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The mid-century writer Maeve Brennan was outwardly glamorous and refined-"To be around her was to see style being invented," her dear friend William Maxwell once remembered. But at heart Brennan was a lifelong itinerant, in her own words a "traveler in residence." She moved from Dublin to America as a teenager, when her father was appointed the first Irish ambassador, and in 1941 left Washington, D.C. for New York. For the next 50 years (five of which she spent married) she moved in and out of hotel rooms, country guest houses, and temporary apartments, and from this solitary perch recounted what she saw.
In time, more than 50 wry, melancholic dispatches from the "The Long-Winded Lady," as she was known, appeared in The New Yorker, inspiring deep admiration in her peers (John Updike claimed she put New York back in The New Yorker), though never gaining her a wider celebrity. Now, as her literary revival reaches its apex, Irish scholar Angela Bourke illustrates in her engrossing and ...