To Know A Man's Library

I Do Believe That Our Modern English Usage Has Become Way Too Clipped And Austere. I Have Been Reading Excerpts From The Journals Of 18th-century Seafarers Lately, And Even The Lowliest Press-ganged Deck-swabber Turns A Finer Phrase Than I Do Most Days.

I Knew I Was Going To Be A Journalist When I Was Eight Years Old And I Saw The Printing Presses Rolling At The Sydney Newspaper Where My Dad Worked As A Proofreader.

'you've Got Mail!' Exclaims The Cheery Automaton At America Online. The Flag On The Mailbox Icon Waves Invitingly On My Computer Screen. For A Second, I'm 10 Years Old Again, Waiting For The Postman's Whistle To Slice The Stillness Of An Australian Afternoon.

If Screenwriters Have To Kill Off A Female Character, They Love To Give Her Cancer. We've Seen So Many Great Actresses Go Down To The Big C: Ali Macgraw, Meryl Streep, Emma Thompson, Debra Winger, Susan Sarandon.

And One Of The Things That I Learned Was You Can't Generalise At All About A Woman In A Veil. You Can't Think You Know Her Story, Because She Will Confound You Over And Over Again. She May Be An Engineer Or A Diplomat Or A Doctor. Or She May Be An Unbelievable Babe With Bleached Hair Down To Her Waist.