Christopher Isherwood famous mostly for his great Berlin trilogy wrote much more than those three novels of course yet I had hardly ever heard of any of them before. Prater Violet sees the literary Isherwood - the author is the character is not the author? - working on a film set in England under an Austrian director having fled the restrictions imposed upon him in his native country. His story is essentially a portrayal of the clash between a culturally aware and demanding director schlepping in his tow his script-writing underling and the commercially-focused producer. It is a short, enjoyable read, showing Isherwood's forte, human observations and transports a slightly melancholic understanding of humanity that I personally find quite beautiful.
Friday Night Music: When I’m 64
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