By Abraham Pais
The writer of a hugely acclaimed biorgaphy of Einstein, refined is the Lord, Pais writes engagingly for a common viewers. He movingly descibes his interval of hiding in Nazi-occupied Holland (he ended the conflict in a Gestapo legal) sooner than taking inventory of his existence in the US, rather within the newly equipped Institute for complicated learn in Princeton, then directed by way of the bright and debatable physicist Robert Oppenheimer. Pais new and labored with a few of the greats of twentieth-century physics, and he relates many desirable tales approximately Oppenheimer, Einstein, Bohr, Sakharov, Dirac, Heisenberg, and von Neumann, in addition to approximately non-scientists like Chaim Weizmann, George Kennan, Erwin Panofsky, and Pablo Casals. His enthusiasm approximately technology and lifestyles mostly pervades a booklet that's either a memoir and a heritage of technological know-how.
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IN THE COURT CHAPTER I THE DAWN AN ANCIENT ENGLISH Cathedral Town? How can the ancient English Cathedral town be here! The well-known massive grey square tower of its old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is no spike of rusty iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect. What IS the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up? Maybe, it is set up by the Sultan’s orders for the impaling of a horde of Turkish robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goes by to his palace in long procession.
Chesterton, who served as the trial’s judge, and George Bernard Shaw, a late addition as foreman of the jury. The result was an enjoyable and somewhat bizarre blend of literary analysis and cultural commentary, of debate and dramatization, that ended up edging into a postmodern paratext of the unfinished book. The live performance must have been made more striking still by the period costume of the participants playing fictional characters juxtaposed with the contemporary dress of the jurors. The format worked well because intrinsic in the idea of the trial is the absence of a single “correct way” to read Drood.
I got Heavens-hard drunk for sixteen year afore I took to this; but this don’t hurt me, not to speak of. ” She hands him the nearly-emptied pipe, and sinks back, turning over on her face. He rises unsteadily from the bed, lays the pipe upon the hearthstone, draws back the ragged curtain, and looks with repugnance at his three companions. He notices that the woman has opium-smoked herself into a strange likeness of the Chinaman. His form of cheek, eye, and temple, and his color, are repeated in her.