Random House, 500 pp., $55.00
So The New Yorker, like one of those ferocious patriotic ladies in the First World War, has handed Picasso the white feather. He was 'a coward, who sat out two wars while his friends were suffering and dying,' although, the passage continues, less certainly, 'he may have been right to do this in the First War, but he did it again, in the same way, in the Second .'[1]
Review, 6343 words
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