good old days. I adored some of the essays more than others but there was not one that was not priceless just because it was written by White in his inimitable style. Some of my favorite topics included his love of and nostalgia for NYC and it's unique denizens, rhythms and ways. Packing up his 8th and final apartment after having lived in NYC for 30 years was both humorous and poignant. His farm in a small town in Maine brings out much of his humor, sadness and fear whether he's discussing the death of a pig, a fire in his fireplace or the over-reporting of a hurricane. I loved reading about his life long love of the sea and sailing as well as taking his young son on his first camping trip on a lake in Maine which brought back so many memories of the very same trips he took with his own father that he often found himself wondering am I the father or the son now? The essay about a trip to Alaska in his youth on which he worked for his passage is priceless.

    White often speaks about my wife in loving tones. Katherine Angell was the first fiction editor for The New Yorker which is where they met. I met Katherine through her fabulous garden writing. She gardened in Maine at the farm where E.B. White makes appearances. The love and respect the two of them had for each other was evident and I was always curious to know more about him. So, it is really through Katherine that I became interested in her husband and not White's Elements of Style nor his children's books for which he is so famous. I'll bet you won't read that anywhere else.:))

    All of these essays taught me so much about this lovely man. I feel bereft having finished these essays but I know that there are more where these came from. Plus, I plan to buy his essays in print form so that I can read them over again as the mood suits.

    Highly recommended.

  4. Roy Lotz Roy Lotz says:

    There is really no way for a man to put his arms around a big house plant and still remain a gentleman.

    E.B. White’s name, along with Will Strunk’s, is now synonymous with good style. If that isn’t a compliment to a writer, I don’t know what is.

    My first encounter with the duo was in my high school English class of junior year. My teacher was old-fashioned enough to believe that we should learn how to use punctuation. This came as a shock, since none of her predecessors had spared so much as a moment on a semicolon. It was with bewilderment and wonder, then, that I opened up The Elements of Style and encountered this sentence: “The colon has more effect than the comma, less power to separate than the semicolon, and more formality than the dash.” How often is so much instruction packed into so few words?

    In college I picked up the habit of rereading Strunk and White at least once a year. Probably I should do so more often, since verbal profligacy—Strunk’s sworn enemy, the capital sin of writing—is something that I can’t seem to shake, no matter how often I try. One of the reasons I picked up this book was the hope that, by observing White at work, his example might serve where his precepts failed.

    With White, the style is the man; and any discussion of his works inevitably becomes an analysis of his prose. To begin with, White is not what I’d call a vocal writer. A vocal writer is one whose writing seems to come alive and speak, whose writing cannot be read in your own voice, only in the author’s own accent. White’s writing, while personable, charming, and full of feeling, does not leap from the page into your living room. It is writerly writing.

    His style is conversational, not aphoristic. His sentences are not pointed, his wit is not barbed, his lines are not militantly memorable. His writing is loose; it breathes like a cotton shirt; it is drafty like an old wooden cabin. You might say that his essays are a controlled ramble, a balancing act that looks like a casual stroll. They take their time. Like a scatterbrained errand boy, they pause in a thousand places for momentary rendezvous and covert dalliances before reaching their destinations.

    White seldom speaks in abstractions, and hardly makes an argument. His writing is held together not by the logic of ideas but by the tissue of memory. This is partly why the style is unfilterable from the content. There is no thesis to take away. He is not trying to make a point, but to communicate his perspective, to encapsulate a piece of his personality.

    White’s personality is delightful. Modest and gently humorous, he is animated by a curiosity for the little things that comprise his world. He can study a train schedule with avidity, he can spend hours gazing at a spider’s web, he can write poetry on the life-cycle of a pig. This is what makes him such a consummate essayist. In the humdrum facts and quotidian occurrences of life he hears music and meaning, and spiderlike weaves his own web to stitch them into a delicate structure:
    As I sat at table, gnawing away at a piece of pie, snow began falling. At first it was an almost imperceptible spitting from the gray sky, but it soon thickened and came driving in from the northeast. I watched it catch along the edge of the drive, powder the stone wall, and whiten the surface of the dark frozen pond, and I knew that all along the coast from Kittery on, the worst mistakes of men were being quietly erased, the lines of their industrial temples softened, and U.S. 1 crowned with a cold, inexpensive glory

    There is not much to be said against these essays, except what can be said against all stylists. Since what White says is less important than the way he says it, upon finishing the reader is left with nothing but echoes and aftertastes. Yet it is a delicious aftertaste, tart and tangy with a touch of smoke, and it whets my appetite for more.

  5. Joe Joe says:

    Like the majority of American liberal artists, I know E.B. White principally from his editorial work. The Elements of Style was the principal explicit force behind my own understanding of the sentence and the essay, and I assumed its writer would possess that bright cogency that tickles the alert reader into giggles.

    I also knew E.B. White as the author of books for children, and though it has been nearly two decades since I read Charlotte's Web, I remember vividly the story and the prematurely deep emotion it aroused.

    Lastly, I knew E.B. White was the resident essayist for years at the New Yorker, and I had read a piece or two of his during college and graduate writing programs, and found them—as I expected from the editor of the Elements of Style—to be refined and distinct, even if I believed they were too patricianly contented for my taste.

    Now, I've worked my way through this collection concurrently with David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, and I couldn't think of a more illuminating contrast. Both artists reside within a tiny honored circle of American essayists. Both artists, per William Strunk's instruction, labor to omit needless words. Both artists ask that every word tell. But Wallace crams his sentences full of meaning, each written as though it would be his last and only, while E.B. White seems to let some sentences breathe the open air. What's more, Wallace often mercilessly whips his essay, even his day-to-day accounts, in pursuit of his philosophical rabbit. He is as methodical as the baseline tennis player of his teenage years, piling precise sentence on sentence, calculating and increasing the advantageous angles, till triumph is inevitable. E.B. White seems, by contrast, to be at times an amnesiac playing billiards with one hand: scattering the balls, then studying them, judging their position anew, and firing away.

    In his missives from Maine, for instance, White will digress into accounts on the weather, reports on egg production, measurements of snowfall and the tides, before meandering to his point. But when White finally finds the balls aligned to his liking, he strikes with such a devastatingly beautiful, caroming shot! Consider his essay, Death of a Pig, filled with mournful puns (such a thing is possible!), portraits of gruff veterinarians and sympathetic neighbors, explanations of his farm's terrain. It seems a sweet, orchard-smelling essay, but comes around to a gorgeous and devastating final sentence comparing the curious spirit of his daschund Fred and the haunting regret he, as a failed caretaker, feels at his pig's inescapable death: The grave in the woods is unmarked, but Fred can direct the mourner to it unerringly and with immense good will, and I know he and I shall often revisit it, singly and together, in seasons of reflection and despair, on flagless memorial days of our own choosing. Even pulled from context, the lovely pace and light, precise kiss of this sentence takes away your breath. Within the slow, sad, wandering story, it is devastatingly melancholic.

    Or, consider the lively and humorous essay on the 1939 World's Fair in Queens, NY, which pokes gentle fun at the antiseptic world of tomorrow. And at the end, the essay arrives the peculiar image of a couple of bare-breasted Amazon girls sitting in a robot automaton's giant rubber palm: a silly image, ripe for the simple, sly irony and gentle humanism that characterizes an essay filled with tots making long distance phone calls, cracks about the rainy weather. But White opts, in the last sentence, to just put aside the nibbles of soft irony and just take one voracious bite. And so, from nothing: Here was the Fair, all fairs, in pantomime; and here the strange mixed dream that made the Fair: the heroic man, bloodless and perfect and enormous, created in his own image, and in his hand (rubber, aseptic) the literal desire, the warm and living breast.

    And just one more, to really amaze you, the final two paragraphs of an essay ostensibly about Ford's discontinuation of the Model T line, the car of White's (and, in a sense, modern America's) youth:

    Springtime in the heyday of the Model T was a delirious season. Owning a car was still a major excitement, roads were wonderful and bad. The Fords were obviously conceived in madness: any car which was capable of going from forward into reverse without any perceptible mechanical hiatus was bound to be a mighty challenging thing to the human imagination. Boys used to veer them off the highway into a level pasture and run wild with them, as though they were cutting up with a girl....

    The days were golden, the nights were dim and strange. I still recall with trembling those loud, nocturnal crises when you drew up to a signpost and raced the engine so the lights would be bright enough to read destinations by. I have never been really planetary since. I suppose it's time to say good-bye. Farewell, my lovely!

    Well, what about that!

  6. Rebecca McNutt Rebecca McNutt says:

    From the author of Charlotte's Web, this collection of essays is as powerful as it is original, and definitely a classic in every sense of the word.

  7. Cheryl Cheryl says:

    Especially for Mr Forbush's Friends....
    -----------
    Ok, wow. So many observations, some made eight decades ago, are still relevant. The very first, about how 'stuff' accumulates so that when one tries to move to a new home one has to take the time to review one's life, is gorgeous. (Good-Bye to Forty-Eighth Street) That whole first section, on farming, is a must-read for fans of Michael Perry. The tale of his trip to Alaska, as a callow youth in the early 20s, is memorable. There are some references to current events and notable figures no longer known, but they are minimal. More interesting are the current events that are still current, for example urban sprawl and pollution. Included is the staple of Freshman English, Once More to the Lake.

    From Unity: We cannot conceivably achieve [peace] merely by relaxing the tensions of sovereign nations; there is an unending supply of them.... You could relax every last tension tonight and wake tomorrow morning with all the makings of war, all the familiar promise of trouble. White goes on to explain very carefully why 'disarmament' is no solution. Very interesting.

    (Fascinating how the man wrote so well on so many different subjects. From experiencing a hurricane to reminiscing about The St. Nicholas League to writing a tribute to Don Marquis to political commentary as the above.)

    I want to investigate Thoughts Without Words and Finley Peter Dunne.

  8. Chrissie Chrissie says:

    Keep in mind that usually I do not enjoy either essays or short stories, but here the writing is exceptional. It is this that makes all the difference.

    The essays cover many different topics, such as the art of writing, appreciation of life’s small delights, wildlife (animals, flowers, birds), books and authors such as The Lives and Times of Archy and Mehitabel by Don Marquis, Henry David Thoreau aand The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr., trips to Alaska and Florida, the tribulations of adolescence, Christmas holidays, disarmament, energy…….

    The very best are those essays where the topics covered although related also diverge - Adlai Stevenson, Truman, Eisenhower, religion, faith, dogs and politics; this one was entitled Bedfellows and was my very favorite!

    The book concludes with a concise biography of E.B. White and his wife, which I highly appreciated. It is worth picking up the book just for this. It is ten times better than Michael Sims’s The Story of Charlotte's Web: E.B. White's Eccentric Life in Nature and the Birth of an American Classic.

    The audiobook narration by Malcolm Hillgartner is impeccable. Clear, easy to follow and read at a perfect speed. THIS is how I want all audiobooks to be read!

    I can tell you what the essays cover but it is how they are written that enchants. No, I wasn’t captivated by all of them, but most I would rate with three or four stars, and one or two are worthy of five stars. The book as a whole I enjoyed very, very much and thus am giving it four stars. The narration I have given five stars.

  9. Terri Terri says:

    Charlotte's Web by E.B. White is one my favorite books from childhood and thinking about the book continues to give me a warm feeling. He wrote for the magazine The New Yorker starting in 1927 where he met his wife who edited his work. Some of the witty and descriptive essays in this book appeared in different publications as well as the New Yorker. Reading this book is a pleasure and treat in every way. Charming book. Highly recommend.

  10. David David says:

    Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays.

    To come upon an article in the Times called The Meaning of Brown Eggs was an unexpected pleasure.
    Someone told me the other day that a seagull won't eat a smelt.
    I spent several days and nights in mid-September with an ailing pig.
    Mosquitoes have arrived with the warm nights, and our bedchamber is their theater under the stars.
    I wasn't really prepared for the World's Fair last week, and it certainly wasn't prepared for me.
    Waking or sleeping, I dream of boats -- usually of rather small boats under a slight press of sail.
    On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.
    I see by the new Sears Roebuck catalogue that it is still possible to buy an axle for a 1909 Model T Ford, but I am not deceived.

    Do I really need to continue? With opening lines like these, you know you are in good hands. 22 of the 31 essays in this collection appeared originally in The New Yorker . Many of the pieces evoke a very particular time and place. They are all so beautifully written that reading them is a pleasure.

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