The Paris Review Daily

Posts Tagged ‘F. Scott Fitzgerald’

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Lyricist

December 6, 2012 | by

About ten years ago, after depositing my brother at camp, my parents found themselves in a junk shop in upstate New York. My dad came upon the following playbill for The Evil Eye: A Musical Comedy in Two Acts, presented by the Princeton University Triangle Club from 1915 to 1916. He opened the first page and noticed the following: “Book by Edmund Wilson, Jr., 1916,” and, a bit further down, “Lyrics by F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1917.” Numbers like “Jump Off the Wall” and “Harris from Paris” may be lost to history, but we thought we’d share the program with you nevertheless!

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A Crime Writer Turns to Crime, and Other News

November 9, 2012 | by

  • A Texas crime writer has been sentenced to thirty years for paying to have her husband murdered.
  • Ten things you may not have known about the Brothers Grimm.
  • Is horror a genre beyond redemption? Or, as The Guardian puts it, damned to literary hell?
  • “Don't worry about growing up,” and other advice from F. Scott Fitzgerald to his daughter.
  • Behold: the bibliochaise.
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    Pricey Real Estate, Cool Bookshelves

    October 24, 2012 | by

  • We love a cool bookshelves roundup.
  • Animal Farm, the movie: begin your dream-cast YouTube videos now, please.
  • New (well, unheard, anyway) audio clips of Flannery O’Connor.
  • Buy (or look at) the Mediterranean villa where Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald allegedly stayed and wrote. Whatever, it has its own discotheque.
  • How to write a novel in thirty days, should one have a furious gangster on one’s case or something. (Or should one wish to participate in NaNoWriMo.)

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    Dead Authors at Fashion Week: Part 1

    September 12, 2012 | by

    F. Scott Fitzgerald Attends the Alexander Wang Spring 2013 Show.

    I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere sit in front of you at the Wang show:

    —“So sorry, but the front row is reserved for bloggers. Writers are in the second.”

    “I am most certainly a blogger.”

    —“What’s your blog?”

    “It’s called Tumblr. Keeps my readers in high spirits.”

    [A pause; it endured horribly.]

    I cannot accept that I’m to be deprived of half the view of a show that endures for a mere five minutes. Not to mention the insult of being told by an intern. In turn, I—

    —“Hi, can I take a quick picture of your style for my blog? ”

    “Oh, absolutely!”

    —“Wait, don’t smile.”

    “Oh, no, of course, I’m sorry.”

    —“And who makes your suit and shoes?”

    “Happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing. You can just put ‘vintage’.”

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    Signatures, Notes, and Lists

    August 31, 2012 | by

  • The evolution of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s autograph.
  • We have long been intrigued by the Strand’s “The Jean Files,” a series of notes, found in books, to a woman named Jean. The latest plea is especially intriguing.
  • Listen to Dylan Thomas read “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.”
  • Thank you to Iris Blasi for unearthing this vintage bit of Letterman, um, wit: Top Ten Bookstore Pickup Lines.
  • We may be biased, but are happy to disseminate the following: “According to a new study, people with an active interest in the arts contribute more to society than those with little or no such interest.”

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    Books and Bodies: On Organs and Literary Estates

    August 22, 2012 | by

    The New Yorker made headlines this month by publishing “new” work by F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Thank You for the Light” had been rejected by the magazine in 1936 when Fitzgerald first submitted it, but editorial judgments—like love, pain, and kitchen knives—have a way of dulling over time.

    “We’re afraid that this Fitzgerald story is altogether out of the question,” read the original note spurning the story. “It seems to us so curious and so unlike the kind of thing we associate with him, and really too fantastic.”

    Resubmitted by Fitzgerald’s grandchildren, “Thank You for the Light” was, at least by Fitzgerald’s own standards, ready for publication. Its condition differs greatly from his final work, tentatively titled The Love of the Last Tycoon but published as The Last Tycoon in 1941. Fitzgerald died of a heart attack before he could finish the novel, so what went to press was a version of his incomplete draft, notes, and outlines pieced together by the literary critic Edmund Wilson. In his preface to the novel, Wilson wrote, “It has been possible to supplement this unfinished draft with an outline of the rest of the story as Fitzgerald intended to develop it.”

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