STd 12 Science Paper Style 2020-21

Standard 12 Science paper style 2020-2021 according to the new modal considering the situation of Corona

 

Clutter, says who? College essays, letters from Stephen King and Tucker Carlson: I’m keeping (almost) all of it.

STd 12 Science Paper Style 2020-21

By that, I mean a lifetime’s accumulation of letters, newspaper clippings, reporter’s notebooks, photocopied articles, three-ring binders, file folders, photographs, ID cards and driver’s licenses, magazines and journals (Gramophone, The Armchair Detective, Studies in Bibliography), drafts of short stories and poems — and even a couple of grade school compositions and college essays. Everything has been stashed away higgledy-piggledy, a system that I’ve been known to rationalize by murmuring a line from poet Wallace Stevens: “A great disorder is an order.”

But I’m through with that. Having devoted chunks of this plague year to sorting and culling my books, I now face the more daunting task of weeding through all this memorabilia and paper clutter.

On just one occasion, I half-imagined some institutions might actually need a lot of these things. Really, wouldn’t the Smithsonian need props when it mounts an exhibition titled “The Washington Post — From Watergate to the top of Newsprint”? I can readily picture an installation representing Book World in, say, 1991, with life-size mannequins of office manager Ednamae Storti, critic Jon Yardley, and stage director Francis Tanabe, also as three or four overworked editors. A spotlight would shine on one among these last, a bright-eyed, albeit nearsighted figure, shown seated before a Raytheon display screen, knee-deep in galleys, proofs, review copies and, most vital of all, these authentic relics — shards, if you'll — of that ancient, bygone era.

Relics? Let me just list a couple of the valuable artifacts I’ve unearthed so far.

A postcard from writer Daphne Merkin, depicting Eeyore, the melancholy donkey in “Winnie-the-Pooh,” as he scribbles on a bit of paper. The caption runs: “This writing business, pencils, and what-not. Overrated if you inquire from me .”

A clipping — a magazine headline? — that proclaims, “You can afford to be a connoisseur and a rebel!”

One of my fifth-grade book reports, this one about H. Rider Haggard’s “King Solomon’s Mines.” It opens, “The main idea of this book was danger and death.” A considerable plot summary follows.

A photocopy of “The Marriage of True Minds,” fantasy writer Charles Sheffield’s brilliant homage to P.G. Wodehouse. within the story, Lord Emsworth and his champion pig, the Empress of Blandings, switch minds. nobody much notices.

A photocopy of “In Memoriam: Reid Beddow,” which editor Nina King and that i wrote to mourn the death of a much-loved Book World colleague. Reid’s early and enthusiastic review of “The search for Red October” just about launched the career of Tom Clancy.

A long 1998 letter from Knox Burger, the legendary editor of trophy paperbacks, about working with Donald Westlake on the writer’s Richard Stark crime novels, which “didn’t sell alright. Never have, really in any of their incarnations. Too unadorned, too blackly existential, too amoral?”

A photograph of my hero, English critic William Empson, playing softball in 1950 while teaching that summer at Kenyon College. Empson captained a team called the Ambiguities, which occasionally fielded poets Lowell and Delmore Schwartz.

A gracious thank-you from biographer Humphrey Carpenter, recalling a bibulous lunch at the Hay-Adams Hotel. Carpenter, Beddow, and that I drank two bottles of wine, ate the chef’s top-of-the-line special and ran up a $300 bill. We expensed it all to Book World and were sternly told by then-editor Brigitte Weeks never, ever to try to do this again.

A contract to write down about 1990 in poetry for the planet Book Encyclopedia Yearbook. (I produced these mini-surveys for several years, also as similar annual updates on American literature for Collier’s Encyclopedia.)

Multiple drafts of my recent introduction to a replacement Penguin Classics edition of Robertson Davies’s wonder-filled “Deptford Trilogy.”

A letter from the director of the Henry George School of science, welcoming me — i used to be probably 14 — to a free course in fundamental economics. The course largely consisted of extracts from “Progress and Poverty,” George’s masterpiece of socialist thought.

A 1996 note, on Weekly Standard stationery, that reads: “Dear Mr. Dirda, Your essays are always the simplest thing in Book World, and that I search for them eagerly. Congratulations on another great one in the week. sincerely, Tucker Carlson.”

The syllabus for a course I taught called “The Art of Literary Journalism.” It opens with a quote from Thomas Carlyle: “Magazine work is below street-sweeping as a trade.” The long reading list showcases works by the critics and essayists I most admire, starting with W.H. Auden, Beerbohm and Cyril Connolly and running down the alphabet to Kenneth Tynan, Updike, Vidal, Waugh, Wilson, and Woolf. I required students to shop for Joseph Mitchell’s collected New Yorker pieces, “Up within the Old Hotel.”

An ominously scrawled reply to my letter asking Richard Bachman (a nom de plume sometimes employed by Stephen King) to review “The Dark Half,” King’s own novel about an author’s parasitic alter ego: “Dear Mr. Dirda, I can’t review ‘The Dark Half’— that bastard King won’t let me. Sometimes I could just kill him. Regretfully yours, Richard Bachman.”

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The unedited typescript of “T.S. Eliot: a private Memoir,” by publisher Robert Giroux (of Farrar Straus Giroux). wanting to trim this lovely but long essay (it ran during a December 1988 issue of Book World), I spent a blissful afternoon on the phone with Giroux, as he reminisced about Eliot and other writers he had worked with, including Kerouac, Flannery O’Connor, and John Berryman.

And, finally, a compliment from the agent Virginia Kidd: “You write the type of prose that I lick up like cream — were I a cat.” She then declares that Avram Davidson is “the finest writer of short fantasy now alive,” which is saying something as long as Kidd represented Ursula K. Le Guin.