Everybody knows who Virginia Woolf and
James Joyce are; we just don't read them. We haven't read what they
read, either, and context and continuity count for a lot. Maybe
that's why to us Florence Lawrence doesn't look like a movie star,
Whispering Jack Smith doesn't sound like a pop idol, and Bob Hope
just ain't funny. Maybe you're only ready to hear Sonny Rollins,
Elvin Jones, and Wilbur Ware riff for almost a quarter hour on "What
Is This Thing Called Love" after you've plugged a whole pocketful of
nickels into a jukebox to hear Billie Holiday sing it.
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