Joan Chase (1) (1936–2018)
Autore di During the Reign of the Queen of Persia
Per altri autori con il nome Joan Chase, vedi la pagina di disambiguazione.
Sull'Autore
Joan Chase was born Joan Lucille Strausbaugh in Wooster, Ohio on November 26, 1936. She received a bachelor's degree in philosophy from the University of Maryland in 1958 and worked as a librarian. Her first novel, During the Reign of the Queen of Persia, was published in 1983 and won the Ernest mostra altro Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award. Her other books included The Evening Wolves and Bonneville Blue. She also won a Whiting Foundation award in 1987, a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1990, and the Janet Heidinger Kafka prize for fiction. She died on April 17, 2018 at the age of 81. (Bowker Author Biography) mostra meno
Opere di Joan Chase
Opere correlate
Etichette
Informazioni generali
- Nome legale
- Chase, Joan Lucille
- Altri nomi
- Strausbaugh, Joan Lucille (birth name)
- Data di nascita
- 1936-11-26
- Data di morte
- 2018-04-17
- Sesso
- female
- Nazionalità
- USA
- Nazione (per mappa)
- USA
- Luogo di nascita
- Wooster, Ohio, USA
- Luogo di morte
- Needham, Massachusetts, USA
- Luogo di residenza
- Washington, D.C., USA
Illinois, USA
Vermont, USA
Maryland,USA
Somerville, Massachusetts, USA - Istruzione
- University of Maryland (BA - Philosophy)
- Attività lavorative
- novelist
short-story writer
writing teacher
librarian - Organizzazioni
- Ragdale Foundation (Assistant Director)
Princeton University
University of Iowa (Writer's Workshop) - Premi e riconoscimenti
- Whiting Foundation Award (1987)
Guggenheim Fellowship (1990)
Janet Heidinger Kafka Prize for Fiction
Utenti
Recensioni
Liste
"We" narration (1)
Premi e riconoscimenti
Potrebbero anche piacerti
Autori correlati
Statistiche
- Opere
- 3
- Opere correlate
- 1
- Utenti
- 377
- Popolarità
- #64,011
- Voto
- 3.6
- Recensioni
- 7
- ISBN
- 22
- Lingue
- 3
Often she'd (Aunt Libby) warned us that moments of happiness hang like pearls on the finest silken thread, certain to be snapped, the pearls scattered away. (36)
Before we got into the house there was the smell of coffee coming onto the porch. Grandad's straw-and-manure-crusted boots were set beside the fir-board cupboards and the shelves that overflowed with so much junk nobody could find anything. (62)
'Gram's baking pies,' we sang as we raced up the stairs to change, with still a full day ahead, a day holding everything we could ever want. (62)
Peaceable, we waited on the porch in the dappling noontime. In the Mason jars stacked up dusty and fly-specked on the side shelves, in the broken-webbed snowshoes hung there, the heap of rusty hinged traps waiting this long time to be oiled and set to catch something in the night, was the visible imprint of the past we were rooted in. (70)
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