The Plum Tree

Phillips, David Graham

ISBN 10: 1438525338 / ISBN 13: 9781438525334

Edité par Book Jungle, 2009

A propos de cet article

N° de réf. du vendeur I-9781438525334

Détails bibliographiques

• Titre: The Plum Tree
• Éditeur: Book Jungle
• Date de parution: 2009
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN à 10 chiffres: 1438525338
• ISBN à 13 chiffres: 9781438525334
• Reliure: Couverture souple
• État de l'article: New

A propos de ce titre

Synopsis

In The Plum Tree Phillips rips away the façade and exposes politics as it really exists. David Graham Phillips (1867 - 1911) was an American journalist and novelist. Phillips was a reporter in Cincinnati before moving to New York to work for The Sun. Phillips developed a reputation as an investigative reporter. Phillips's novels often commented on social issues of the day and frequently chronicled events based on his real-life journalistic experiences. He was considered a Progressive and a muckraker. His reputation eventually cost him his life. Phillips was murdered when his book The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig was published. A musician thought it had cast literary aspersions on his family. Although The Plum Tree is basically a romance it also is a political novel. Phillips unmasks politics in a way that is graphic and vivid. His skill as a journalist and his observations as a historian make this an intriguing book to read.

Présentation de l'éditeur

"We can hold out six months longer,—at least six months." My mother's tone made the six months stretch encouragingly into six long years. I see her now, vividly as if it were only yesterday. We were at our scant breakfast, I as blue as was ever even twenty-five, she brave and confident. And hers was no mere pretense to reassure me, no cheerless optimism of ignorance, but the through-and-through courage and strength of those who flinch for no bogey that life or death can conjure. Her tone lifted me; I glanced at her, and what shone from her eyes set me on my feet, face to the foe. The table-cloth was darned in many places, but so skilfully that you could have looked closely without detecting it. Not a lump of sugar, not a slice of bread, went to waste in that house; yet even I had to think twice to realize that we were poor, desperately poor. She did not hide our poverty; she beautified it, she dignified it into Spartan simplicity. I know it is not the glamour over the past that makes me believe there are no women now like those of the race to which she belonged. The world, to-day, yields comfort too easily to the capable; hardship is the only mould for such character, and in those days, in this middle-western country, even the capable were not strangers to hardship.