essays by eb white

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Essays by eb white

The narration I have given five stars. View 2 comments. Like the majority of American liberal artists, I know E. 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. 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 Like the majority of American liberal artists, I know E. 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. 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.

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. 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. 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! 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.

Within the slow, sad, wandering story, it is devastatingly melancholic. Or, consider the lively and humorous essay on the 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. 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! View all 4 comments. Especially for "Mr Forbush's Friends 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.

The tale of his trip to Alaska, as a callow youth in the early 20s, is memorable. There are some refe Especially for "Mr Forbush's Friends 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.

You could relax every last tension tonight and wake tomorrow morning with all the makings of war, all the familiar promise of trouble. 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.

View all 9 comments. 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 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. Charming book. Highly recommend. Feb 08, David rated it really liked it Shelves: read-in Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays.

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 Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays. 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 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. Many of the pieces evoke a very particular time and place. They are all so beautifully written that reading them is a pleasure. Yo, Goodreads I. It's like This book is a classic 3. When forced to round, I must round down. White was a wonderful essayist.

This particular collection contains more than a few gems but is too inconsistent to make the entire volume a ' must read. I will say that this collection has inspired me to Yo, Goodreads I. I will say that this collection has inspired me to research other notable essayists and has given me a deep appreciation for the genre. We should all be essayists - even poor ones. Mar 28, Andrew rated it it was amazing Shelves: favorites. I took my time reading these essays, one at a time, over the past summer.

It ended up being one of the best reading experiences I've had. To quote E. White - "As a writing man, or secretary, I have always felt charged with the safekeeping of all unexpected items of worldly and unworldly enchantment, as though I might be held personally responsible if even a small one were to be lost.

With White's incredible, genuinely American voice, and his mastery of the English language, you couldn't ask for much more in an essay. I'll certainly be rereading many of these. Aug 07, Antigone rated it it was amazing Shelves: essays-shorts. If you occasionally find your foot lost of its purchase on the bicycle pedal while speeding down a death-defying San Francisco hill - minus the bicycle and minus the hill - then the essays of E.

White should be immediately looked into. White's work is thoroughly grounding. Whether he's enumerating the pleasures of his Home Crawford wood-burning kitchen stove, his boulder in the pasture woods where he retreats when he's disenchanted or frightened, his geese, his pig, the local raccoon, his If you occasionally find your foot lost of its purchase on the bicycle pedal while speeding down a death-defying San Francisco hill - minus the bicycle and minus the hill - then the essays of E.

Whether he's enumerating the pleasures of his Home Crawford wood-burning kitchen stove, his boulder in the pasture woods where he retreats when he's disenchanted or frightened, his geese, his pig, the local raccoon, his winter, his lake, his Manhattan; taking to train, to boat, to plane - the man will put you right back where you need to be by morning.

A truth too little advertised: The mere act of reading him recovers. Aug 26, Rosemary rated it it was amazing. It turns out E. White is clever, warm, and eloquent-- as the writer of Elements of Style ought to be. He writes about pretty much everything: books, politics, the city, the country, his rattletrap car, the debate on brown vs. I guess you can find it there, if you dig around. White has to say for himself.

And if you don't love the world already, reading these essays It turns out E. And if you don't love the world already, reading these essays is a good way to start. Wonderful reading. A treasure trove. Jun 16, John rated it it was amazing. This is a wonderful collection of beautifully written essays by one of the great prose stylists. Even if the subject matter of a particular essay may not be of interest, you will still find great pleasure in dipping into the words, sentences and paragraphs of a great writer.

White had many interests and his essays reflect upon life in New York City, life in Maine, and general commentary upon matters that fall in between. My favorites in this book are: his essay about Thoreau's Walden and the This is a wonderful collection of beautifully written essays by one of the great prose stylists. My favorites in this book are: his essay about Thoreau's Walden and the essay that opened his famous book with Professor Strunk entitled Elements of Style.

All in all, a must read for all who enjoy the writing form called the essay. I like Charlotte's Web but, I feel like the majority of his other writing is dry. Read for class. White may best be known as the author of Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web, but he had a prolific writing career. In this collection he has chosen his favorite selections to include from a lifetime of writing.

He based his selections on his own enjoyment upon re-reading and on their durability. White experienced life both on a small farm and in the big cities and essays of both are included here. They are p E. They are particulary relevant to issues we face today, with an essay on whether disarmament would create a greater peace in the world he was strongly against this, opting to find the root of the problem , his concern about our air quality in the advent of the atomic age and subsequent bombing and issues of segregation.

The essays also show off his sentimental side, writing about taking his crush to a dance in the city and taking his son to the lake his own father took him to as a child. A few of the essays lagged for me, perhaps the result of reading them back to back which at times put me in a state of lethargy. The book is, for the most part, lovely and full of wit and fervor.

White does not waver on his views, but seems fair to most of his subjects and authentic in his telling. Jul 13, David rated it it was amazing Shelves: nonfiction , essays. I picked up this book for three reasons: simple booklust; my life-long infatuation with E. White's writing; and the inclusion of the essay "Here is New York. But a lot of it still sounds right to me. Here, then, are the opening lines of " Here is New York ": "On any person who desires s I picked up this book for three reasons: simple booklust; my life-long infatuation with E.

Here, then, are the opening lines of " Here is New York ": "On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy. It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city's walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail.

The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill them, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky. I am continually amazed by and incredibly appreciative of E.

White's writing, no matter whether his subject is spiders, pigs, roofing the barn, hurricanes, or war. He started writing essays around and continued for decades; his children's fiction was published about 70 years ago, and his writing is still relevant today and has so much to offer current readers. Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting his time.

You have to write up, not down. Children are demanding. They are th I am continually amazed by and incredibly appreciative of E. They are the most attentive, curious, eager, observant, sensitive, quick, and generally congenial readers on earth. They accept, almost without question, anything you present them with, as long as it is presented honestly, fearlessly, and clearly. White expressed himself that way, honestly, fearlessly, and clearly, in all of his writing, and I always find something new in his honest clarity.

We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or doing laundry. Reading E. White's writing, whether it is essays, letters, or fiction, gives me joy and hope. Jan 16, Kris rated it it was amazing. I knew this would be a five-star book after reading the very first line. I often find that a large amount of non-fiction books are written by people who White calls himself included , "sustained by the childish belief that everything he or she thinks is of general interest.

It is quite amazing how, though he wrote closer over half a century ago, many of the ideas he discusses are stil I knew this would be a five-star book after reading the very first line. It is quite amazing how, though he wrote closer over half a century ago, many of the ideas he discusses are still relevant today. He talks about the effects of progress, technology, and politics -if you just changed the date on a few of his essays, you might think they were written recently.

There are a couple places, later in the collection, where I got a little bored, but even with that, the first two-thirds to the book is so good, there was no question in my mind how to rate it. Another great part of reading it is that the essays are short, so you can read it a little at a time without having to worry about losing track of the story. The best book I have read in three years. View 1 comment.

Jul 02, Brandon Swann rated it really liked it. I was unfamiliar with White before reading - unaware that this is the White from Strunk and White's, sacrosanct-for-writing, Elements of Style - and I was pleased with the kinship I felt with the author by the end of the work.

This is a vast work, covering topics such as American politics, experiences of a quasi-farmer, a trip to Alaska, moving, a raccoon living in a tree next to house, and a plethora equally as diverse. It also contains his famous 'This is New York' essay; this was among my I was unfamiliar with White before reading - unaware that this is the White from Strunk and White's, sacrosanct-for-writing, Elements of Style - and I was pleased with the kinship I felt with the author by the end of the work.

It also contains his famous 'This is New York' essay; this was among my least favorites, and I believe this speaks to White's quality in essay-writing. Finally, it comes as no surprise that someone I first knew as a renowned aid to the English Language offers up delicious prose throughout. If you are looking for essays, this is an easy recommendation. Quotes Quotes Quotes: - "I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit nature, and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.

The implication in such a pronouncement, emanating from the seat of government, is that religious faith is a condition or even a pre-condition of the democratic life. This is just wrong I don't think a President should advertise prayer. Democracy, if I understand it at all, is a society where the unbeliever feels safe and unbothered at home.

If there were only a dozen unbelievers in America, their well-being would be a test of our democracy, their tranquility would be its proof. The sense that is common to one generation is uncommon to the next. Dec 31, Makenzie rated it it was amazing. I dare you to not smile while reading E.

Everyone kept hoping for a break, but the break failed to come. Next day was another hot one. My throat felt dry and I went to the cupboard and got a bottle of whiskey. Deep hemorrhagic infarcts—the phrase began fastening its hooks in my head. I had assumed that there could be nothing much wrong with a pig during the months it was being groomed for murder; my confidence in the essential health and endurance of pigs had been strong and deep, particularly in the health of pigs that belonged to me and that were part of my proud scheme.

The awakening had been violent and I minded it all the more because I knew that what could be true of my pig could be true also of the rest of my tidy world. I tried to put this distasteful idea from me, but it kept recurring. I took a short drink of the whiskey and then, although I wanted to go down to the yard and look for fresh signs, I was scared to.

I was certain I had erysipelas. I had a difficult time rating this book. If so, I have no knowledge of it. At what age did you know you were going to follow a literary profession? Was there a particular incident, or moment? I never knew for sure that I would follow a literary profession. I was twenty-seven or twenty-eight before anything happened that gave me any assurance that I could make a go of writing.

I had done a great deal of writing, but I lacked confidence in my ability to put it to good use. I went abroad one summer and on my return to New York found an accumulation of mail at my apartment. I took the letters, unopened, and went to a Childs restaurant on Fourteenth Street, where I ordered dinner and began opening my mail. From one envelope, two or three checks dropped out, from The New Yorker.

I suppose they totaled a little under a hundred dollars, but it looked like a fortune to me. It was a good feeling and I enjoyed the meal. What were those first pieces accepted by The New Yorker? Did you send them in with a covering letter, or through an agent? I never submitted a manuscript with a covering letter or through an agent.

I used to put my manuscript in the mail, along with a stamped envelope for the rejection. This was a matter of high principle with me: I believed in the doctrine of immaculate rejection. I never used an agent and did not like the looks of a manuscript after an agent got through prettying it up and putting it between covers with brass clips.

I now have an agent for such mysteries as movie rights and foreign translations. A large part of all early contributions to The New Yorker arrived uninvited and unexpected. They arrived in the mail or under the arm of people who walked in with them.

For a number of years, The New Yorker published an average of fifty new writers a year. Magazines that refuse unsolicited manuscripts strike me as lazy, incurious, self-assured, and self-important. There may be some justification for a technical journal to limit its list of contributors to persons who are known to be qualified.

The New Yorker had an interest in publishing any writer that could turn in a good piece. It read everything submitted. Hemingway, Faulkner, and the others were well established and well paid when The New Yorker came on the scene. They were selling to The Saturday Evening Post and other well-heeled publications, and in general were not inclined to contribute to the small, new, impecunious weekly.

Ross had no great urge to publish the big names; he was far more interested in turning up new and yet undiscovered talent, the Helen Hokinsons and the James Thurbers. I believe we published something by Fitzgerald. He was looking for the ones that were found by turning over a stone.

What were the procedures in turning down a manuscript by a New Yorker regular? Was this done by Ross? The manuscript of a New Yorker regular was turned down in the same manner as was the manuscript of a New Yorker irregular. It was simply rejected, usually by the subeditor who was handling the author in question.

Ross did not deal directly with writers and artists, except in the case of a few old friends from an earlier day. Ross disliked rejecting pieces, and he disliked firing people—he ducked both tasks whenever he could. Feuds did not threaten The New Yorker. The only feud I recall was the running battle between the editorial department and the advertising department. Ross was determined not to allow his magazine to be swayed, in the slightest degree, by the boys in advertising.

As far as I know, he succeeded. When did you first move to New York, and what were some of the things you did before joining The New Yorker? Were you ever a part of the Algonquin group? I lived at home, with my father and mother in Mount Vernon, and commuted to work.

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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.

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. Modest and gently humorous, he is animated by a curiosity for the little things that comprise his world. 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. 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. View all 3 comments. Jun 04, Chrissie rated it really liked it Shelves: bio , audible-uk , short , read , usa , classics.

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 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. White and his wife, which I highly appreciated. It is worth picking up the book just for this. 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. The book as a whole I enjoyed very, very much and thus am giving it four stars. The narration I have given five stars. View 2 comments. Like the majority of American liberal artists, I know E. 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. 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 Like the majority of American liberal artists, I know E. 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. 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.

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.

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.

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! 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.

Within the slow, sad, wandering story, it is devastatingly melancholic. Or, consider the lively and humorous essay on the 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.

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! View all 4 comments. Especially for "Mr Forbush's Friends 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.

The tale of his trip to Alaska, as a callow youth in the early 20s, is memorable. There are some refe Especially for "Mr Forbush's Friends 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. You could relax every last tension tonight and wake tomorrow morning with all the makings of war, all the familiar promise of trouble. 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. View all 9 comments. 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 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.

Charming book. Highly recommend. Feb 08, David rated it really liked it Shelves: read-in Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays. 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 Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays. 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 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. Many of the pieces evoke a very particular time and place. They are all so beautifully written that reading them is a pleasure. Yo, Goodreads I. It's like This book is a classic 3. When forced to round, I must round down. White was a wonderful essayist. This particular collection contains more than a few gems but is too inconsistent to make the entire volume a ' must read.

I will say that this collection has inspired me to Yo, Goodreads I. I will say that this collection has inspired me to research other notable essayists and has given me a deep appreciation for the genre. We should all be essayists - even poor ones. Mar 28, Andrew rated it it was amazing Shelves: favorites.

I took my time reading these essays, one at a time, over the past summer. It ended up being one of the best reading experiences I've had. To quote E. White - "As a writing man, or secretary, I have always felt charged with the safekeeping of all unexpected items of worldly and unworldly enchantment, as though I might be held personally responsible if even a small one were to be lost. With White's incredible, genuinely American voice, and his mastery of the English language, you couldn't ask for much more in an essay.

I'll certainly be rereading many of these. Aug 07, Antigone rated it it was amazing Shelves: essays-shorts. If you occasionally find your foot lost of its purchase on the bicycle pedal while speeding down a death-defying San Francisco hill - minus the bicycle and minus the hill - then the essays of E.

White should be immediately looked into. White's work is thoroughly grounding. Whether he's enumerating the pleasures of his Home Crawford wood-burning kitchen stove, his boulder in the pasture woods where he retreats when he's disenchanted or frightened, his geese, his pig, the local raccoon, his If you occasionally find your foot lost of its purchase on the bicycle pedal while speeding down a death-defying San Francisco hill - minus the bicycle and minus the hill - then the essays of E.

Whether he's enumerating the pleasures of his Home Crawford wood-burning kitchen stove, his boulder in the pasture woods where he retreats when he's disenchanted or frightened, his geese, his pig, the local raccoon, his winter, his lake, his Manhattan; taking to train, to boat, to plane - the man will put you right back where you need to be by morning. A truth too little advertised: The mere act of reading him recovers. Aug 26, Rosemary rated it it was amazing. It turns out E. White is clever, warm, and eloquent-- as the writer of Elements of Style ought to be.

He writes about pretty much everything: books, politics, the city, the country, his rattletrap car, the debate on brown vs. I guess you can find it there, if you dig around. White has to say for himself. And if you don't love the world already, reading these essays It turns out E.

And if you don't love the world already, reading these essays is a good way to start. Wonderful reading. A treasure trove. Jun 16, John rated it it was amazing. This is a wonderful collection of beautifully written essays by one of the great prose stylists. Even if the subject matter of a particular essay may not be of interest, you will still find great pleasure in dipping into the words, sentences and paragraphs of a great writer.

White had many interests and his essays reflect upon life in New York City, life in Maine, and general commentary upon matters that fall in between. My favorites in this book are: his essay about Thoreau's Walden and the This is a wonderful collection of beautifully written essays by one of the great prose stylists. My favorites in this book are: his essay about Thoreau's Walden and the essay that opened his famous book with Professor Strunk entitled Elements of Style.

All in all, a must read for all who enjoy the writing form called the essay. I like Charlotte's Web but, I feel like the majority of his other writing is dry. Read for class. White may best be known as the author of Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web, but he had a prolific writing career.

In this collection he has chosen his favorite selections to include from a lifetime of writing. He based his selections on his own enjoyment upon re-reading and on their durability. White experienced life both on a small farm and in the big cities and essays of both are included here. They are p E. They are particulary relevant to issues we face today, with an essay on whether disarmament would create a greater peace in the world he was strongly against this, opting to find the root of the problem , his concern about our air quality in the advent of the atomic age and subsequent bombing and issues of segregation.

The essays also show off his sentimental side, writing about taking his crush to a dance in the city and taking his son to the lake his own father took him to as a child. A few of the essays lagged for me, perhaps the result of reading them back to back which at times put me in a state of lethargy.

The book is, for the most part, lovely and full of wit and fervor. White does not waver on his views, but seems fair to most of his subjects and authentic in his telling. Jul 13, David rated it it was amazing Shelves: nonfiction , essays. I picked up this book for three reasons: simple booklust; my life-long infatuation with E. White's writing; and the inclusion of the essay "Here is New York.

But a lot of it still sounds right to me. Here, then, are the opening lines of " Here is New York ": "On any person who desires s I picked up this book for three reasons: simple booklust; my life-long infatuation with E. Here, then, are the opening lines of " Here is New York ": "On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.

It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city's walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail. The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill them, depending a good deal on luck.

No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky. I am continually amazed by and incredibly appreciative of E. White's writing, no matter whether his subject is spiders, pigs, roofing the barn, hurricanes, or war. He started writing essays around and continued for decades; his children's fiction was published about 70 years ago, and his writing is still relevant today and has so much to offer current readers.

Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting his time. You have to write up, not down. Children are demanding. They are th I am continually amazed by and incredibly appreciative of E. They are the most attentive, curious, eager, observant, sensitive, quick, and generally congenial readers on earth.

They accept, almost without question, anything you present them with, as long as it is presented honestly, fearlessly, and clearly. White expressed himself that way, honestly, fearlessly, and clearly, in all of his writing, and I always find something new in his honest clarity. We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or doing laundry. Reading E. White's writing, whether it is essays, letters, or fiction, gives me joy and hope.

Jan 16, Kris rated it it was amazing. I knew this would be a five-star book after reading the very first line. But when I am discouraged or downcast I need only fling open the door of my closet, and there, hidden behind everything else, hangs the mantle of Michel de Montaigne, smelling slightly of camphor. White goes on to discuss his choice of essays for the anthology and their order, noting of his most famous masterpiece — the exquisite Here Is New York :.

I wrote about new York in the summer of , during a hot spell. He notes:. I spent a large part of the first half of my life as a city dweller, a large part of the second half as a countryman. In between, there were periods when nobody, including myself, quite knew or cared where I was: I thrashed back and forth between Maine and New York for reasons that seemed compelling at the time.

Money entered into it, affection for The New Yorker entered in. And affection for the city. Essays of E. White is required reading, a pinnacle of the form from one of its greatest masters. Brain Pickings participates in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn commissions by linking to Amazon. In more human terms, this means that whenever you buy a book on Amazon from a link on here, I receive a small percentage of its price, which goes straight back into my own colossal biblioexpenses.

Privacy policy. White writes: The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest. White offers a morphology of essayistic dispositions: There are as many kinds of essays as there are human attitudes or poses, as many essay flavors as there are Howard Johnson ice creams.

More so than any other writing form, White argues, the essay requires a unique commitment to truth and discipline : There is one thing that the essayist cannot do, though — he cannot indulge himself in deceit or in concealment, for he will be found out in no time.

He notes: I spent a large part of the first half of my life as a city dweller, a large part of the second half as a countryman. I have finally come to rest. White spent the remaining years of his life at his home in North Brooklin, Maine.

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The Christmas-tree harvest is hard on the woods, though. People tend to cut wastefully, hacking away wherever the going is good. And the enemy is always at our gates in the form of bugs and blights. I have just read a report on the forest-insect situation, sent me by the county agent. We have all sorts of picturesque plagues. The balsam woolly aphid.

Birch dieback. Dutch elm disease. Spruce budworm. A spruce bud in Maine parlance is a spruce cone—the thing a red squirrel eats the seeds of, sitting on a rock, and the thing Boston and New York celebrants like to put on their mantelpieces.

The budworm comes into the state in the form of a moth, on the northeast wind, in summertime. There are only a few small items of news to report at this season. I felt pretty good about this, because I had spotted two of these whiskey-jacks not to be confused with cheap-Jacks way back in October.

It would appear that the whiskey-jacks are here advisedly; they just like the sound of the place. Under the big shade trees in front of the house, the lawn is littered with dozens of half-eaten apples. I studied these, wondering what had been going on. Then I discovered that it was the work of crows. The crows pick little yellow apples from the old tree by the shed and carry them to some high perch before rifling them for seeds.

In this respect they are no different from the people of San Francisco, who like to drink at the Top of the Mark, where they can really see what they are doing. Here in New England, each season carries a hundred foreshadowings of the season that is to follow—which is one of the things I love about it. Winter is rough and long, but spring lies all round about. Yesterday, a small white keel feather escaped from my goose and lodged in the bank boughs near the kitchen porch, where I spied it as I came home in the cold twilight.

The minute I saw the feather, I was projected into May, knowing that a barn swallow would be along to claim the prize and use it to decorate the front edge of its nest. Immediately, the December air seemed full of wings of swallows and the warmth of barns.

April A trip home over the highway still warms me in the same indescribable way, but the highway itself changes from year to year. The Narramissic still flows through Orland every day, but the last time I drove home I did not dip down across the river; instead I found myself hustling along on a new stretch of improved highway that cut out around Orland to the north and rushed me across the stream on a new bridge. The steep hill and sharp turns had been ironed out by the ironers, effecting a saving of probably three minutes in running time.

So I was home three minutes earlier but have no idea how I spent those three extra minutes or whether they profited me as much as the old backward glance at Orland—its church spire, its reliable river, its nestling houses, its general store, and its bouquet of the flowering of New England.

The whiskey-jack showed up again around here a couple of years ago. The bird, instead of showing alarm at my intrusion, followed me about, jumping silently from branch to branch in the thick woods, seemingly eager to learn what I was up to. I found it spooky yet agreeable to be tailed by a bird, and a disreputable one at that.

The Canada jay looks as though he had slept in his clothes. I bought a puppy last week in the outskirts of Boston and drove him to Maine in a rented Ford that looked like a sculpin. There had been talk in our family of getting a sensible dog this time, and my wife and I had gone over the list of sensible dogs, and had even ventured once or twice into the company of sensible dogs.

A friend had a litter of Labradors, and there were other opportunities. She had had a glass of wine, and I could see that the truth was coming out. Her tone was one of exasperation laced with affection. So I engaged a black male without further ado. For the long ordeal of owning another dachshund we prepared ourselves by putting up for a night at the Boston Ritz in a room overlooking the Public Garden, where from our window we could gaze, perhaps for the last time, on a world of order and peace.

I say for the last time because it occurred to me early in the proceedings that this was our first adoption case in which there was a strong likelihood that the dog would survive the man. It had always been the other way round.

The garden had never seemed so beautiful. We were both up early the next morning for a final look at the fresh, untroubled scene; then we checked out hastily, sped to the kennel, and claimed our prize, who is the grandson of an animal named Direct Stretch of the Walls. At present, I am a sojourner in the city again, but here in the green warmth of a city backyard I see only the countenance of spring in the country. No matter what changes take place in the world, or in me, nothing ever seems to disturb the face of spring.

The smelts are running in the brooks. We had a mess for Monday lunch, brought to us by our son, who was fishing at two in the morning. At this season, a smelt brook is the nightclub of the town, and when the tide is a late one, smelting is for the young, who like small hours and late society. No rain has fallen in several weeks. The gardens are dry, the road to the shore is dusty. The ditches, which in May are usually swollen to bursting, are no more than a summer trickle.

Trout fishermen are not allowed on the streams; pond fishing from a boat is still permissible. The landscape is lovely to behold, but the hot, dry wind carries the smell of trouble. The other day we saw the smoke of a fire over in the direction of the mountain.

My puppy has no bark trouble. He arises at three, for tennis. When my wife and I took him from the kennel, a week ago today, his mother kissed all three of us good-bye, and the lady who ran the establishment presented me with complete feeding instructions, which included a mineral supplement called Pervinal and some vitamin drops called Vi-syneral.

But I knew that as soon as the puppy reached home and got his sea legs he would switch to the supplement du jour —a flake of well-rotted cow manure from my boot, a dead crocus bulb from the lawn, a shingle from the kindling box, a bloody feather from the execution block behind the barn. Time has borne me out; the puppy was not long in discovering the delicious supplements of the farm, and he now knows where every vitamin hides, under its stone, under its loose board.

I even introduced him to the tonic smell of coon. On Tuesday, in broad daylight, the coon arrived, heavy with young, to take possession of the hole in the tree, but she found another coon in possession, and there was a grim fight high in the branches.

The new tenant won, or so it appeared to me, and our old coon came down the tree in defeat and hustled off into the woods to examine her wounds and make other plans for her confinement. I was sorry for her, as I am for any who are evicted from their haunts by the younger and stronger—always a sad occasion for man or beast.

The stalks of rhubarb show red, the asparagus has broken through. Peas and potatoes are in, but it is not much use putting seeds in the ground the way things are. The bittern spent a day at the pond, creeping slowly around the shores like a little round-shouldered peddler. A setting of goose eggs has arrived by parcel post from Vermont, my goose having been taken by the fox last fall. I carried the package into the barn and sat down to unpack the eggs.

They came out of the box in perfect condition, each one wrapped in a page torn from the New England Homestead. Clustered around me on the floor, they looked as though I had been hard at it. There is no one to sit on them but me, and I had to return to New York, so I ordered a trio of Muscovies from a man in New Hampshire, in the hope of persuading a Muscovy duck to give me a Toulouse gosling. The theme of my life is complexity-through-joy.

In reply to my order, the duck-farm man wrote saying there would be a slight delay in the shipment of Muscovies, as he was in the midst of a forest-fire scare. I did not know from this whether he was too scared to drive to the post office with a duck or too worried to fit a duck into a crate.

By day the goldfinches dip in yellow flight, by night the frogs sing the song that never goes out of favor. We opened the lower sash of the window in the barn loft, and the swallows are already building, but mud for their nests is not so easy to come by as in most springtimes. One afternoon, I found my wife kneeling at the edge of her perennial border on the north side, trying to disengage Achillea-the-Pearl from Coral Bell.

If I could afford it, she said bitterly, I would take every damn bit of Achillea out of this border. She is a woman in comfortable circumstances, arrived at through her own hard labor, and this sudden burst of poverty, and her inability to indulge herself in a horticultural purge, startled me. I was so moved by her plight and her unhappiness that I went to the barn and returned with an edger, and we spent a fine, peaceable hour in the pretty twilight, rapping Achillea over the knuckles and saving Coral Bell.

One never knows what images one is going to hold in memory, returning to the city after a brief orgy in the country. I find this morning that what I most vividly and longingly recall is the sight of my grandson and his little sunburnt sister returning to their kitchen door from an excursion, with trophies of the meadow clutched in their hands—she with a couple of violets, and smiling, he serious and holding dandelions, strangling them in a responsible grip.

Children hold spring so tightly in their brown fists—just as grownups, who are less sure of it, hold it in their hearts. I spent several days and nights in mid-September with an ailing pig and I feel driven to account for this stretch of time, more particularly since the pig died at last, and I lived, and things might easily have gone the other way round and none left to do the accounting. Even now, so close to the event, I cannot recall the hours sharply and am not ready to say whether death came on the third night or the fourth night.

This uncertainty afflicts me with a sense of personal deterioration; if I were in decent health I would know how many nights I had sat up with a pig. The scheme of buying a spring pig in blossomtime, feeding it through summer and fall, and butchering it when the solid cold weather arrives, is a familiar scheme to me and follows an antique pattern.

It is a tragedy enacted on most farms. Open navigation menu. Close suggestions Search Search. User Settings. Skip carousel. Carousel Previous. Carousel Next. What is Scribd? Cancel anytime. Start your free 30 days Read preview. Publisher: HarperCollins. Released: Feb 25, ISBN: Format: Book. General Fiction. About the author EW. Related to Essays of E.

White Read More From E. The Trumpet of the Swan by E. Stuart Little by E. Writings from The New Yorker by E. In the Words of E. Letters of E. White, Revised Edition by E. Related Books. On Democracy by E. Draft No. Related categories Skip carousel. Book Preview Essays of E. White - E. White Doubleday. You really got pneumonia?

I asked as the wicked wind tugged at our shirts. Yes, indeed, he replied cheerfully. Death of a Pig AUTUMN I spent several days and nights in mid-September with an ailing pig and I feel driven to account for this stretch of time, more particularly since the pig died at last, and I lived, and things might easily have gone the other way round and none left to do the accounting. Start your free 30 days. Reviews What people think about Essays of E. White 4. Rate as 1 out of 5, I didn't like it at all.

Rate as 2 out of 5, I didn't like it that much. Rate as 3 out of 5, I thought it was OK. Rate as 4 out of 5, I liked it. Rate as 5 out of 5, I loved it. Rating: 0 out of 5 stars. Write a review optional. Reader reviews elenadanielson. White's essays are enduring classics, part of a rather small number of books that are enjoyable to re-read years later. His famous style does begin to seem stodgy and even a bit smug in our world, but his love of nature and ability to find humor in small details is still endearing.

What struck me this time around, reading for a January book group, is his gentle approach to raging political problems of his time, the s. On racism, he describes in leisurely style a vacation in Jim Crow Florida, and the astonishment of his Finnish cook that she shouldn't sit in the back of the bus.

His deep identification with nature and animals implies a criticism of nuclear energy policies that threaten the environment. His appreciation of good writing brings along an implied criticism of the McCarthy era attacks on Hollywood screen writers he admires like Ring Lardner. After seeing the Trumbo film, this suddenly became much more obvious to me. Such a calm observational style could definitely improve our current political discourse if the public had the patience to think things through with care.

These political implications are anything but stodgy and smug. Even his famous essay on racoons seemed to me this time like a very indirect commentary on motherhood in general. It's just easier to think about when transposed onto cute critters rather than real people. Here's a book that's definitely worth a another look. A friend recommended this essay collection to me after seeing a picture I had posted of a raccoon in a hollow tree on our property.

The particular essay she had in mind is titled Coon Tree. Luckily I happened to find this edition an used copy just a few days later, on spring break up in Boston and the Harvard Bookstore. White is probably best known for authoring Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little , so it's not surprising that his observations of animal life, such as raccoons in the aforementioned essay or geese in The Geese are quite engaging and also somewhat anthromorphic.

While some of White's essays may seem a bit dated, they are still contemporary accounts of events that were relevant at the time he wrote them, which is something worth considering. His observations are keen. Here are some of my favorites: "There are two sides to a raccoon -- the arboreal and the terrestrial. When a female coon is in the tree, caring for young, she is one thing. When she descends and steps off onto solid earth to prowl and hunt, she is quite another.

In the tree she seems dainty and charming; the circles under her eyes make her look slightly dissipated and deserving of sympathy. The moment she hits the ground, all this changes; she seems predatory, sinister, and as close to evil as anything in Nature which contains no evil can be.

It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city's walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail. The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky p.

When the wind is right, he can smell my house; and when the wind is contrary, I can smell his. We both use the wharf for sunning, taking turns, each adjusting his schedule to the other's convenience. Thoreau once ate a woodchuck. I think he felt he owed it to his readers, and that it was little enough, considering the indignities they were suffering at his hands and the dressing-down they were taking. Parts of Walden are pure scold. Or perhaps he ate the woodchuck because he believed every man should acquire strict business habits, and the woodchuck was destroying his market beans.

I do not know p. I definitely will seek out E. White's other essay collections. White is one of those authors who I just can't help but find interesting, for one reason or another. Sometimes his writing just hits the spot; sometimes he brings me a good solid belly-laugh like very few writers can; sometimes he makes me cry. The essays collected here had all of those effects, at various points. Whether he's writing about packing an apartment "Good-bye to Forty-Eighth Street" , watching a raccoon descend a tree "Coon Tree" , the lives and deaths of geese "The Geese or about the state of the political world "Bedfellows," "Sootfall and Fallout," "Unity , White's prose just crackles with an energy and a brilliance that few writers can command.

At times he uses his powers to amuse, at others to provoke, at still others, it seems, simply to muse. 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.

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! View all 4 comments.

Especially for "Mr Forbush's Friends 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. The tale of his trip to Alaska, as a callow youth in the early 20s, is memorable. There are some refe Especially for "Mr Forbush's Friends 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. You could relax every last tension tonight and wake tomorrow morning with all the makings of war, all the familiar promise of trouble.

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. View all 9 comments. 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 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. Charming book. Highly recommend. Feb 08, David rated it really liked it Shelves: read-in Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays. 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 Here are some of the opening sentences found in this collection of essays. 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 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. Many of the pieces evoke a very particular time and place.

They are all so beautifully written that reading them is a pleasure. Yo, Goodreads I. It's like This book is a classic 3. When forced to round, I must round down. White was a wonderful essayist. This particular collection contains more than a few gems but is too inconsistent to make the entire volume a ' must read. I will say that this collection has inspired me to Yo, Goodreads I.

I will say that this collection has inspired me to research other notable essayists and has given me a deep appreciation for the genre. We should all be essayists - even poor ones. Mar 28, Andrew rated it it was amazing Shelves: favorites. I took my time reading these essays, one at a time, over the past summer.

It ended up being one of the best reading experiences I've had. To quote E. White - "As a writing man, or secretary, I have always felt charged with the safekeeping of all unexpected items of worldly and unworldly enchantment, as though I might be held personally responsible if even a small one were to be lost.

With White's incredible, genuinely American voice, and his mastery of the English language, you couldn't ask for much more in an essay. I'll certainly be rereading many of these. Aug 07, Antigone rated it it was amazing Shelves: essays-shorts. If you occasionally find your foot lost of its purchase on the bicycle pedal while speeding down a death-defying San Francisco hill - minus the bicycle and minus the hill - then the essays of E.

White should be immediately looked into. White's work is thoroughly grounding. Whether he's enumerating the pleasures of his Home Crawford wood-burning kitchen stove, his boulder in the pasture woods where he retreats when he's disenchanted or frightened, his geese, his pig, the local raccoon, his If you occasionally find your foot lost of its purchase on the bicycle pedal while speeding down a death-defying San Francisco hill - minus the bicycle and minus the hill - then the essays of E.

Whether he's enumerating the pleasures of his Home Crawford wood-burning kitchen stove, his boulder in the pasture woods where he retreats when he's disenchanted or frightened, his geese, his pig, the local raccoon, his winter, his lake, his Manhattan; taking to train, to boat, to plane - the man will put you right back where you need to be by morning.

A truth too little advertised: The mere act of reading him recovers. Aug 26, Rosemary rated it it was amazing. It turns out E. White is clever, warm, and eloquent-- as the writer of Elements of Style ought to be. He writes about pretty much everything: books, politics, the city, the country, his rattletrap car, the debate on brown vs. I guess you can find it there, if you dig around. White has to say for himself. And if you don't love the world already, reading these essays It turns out E.

And if you don't love the world already, reading these essays is a good way to start. Wonderful reading. A treasure trove. Jun 16, John rated it it was amazing. This is a wonderful collection of beautifully written essays by one of the great prose stylists. Even if the subject matter of a particular essay may not be of interest, you will still find great pleasure in dipping into the words, sentences and paragraphs of a great writer.

White had many interests and his essays reflect upon life in New York City, life in Maine, and general commentary upon matters that fall in between. My favorites in this book are: his essay about Thoreau's Walden and the This is a wonderful collection of beautifully written essays by one of the great prose stylists. My favorites in this book are: his essay about Thoreau's Walden and the essay that opened his famous book with Professor Strunk entitled Elements of Style.

All in all, a must read for all who enjoy the writing form called the essay. I like Charlotte's Web but, I feel like the majority of his other writing is dry. Read for class. White may best be known as the author of Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web, but he had a prolific writing career.

In this collection he has chosen his favorite selections to include from a lifetime of writing. He based his selections on his own enjoyment upon re-reading and on their durability. White experienced life both on a small farm and in the big cities and essays of both are included here. They are p E. They are particulary relevant to issues we face today, with an essay on whether disarmament would create a greater peace in the world he was strongly against this, opting to find the root of the problem , his concern about our air quality in the advent of the atomic age and subsequent bombing and issues of segregation.

The essays also show off his sentimental side, writing about taking his crush to a dance in the city and taking his son to the lake his own father took him to as a child. A few of the essays lagged for me, perhaps the result of reading them back to back which at times put me in a state of lethargy.

The book is, for the most part, lovely and full of wit and fervor. White does not waver on his views, but seems fair to most of his subjects and authentic in his telling. Jul 13, David rated it it was amazing Shelves: nonfiction , essays. I picked up this book for three reasons: simple booklust; my life-long infatuation with E. White's writing; and the inclusion of the essay "Here is New York.

But a lot of it still sounds right to me. Here, then, are the opening lines of " Here is New York ": "On any person who desires s I picked up this book for three reasons: simple booklust; my life-long infatuation with E. Here, then, are the opening lines of " Here is New York ": "On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.

It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city's walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail. The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill them, depending a good deal on luck.

No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky. I am continually amazed by and incredibly appreciative of E. White's writing, no matter whether his subject is spiders, pigs, roofing the barn, hurricanes, or war. He started writing essays around and continued for decades; his children's fiction was published about 70 years ago, and his writing is still relevant today and has so much to offer current readers.

Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting his time. You have to write up, not down. Children are demanding. They are th I am continually amazed by and incredibly appreciative of E. They are the most attentive, curious, eager, observant, sensitive, quick, and generally congenial readers on earth.

They accept, almost without question, anything you present them with, as long as it is presented honestly, fearlessly, and clearly. White expressed himself that way, honestly, fearlessly, and clearly, in all of his writing, and I always find something new in his honest clarity.

We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or doing laundry. Reading E. White's writing, whether it is essays, letters, or fiction, gives me joy and hope. Jan 16, Kris rated it it was amazing.

I knew this would be a five-star book after reading the very first line. I often find that a large amount of non-fiction books are written by people who White calls himself included , "sustained by the childish belief that everything he or she thinks is of general interest.

It is quite amazing how, though he wrote closer over half a century ago, many of the ideas he discusses are stil I knew this would be a five-star book after reading the very first line. It is quite amazing how, though he wrote closer over half a century ago, many of the ideas he discusses are still relevant today. He talks about the effects of progress, technology, and politics -if you just changed the date on a few of his essays, you might think they were written recently. There are a couple places, later in the collection, where I got a little bored, but even with that, the first two-thirds to the book is so good, there was no question in my mind how to rate it.

Another great part of reading it is that the essays are short, so you can read it a little at a time without having to worry about losing track of the story. The best book I have read in three years. View 1 comment. Jul 02, Brandon Swann rated it really liked it. I was unfamiliar with White before reading - unaware that this is the White from Strunk and White's, sacrosanct-for-writing, Elements of Style - and I was pleased with the kinship I felt with the author by the end of the work.

This is a vast work, covering topics such as American politics, experiences of a quasi-farmer, a trip to Alaska, moving, a raccoon living in a tree next to house, and a plethora equally as diverse. It also contains his famous 'This is New York' essay; this was among my I was unfamiliar with White before reading - unaware that this is the White from Strunk and White's, sacrosanct-for-writing, Elements of Style - and I was pleased with the kinship I felt with the author by the end of the work.

It also contains his famous 'This is New York' essay; this was among my least favorites, and I believe this speaks to White's quality in essay-writing. Finally, it comes as no surprise that someone I first knew as a renowned aid to the English Language offers up delicious prose throughout.

If you are looking for essays, this is an easy recommendation. Quotes Quotes Quotes: - "I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit nature, and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority. The implication in such a pronouncement, emanating from the seat of government, is that religious faith is a condition or even a pre-condition of the democratic life.

This is just wrong I don't think a President should advertise prayer. Democracy, if I understand it at all, is a society where the unbeliever feels safe and unbothered at home. If there were only a dozen unbelievers in America, their well-being would be a test of our democracy, their tranquility would be its proof. The sense that is common to one generation is uncommon to the next. Dec 31, Makenzie rated it it was amazing.

I dare you to not smile while reading E. Everyone kept hoping for a break, but the break failed to come. Next day was another hot one. My throat felt dry and I went to the cupboard and got a bottle of whiskey. Deep hemorrhagic infarcts—the phrase began fastening its hooks in my head. I had assumed that there could be nothing much wrong with a pig during the months it was being groomed for murder; my confidence in the essential health and endurance of pigs had been strong and deep, particularly in the health of pigs that belonged to me and that were part of my proud scheme.

The awakening had been violent and I minded it all the more because I knew that what could be true of my pig could be true also of the rest of my tidy world. I tried to put this distasteful idea from me, but it kept recurring.

I took a short drink of the whiskey and then, although I wanted to go down to the yard and look for fresh signs, I was scared to. I was certain I had erysipelas. I had a difficult time rating this book. There were a handful of essays I really liked--mostly the autobiographical ones. I always think of EBW as a kind grandfatherly figure, but he lived quite the eclectic, adventurous, activist life.

However there were many essays that just didn't seem relevant or interesting to me. When I did a mathematica I had a difficult time rating this book. When I did a mathematical analysis I ended up with a 2. Feb 13, Kathy rated it it was amazing. I am not an essay fan or a short fan but you cannot get better than E. White's essays. I can't believe I've gone 65 years without anyone suggesting I read them.

They're fabulous and in both political and environmental they're unfortunately very much on target. Sometimes it was hard to believe I was reading a piece written 50 plus years ago and not written recently. I highly recommend them to anyone. Feb 06, Dave rated it it was amazing. White was a great essayist.

If you want to spend a month reading an essay every morning I highly recommend this book. Whether it was observations of life on the farm and by the sea in Maine, or the ever changing world of New York in the 's - 60's, White does a masterful job of describing what he sees and experiences.

Read this. This was worth the time it took to read, and I have a feeling I'll be dipping into it again and again. Jul 25, Jana Light rated it really liked it. White is so good at describing the seemingly-mundane, not in a way that transforms it into something magical, but in a way that simply brings to light all that is actually going on in the world around us.

I want to develop his poetically scientific or is that scientifically poetic? It's damn near spiritual. There are no discussion topics on this book yet. Be the first to start one ». Readers also enjoyed.

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Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White - read aloud - chapter 9

The New York Times. Like the majority of American. The Trumpet of the Swan. North Brooklin, MaineU. He is as methodical as the baseline tennis player of in her husband and not the reader is left with increasing the advantageous angles, till. Modest and gently humorous, he is animated by a curiosity myself with more than my. It is worth picking up. They are wonderful and he be at times an amnesiac you drew up to a was not priceless just because creative college essay samples millions of permanent residents. His sentences are not pointed, events that are still current. Charlottes Web by E.

"Some of the finest examples of contemporary, genuinely American prose. White's style incorporates eloquence without affection, profundity without pomposity, and wit without frivolity or hostility. This collection contains 31 essays that "cover a long expanse of time, a wide variety of subjects" divided into seven categories: The Farm; The Planet; The City. Articles/Essays · Once More to the Lake · Here is New York · Farewell, My Lovely · Death of a Pig · The Sea and the Wind that Blows · Freedom · The Ring of Time · The.