The classic collection of Edna Ferber. Pulitzer Prize 1925. Novels, Novellas and short stories. Illustrated : So Big, Show Boat, Buttered Side Down, Personality Plus, Gigolo and others

Edna Ferber

Description

Edna Ferber was an American novelist, short story writer and playwright. Her novels include the Pulitzer Prize-winning So Big (1924), Show Boat (1926; made into the celebrated 1927 musical), Cimarron (1930; adapted into the 1931 film which won the Academy Award for Best Picture), Giant (1952; made into the 1956 film of the same name) and Ice Palace (1958), which also received a film adaptation in 1960. She helped adapt her short story "Old Man Minick", published in 1922, into a play (Minick) and it was thrice adapted to film, in 1925 as the silent film Welcome Home, in 1932 as The Expert, and in 1939 as No Place to Go.
Contents:
Novels
Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed
Fanny Herself
So Big
Show Boat
Novellas and short story collections
Buttered Side Down
Roast Beef, Medium
Personality Plus
Emma Mc Chesney and Co.
Cheerful – By Request
Half Portions
Gigolo

Sujets

• historical
• Classics
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Andrii Ponomarenko
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9786178289492
• Langue: English

Extrait

The classic collection of Edna Ferber. Pulitzer Prize 1925. Novels, Novellas and short stories
So Big, Show Boat, Buttered Side Down, Personality Plus, Gigolo and others
Illustrated
Edna Ferber was an American novelist, short story writer and playwright. Her novels include the Pulitzer Prize-winning So Big (1924), Show Boat (1926; made into the celebrated 1927 musical), Cimarron (1930; adapted into the 1931 film which won the Academy Award for Best Picture), Giant (1952; made into the 1956 film of the same name) and Ice Palace (1958), which also received a film adaptation in 1960. She helped adapt her short story "Old Man Minick", published in 1922, into a play (Minick) and it was thrice adapted to film, in 1925 as the silent film Welcome Home, in 1932 as The Expert, and in 1939 as No Place to Go.

Novels
Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed
Fanny Herself
So Big
Show Boat

Novellas and short story collections
Buttered Side Down
Roast Beef, Medium
Personality Plus
Emma Mc Chesney and Co.
Cheerful – By Request
Half Portions
Gigolo
TABLE OF CONTENTS
NOVELS
DAWN O’HARA, THE GIRL WHO LAUGHED
CHAPTER I. THE SMASH-UP
CHAPTER II. MOSTLY EGGS
CHAPTER III. GOOD AS NEW
CHAPTER IV. DAWN DEVELOPS A HEIMWEH
CHAPTER V. THE ABSURD BECOMES SERIOUS
CHAPTER VI. STEEPED IN GERMAN
CHAPTER VII. BLACKIE’S PHILOSOPHY
CHAPTER VIII. KAFFEE AND KAFFEEKUCHEN
CHAPTER IX. THE LADY FROM VIENNA
CHAPTER X. A TRAGEDY OF GOWNS
CHAPTER XI. VON GERHARD SPEAKS
CHAPTER XII. BENNIE THE CONSOLER
CHAPTER XIII. THE TEST
CHAPTER XIV. BENNIE AND THE CHARMING OLD MAID
CHAPTER XV. FAREWELL TO KNAPFS
CHAPTER XVI. JUNE MOONLIGHT, AND A NEW BOARDINGHOUSE
CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW OF TERROR
CHAPTER XVIII. PETER ORME
CHAPTER XIX. A TURN OF THE WHEEL
CHAPTER XX. BLACKIE’S VACATION COMES
CHAPTER XXI. HAPPINESS
FANNY HERSELF
PREFACE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SO BIG
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
SHOW BOAT
INTRODUCTION
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
NOVELLAS AND SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
BUTTERED SIDE DOWN
FOREWORD
I. THE FROG AND THE PUDDLE
II. THE MAN WHO CAME BACK
III. WHAT SHE WORE
IV. A BUSH LEAGUE HERO
V. THE KITCHEN SIDE OF THE DOOR
VI. ONE OF THE OLD GIRLS
VII. MAYMEYS FROM CUBA
VIII. THE LEADING LADY
IX. THAT HOME-TOWN FEELING
X. THE HOMELY HEROINE
XI. SUN DRIED
XII. WHERE THE CAR TURNS AT 18TH
ROAST BEEF, MEDIUM
FOREWORD
I. — ROAST BEEF, MEDIUM
II. — REPRESENTING T. A. BUCK
III. — CHICKENS
IV. — HIS MOTHER'S SON
V. — PINK TIGHTS AND GINGHAMS
VI. — SIMPLY SKIRTS
VII. — UNDERNEATH THE HIGH-CUT VEST
VIII. — CATCHING UP WITH CHRISTMAS
IX. — KNEE-DEEP IN KNICKERS
X. — IN THE ABSENCE OF THE AGENT
PERSONALITY PLUS
I. MAKING GOOD WITH MOTHER
II. PERSONALITY PLUS
III. DICTATED BUT NOT READ
IV. THE MAN WITHIN HIM
V. THE SELF-STARTER
EMMA McCHESNEY & CO.
I. BROADWAY TO BUENOS AIRES
II. THANKS TO MISS MORRISSEY
III. A CLOSER CORPORATION
IV. BLUE SERGE
V. "HOOPS, MY DEAR!"
VI. SISTERS UNDER THEIR SKIN
VII. AN ETUDE FOR EMMA
CHEERFUL - BY REQUEST
I. CHEERFUL—BY REQUEST
II. THE GAY OLD DOG
III. THE TOUGH GUY
IV. THE ELDEST
V. THAT'S MARRIAGE
VI. THE WOMAN WHO TRIED TO BE GOOD
VII. THE GIRL WHO WENT RIGHT
VIII. THE HOOKER-UP-THE-BACK
IX. THE GUIDING MISS GOWD
X. SOPHY-AS-SHE-MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN
XI. THE THREE OF THEM
XII. SHORE LEAVE
HALF PORTIONS
THE MATERNAL FEMININE
APRIL 25TH, AS USUAL
OLD LADY MANDLE
YOU'VE GOT TO BE SELFISH
LONG DISTANCE
UN MORSO DOO PANG
ONE HUNDRED PER CENT
FARMER IN THE DELL
THE DANCING GIRLS
GIGOLO
THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN
OLD MAN MINICK
GIGOLO
NOT A DAY OVER TWENTY-ONE
HOME GIRL
AIN'T NATURE WONDERFUL!
THE SUDDEN SIXTIES
IF I SHOULD EVER TRAVEL!
Publisher: Andrii Ponomarenko © Ukraine - Kyiv 2023
ISBN: 978-617-8289-49-2
NOVELS
DAWN O’HARA, THE GIRL WHO LAUGHED
CHAPTER I. THE SMASH-UP
There are a number of things that are pleasanter than being sick in a New York boarding-house when one’s nearest dearest is a married sister up in far-away Michigan.
Some one must have been very kind, for there were doctors, and a blue-and-white striped nurse, and bottles and things. There was even a vase of perky carnations—scarlet ones. I discovered that they had a trick of nodding their heads, saucily. The discovery did not appear to surprise me.
“Howdy-do!” said I aloud to the fattest and reddest carnation that overtopped all the rest. “How in the world did you get in here?”
The striped nurse (I hadn’t noticed her before) rose from some corner and came swiftly over to my bedside, taking my wrist between her fingers.
“I’m very well, thank you,” she said, smiling, “and I came in at the door, of course.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I snapped, crossly, “I was speaking to the carnations; particularly to that elderly one at the top—the fat one who keeps bowing and wagging his head at me.”
“Oh, yes,” answered the striped nurse, politely, “of course. That one is very lively, isn’t he? But suppose we take them out for a little while now.”
She picked up the vase and carried it into the corridor, and the carnations nodded their heads more vigorously than ever over her shoulder.
I heard her call softly to some one. The some one answered with a sharp little cry that sounded like, “Conscious!”
The next moment my own sister Norah came quietly into the room, and knelt at the side of my bed and took me in her arms. It did not seem at all surprising that she should be there, patting me with reassuring little love pats, murmuring over me with her lips against my cheek, calling me a hundred half-forgotten pet names that I had not heard for years. But then, nothing seemed to surprise me that surprising day. Not even the sight of a great, red-haired, red-faced, scrubbed looking man who strolled into the room just as Norah was in the midst of denouncing newspapers in general, and my newspaper in particular, and calling the city editor a slave-driver and a beast. The big, red-haired man stood regarding us tolerantly.
“Better, eh?” said he, not as one who asks a question, but as though in confirmation of a thought. Then he too took my wrist between his fingers. His touch was very firm and cool. After that he pulled down my eyelids and said, “H’m.” Then he patted my cheek smartly once or twice. “You’ll do,” he pronounced. He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and looked it over, keen-eyed. There followed a clinking of bottles and glasses, a few low-spoken words to the nurse, and then, as she left the room the big red-haired man seated himself heavily in the chair near the bedside and rested his great hands on his fat knees. He stared down at me in much the same way that a huge mastiff looks at a terrier. Finally his glance rested on my limp left hand.
“Married, h’m?”
For a moment the word would not come. I could hear Norah catch her breath quickly. Then—“Yes,” answered I.
“Husband living?” I could see suspicion dawning in his cold gray eye.
Again the catch in Norah’s throat and a little half warning, half supplicating gesture. And again, “Yes,” said I.
The dawn of suspicion burst into full glow.
“Where is he?” growled the red-haired doctor. “At a time like this?”
I shut my eyes for a moment, too sick at heart to resent his manner. I could feel, more than see, that Sis was signaling him frantically. I moistened my lips and answered him, bitterly.
“He is in the Starkweather Hospital for the insane.”
When the red-haired man spoke again the growl was quite gone from his voice.
“And your home is—where?”
“Nowhere,” I replied meekly, from my pillow. But at that Sis put her hand out quickly, as though she had been struck, and said:
“My home is her home.”
“Well then, take her there,” he ordered, frowning, “and keep her there as long as you can. Newspaper reporting, h’m? In New York? That’s a devil of a job for a woman. And a husband who... Well, you’ll have to take a six months’ course in loafing, young woman. And at the end of that time, if you are still determined to work, can’t you pick out something easier—like taking in scrubbing, for instance?”
I managed a feeble smile, wishing that he would go away quickly, so that I might sleep. He seemed to divine my thoughts, for he disappeared into the corridor, taking Norah with him. Their voices, low-pitched and carefully guarded, could be heard as they conversed outside my door.
Norah was telling him the whole miserable business. I wished, savagely, that she would let me tell it, if it must be told. How could she paint the fascination of the man who was my husband? She had never known the charm of him as I had known it in those few brief months before our marriage. She had never felt the caress of his voice, or the magnetism of his strange, smoldering eyes glowing across the smoke-dimmed city room as I had felt them fixed on me. No one had ever known what he had meant to the girl of twenty, with her brain full of unspoken dreams—dreams which were all to become glorious realities in that wonder-place, New York.
How he had fired my country-girl imagination! He had been the most brilliant writer on the big, brilliant sheet—and the most dissolute. How my heart had pounded on that first lonely day when this Wonder-Being looked up from his desk, saw me, and strolled over to where I sat before my typewriter! He smiled down at me, companionably. I’m quite sure that my mouth must have been wide open with surprise. He had been smoking a cigarette—an expensive-looking, gold-t