By Stephen Brennan
Jack London has been a best-selling writer for multiple hundred years. In his brief lifestyles (1876–1916) he wrote twenty-five novels and dozens of brief tales, performs, and essays. this day he's famous as a forerunner of such literary giants as Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Jack Kerouac. writer of a few famous and well-loved tales in our literature (including White Fang, the decision of the Wild, and The Sea Wolf), London additionally labored as an afternoon laborer, Alaskan gold rusher, and seaman. He used to be additionally an adventurer, journalist, megastar, polemicist, and drunk.
An Autobiography of Jack London is a revealing portrait of the guy who was once Jack London—in his personal words—and is essentially composed of excerpts from his memoirs: The highway, John Barleycorn, and The Cruise of the Snark. instead of a trifling biographical precis of a man’s existence, An Autobiography of Jack London
goals to offer the reader actual perception into the nature and character of this uniquely American literary icon. This e-book is illustrated all through with greater than 40 drawings, facsimile pages from his works, and modern photos, many taken through London himself.
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Additional info for An Autobiography of Jack London
And so I wouldn’t write for the money. I knew I could make my way there somehow. I let them think I had enough to get me to Salt Lake City. She is lovely, and so kind. She was always kind to me. I guess I’ll go into the shop and learn the trade. She has two daughters. They are younger than I. ” Of all my married sisters that I have distributed among the cities of the United States, that Salt Lake sister is my favorite. She is quite real, too. When I tell about her, I can see her, and her two little girls, and her plumber husband.
The train stops. My legs are still dangling. I hear the door unlatch softly. He is all ready for me. Suddenly I spring up and run forward over the roof. This is right over his head, where he lurks inside the door. The train is standing still; the night is quiet, and I take care to make plenty of noise on the metal roof with my feet. I don’t know, but my assumption is that he is now running forward to catch me as I descend at the next platform. But I don’t descend there. Halfway along the roof of the coach, I turn, retrace my way softly and quickly to the platform both the shack and I have just abandoned.
I shut up; but while I remained shut up, I was busy creating, busy sketching the scenario of the next act. I had learned enough to go on with. He was a Frenchman. —he had not been on the sea for twenty years. The policeman urged him on to examine me. ” he queried. I nodded. “We put our third mate ashore there. ” If he had asked me what kind of fever, I should have answered, “Enteric,” though for the life of me I didn’t know what enteric was. But he didn’t ask me. ” “All right. ” “Sure,” I answered.