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Today marks the 80th birthday of novelist
Philip Roth, who burst on the
American literary scene in 1959 with a novella and group of short stories
collected into Goodbye, Columbus (here is my take on the latter) and who
has kept at his desk with a distinctly ascetic, monklike (and
un-Portnoyesque) devotion ever since.
If Cowley is to be believed, Roth does not like to
be asked about being snubbed for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Well, he wouldn’t
be the first that the idiotic nominating committee in Scandinavia has bypassed.
(Leo Tolstoy, Joseph Conrad, James Joyce and Graham Greene can all take their
bows now.)
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