Burroughs, Thomas

In my hometown newspaper, Augusten Burroughs says he’s embarrassed to have written his memoirs, both of them, at such a young age:

‘To be in your 30s and have a memoir? Oh, it’s just mortifying. I mean, I come out with a memoir just when memoirs were cliche, right when it was like `The world does not need more.’ And I do not just one, but two.’

Poor Augusten. I’ll help you out. I’ll take the royalty checks. (Via Bookwatch.)

A article recalling the poetry of Dylan Thomas and considering its place in the canon asserts that:

“Of the three formidable Welsh poets of the 20th century named Thomas, Dylan Thomas lacks the mature meditative voice and soberly refulgent vision of Edward, and his dealings with the God he didn’t believe in are much less interesting than those of the heterodox clergyman RS.”

Also discussed: the night of Thomas’ death. At 39, in the middle of the night, Thomas slipped out from his mistress’ house to The White Horse Tavern (just down the road from my workplace) for a drink. He was away for two hours and when he returned, he reportedly said: “I’ve had 18 straight whiskies. I think that is the record.”


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