Summary of Tennessee Williams's Memoirs

By IRB Media

Please note: This is a companion version & not the original book. Book Preview:

#1 I once visited a house that had a library with almost nothing but large leather-bound volumes. I found a secret doorway, and inside was a real book that was titled International Who’s Who. I pulled the book out of its case and turned to the index to see if I had made that scene. I was pleased to discover that there was some harmless inaccuracies.

#2 I had received a grant of one thousand dollars from the National Institute of Arts and Letters in the year in which I had to hock literally everything I owned, including an old borrowed typewriter and everything else old and new and portable.

#3 There were, in the forties, certain fabulously fat pocketbooks that scattered bits of much-publicized dole to young talents. But none of these programs came early enough to have saved the artists from their own destruction.

#4 I was a feather picker on a squab ranch in Los Angeles in 1939. I received a telegram from the Group Theatre in New York informing me that I had received a special award of one hundred dollars for a group of one-act plays called American Blues.

• Language: English
• Publisher: IRB Media
• Release date: May 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798822508835

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Insights on Tennessee Williams's Memoirs

Contents

Insights from Chapter 1

Insights from Chapter 1

#1

I once visited a house that had a library with almost nothing but large leather-bound volumes. I found a secret doorway, and inside was a real book that was titled International Who’s Who. I pulled the book out of its case and turned to the index to see if I had made that scene. I was pleased to discover that there was some harmless inaccuracies.

#2

I had received a grant of one thousand dollars from the National Institute of Arts and Letters in the year in which I had to hock literally everything I owned, including an old borrowed typewriter and everything else old and new and portable.

#3

There were, in the forties, certain fabulously fat pocketbooks that scattered bits of much-publicized dole to young talents. But none of these programs came early enough to have saved the artists from their own destruction.

#4

I was a feather picker on a squab ranch in Los Angeles in 1939. I received a telegram from the Group Theatre in New York informing me that I had received a special award of one hundred dollars for a group of one-act plays called American Blues.

#5

I can never be a true misanthrope, looking back on the totally sincere and nonenvious congratulations which I received from my colleagues and also from my employers on the squab ranch. I was a writer, and consequently a kook, and yet I was crowned with this heavenly manna.

#6

I was left alone with the plague-stricken poultry after the incident with my friend. I went without nourishment for about ten days, except for some remnants of dried peas and some avocados that I stole from a grove in the canyon. I subsisted on these meager rations.

#7

I received a wire from Miss Luise M. Sillcox, executive secretary of the Dramatists Guild, and a phone call from Audrey Wood informing me that I had been awarded a thousand-dollar grant. My mother, the indomitable Mrs. Edwina Williams, was extremely happy.

#8

I arrived in New York City by Greyhound at daybreak. I had not rested or shaved, and looked pretty disreputable when I presented myself at the offices of Liebling-Wood, Inc. The reception room was full of girls seeking chorus jobs in a musical that Mr. Liebling was casting.

#9

I had been the victim of a troubled adolescence. My first eight years of childhood in Mississippi were the