Yes, the title of my review (and the the title of the last chapter in the book) pretty much sums up this book. The Time-Life series on home repair has absolutely nothing on this book.

Dave Barry is easily one of the top humor writers in the world, and this hilarious book surely shows why. In this book, he explains how to avoid the pitfalls of everyday home-maintenance tasks. His helpful tips, such as flushing a lit cherry bomb to clear up those tougher toilet clogs, are outright hysterical, and somewhat useful in the most extreme situations.

Jerry O'Brien, once again, is the perfect compliment to Barry's book with his remarkably funny illustrations. The illustrations in the chapter on Walls are beyond hilarious.

On the whole, this book is tremendous. Dave Barry makes the most difficult task seem easy, mainly because it is physically impossible to perform them, but it still makes for great reading. This book is a can't miss, and sure to make you laugh.

Everyone who loves Dave Barry should buy this.....he just keeps getting better

An uplifting introduction to the best sport to watch with your kids. We have given this book as a baby gift to more than a few of our friends.

I bought this book for my two-year old because he'd taken a sudden interest in baseball "hats," and he now knows more about the game itself than a lot adults. Terrific illustrations and pithy copy that give a brief overview of the game.

Since it's short on words, I highly recommend it for toddlers, though it's apparently being marketed to the four- to eight-year old crowd.

Special bonus to Phillies fans: the illustrator is from South Jersey, and you'll recognize the "Home" team as our lovable Phils.

If I could only have four volumes to read for the rest of my life they would be: Death Comes for the Archbishop, Joyce's Ulysses, a Shakespeare folio, and the Bible.

Death Comes for the Archbishop is a novel of striking beauty, profound debth, and deceiving simplicity. The language employed is the most clear and beautiful I have ever read in prose--it's closer to poetry. The philosophy Ms. Cather espouses is simple enough for the peasant to understand, and too complex for the wisest scholar.

This book just baffles me: it's not a novel, per se, nor is it a biography--it's more like an etching of time and place; of ideas and people who travel through the arid, beautiful dreamscape of New Mexico.

Ms. Cather wrote part of this novel in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She got the idea of the novel from seeing a statue of Archbishop Lamy in front of St. Francis Cathedral in Santa Fe, and meditating upon what his life must have been like from her balcony at La Fonda hotel that overlooked the Cathedral.

Ms. Cather spent months in New Mexico and the Southwest, and truly loved this land, which is reflected in her book; she was a woman of faith, which is also reflected in this book, and although not a book about religion, religion nevertheless permeates it. More, this is a book about the beauty of a life lived well, with hard work and faith, and the land which touches all who touch it.

This book is the best description of the near absurd task that European missionaries faced in the American West. Willa Cather gives a sympathetic (and historically accurate) account of two French priests who are given orders to help the secluded diocese of Santa Fe, NM.
The atmosphere of Santa Fe, Albuquerque, and Tucson was unique on the american west. These were cities with centuries of Catholic culture resulting from early Spanish influence, but their extreme isolation made them a true oasis of civilization. The two main characters are very lonely on this foreign frontier, and the task they were sent to accomplish (tame renegade priests and rejuvenate the catholic culture) seems impossible due to language, cultural, and ideological differences.
Fortunately, the two priests compliment each other very well, and enjoy some truly interesting adventures. Issues of Indian relations, slavery, lawlessness, heresy, and isolation are expertly dealt with in Willa Cather's narrative. This has been described as stylistically her best book. Willa Cather loved this book and spent years in the southwest researching the terrain and characters. It will not disappoint.
If you find this story interesting, you may also be interested in books about Padre Kino of Tucson.

This wonderful novel from Willa Cather is loosely based on a true story. It is the tale of Father Jean Marie Latour, a Catholic Bishop from France who is sent to be the first Bishop in the newly annexed territory of New Mexico, in the late 1850s. Latour and his companion, Father Vaillant, toil over the course of many years to build and develop the church there, strengthening the faith of Mexican and Indian alike. Latour's labor of love becomes a great cathedral in Santa Fe, completed before his death, while Vaillant is sent to spend the rest of his days working among the miners at Pike's Peak and throughout Colorado.

This is a fairly simple tale of two very faithful men, whose love for their work created a legacy for each. Despite its simplicity, however, this novel approaches epic proportions, as the two men work side by side to, literally, convert the world. Over about thirty years and in an area covering thousands of square miles, these two Fathers fight almost alone to cleanse the church, purify the faith, and propagate their religion to everyone in the Diocese.

This novel is a classic in Western literature, and definitely earns its place as one of the greatest stories of the American West. It belongs in the library of any fan of Western literature, or even American literature in general.

Aside from being Camus' crowning literary achievement, this work could also be viewed as one of the most important works of twentieth century literatue. It is also perhaps the most representational fictional work in the existensialist genre, far surpassing the work of Sartre. The Fall, aside from being a great work, is a masterful technical achievment, and a lesson in character development and dialogue. The plot revolves around a Parisian Lawyer by the name of Jean-Baptiste Clamence and his conversation with an anonymous man at an Amsterdam bar. As the story progresses the reader is gradually overwhelmed by the lawyers increasingly serious confessions. With no scenery to distract you the intensity of the conversation grows with each admission.

In his simple confession and out pouring of emotion we see a successful, seemingly content man, gradually transformed and reduced into an alienated, and shattered human being, a mere shell of the individual that he once strived to be. This book is similar to "The Stranger" in the way that the psychological tension continues to build, moving towards the final disheartening enlightenment. But, unlike "The Stranger" there is no closure for the subject or release from torment, only endless confession; not only for his individual crimes, but for those of all humanity. One can only speculate on how Camus would have continued this line of inquiry if he hadn't been tragically killed in an automobile accident at the age of 46. As it is we can only continue to enjoy and contemplate what he left behind. For as long as literature exists writers will continue to delve into the recesses of the human psyche and attempt to provide a flicker of light in, an all to often, dark world. After reading this book I can say that Camus accomplished this like few writers ever had, and will always be a sobering light amid the confusion of an often absurd world.

Barely more than a hundred pages, "The Fall" represents Albert Camus' ultimate foray into the recesses of psychic anguish. Jean-Baptiste Clamence, a once-respected and successful Paris barrister, sits alone in an Amsterdam bar delivering his stark monologue to an unknown listener. It is a confessional narrative, a tale in which Clamence slowly unravels the spare facts of his life, his deceptions, his inauthenticity, his bad faith.

As he sits in the dimly lit bar, Clamence makes the locus of his telling a metaphor for the narrative to follow: "We are at the heart of things here. Have you noticed that Amsterdam's concentric canals resemble the circles of hell? The middle-class hell, of course, peopled with bad dreams. When one comes from the outside, as one gradually goes throught those circles, life-and hence its crimes-becomes denser, darker. Here we are in the last circle." It is a metaphor that resonates with existential imagery, reminiscent of Sartre's claim, in "No Exit", that "hell is other people." From this grim place, Camus writes a classic of Existentialist literature, building on this metaphor, writing an extended trope of unremitting self-examination, self-doubt and anguish.

Clamence was, by all outward appearances, both a virtuous and a modest man. His courtesy was famous and beyond question. He was generous in public and private, literally exulting at the approach of a beggar. He helped the blind man cross the street and the indigent defendant secure a reduced sentence. He ended his afternoons at the café with "a brilliant improvisation in the company of several friends on the hard-heartedness of our governing class and the hypocrisy of our leaders."

But appearances give lie to the truth, for the truth in "The Fall" is that life has no meaning, that it is full of ennui, and that people act unthinkingly, inauthentically, habitually. Thus, Clamence reflects on a man he knew, a man "who gave twenty years of his life to a scatter-brained woman, sacrificing everything to her," only to realize in the end that he never loved her. How does Clamence explain this? "He had been bored, that's all, bored like most people." And from this boredom, the man married and created "a life full of complications and drama." For, as Clamence suggests, "something must happen-and that explains most human commitments."

Clamence describes himself, too, as "a double face, a charming Janus," for his motives and feelings, his very psyche, belie his outward virtue. While outwardly supporting the poor and downtrodden, he is "well aware that one can't get along without dominating or being served, [for] every man needs slaves as he needs fresh air." While known as a defender of justice, a great Parisian lawyer, his "true desire" is not "to be the most intelligent or the most generous creature on earth, but only to beat anyone [he] wanted to, to be the stronger." While professing deep love and affection for the many women in his life, he is a misogynist who "never loved any of them." As Clamence cynically suggests, "true love is exceptional, [occurring] two or three times a century more or less. The rest of the time there is vanity or boredom."

"The Fall" is a little novel that makes the reader ponder big questions, questions of meaning and existence and death, of how we live our lives and of what motivates our actions. It is, in other words, a novel that articulates the open-ended questioning characteristic of the French Existentialism of the 1940s and 1950s. But it is more than that, for it is also perhaps the finest work of one of France's greatest Twentieth Century authors, a work that deserves to be read, re-read and pondered.

Soon after publishing The Fall, Albert Camus won the Nobel Prize for Literature. On the strength of this book alone, he deserved it. As a novel, The Fall improves upon its two predecessors, The Stranger and The Plague, in almost every way. The writing itself is much more confident, full of scathing wit and eloquent outrage. The intertwining of artistic aim and philosophical conviction is utterly seamless. Neither is compromised, as they were at times in the earlier works. Rather, both art and philosophy are employed here to serve the STORY. In short, The Fall delivers on what Camus had always promised- a masterful work of literature that also FORCES the reader to examine his/her life.

Jean-Baptiste Clamence is a "good guy." He uses his abilities as a lawyer to protect the poor and weak. When asked, he helps blind people across the street. Wherever one finds a righteous cause, he appears to support it. He is a well-respected member of the community. Could one truly find SERIOUS fault with such a person?

Well, as of late, Clamence has had a slight problem: he has felt the need to be honest, both with others and himself. The truth often leads people to strange places, and so Clamence, formerly rich and recently disgraced, finds himself at a sailors' bar in Amsterdam. Here, he finally comes clean about his life and his actions (one and the same, possibly?). He's no criminal, surely not, or not the WORST kind anyway. His crime is much more insidious, and it consists of what we are all guilty of: he is two-faced. His purest acts of selflessness are actually forms of self-deception, for they mask that in the end, he is really satisfying himself. The purest altruism hides a secret loathing of those he "helps"; the deepest, most self-sacrificial love conceals a seething desire to dominate.

In this dingy bar, Clamence unburdens himself, not just of his "crimes," but of the author's (catch the quote at the beginning of the book) and humanity's too. Only a strong (and dishonest) reader can finish this book without cringing in self-recognition at the daily hypocrisies that add up to the modern human condition. Camus does not necessarily counsel despair though. At different points in The Fall, one can see the ever-present potential of humanity to better itself. What Camus does doubt though is the general willingness of people (himself included) to make the personal choices needed to truly bring ABOUT this "betterment."

The Fall is not entirely bleak reading. In several places, it is laugh-out-loud funny (No! Surely not sober Camus...), displaying the humour of a barroom Voltaire. Moreover, few could fail to delight in the sheer craft and elegance of the author's prose. Still, the book does raise searing questions about how to live (or waste) one's life. If one has been "sleepwalking" before reading The Fall, it will be almost impossible to do afterwards. Wake up with this brilliant, unsparing slap in the collective face of mankind (including me....)!

(Note to above confused reviewer: the book is written in the SECOND PERSON.)

"For just as happines is more than the absence of sadness, so is peace infinitely more than the absence of war." This quote from Tim O'Brien's Going After Cacciato represents the basic theme of the book. O'Brien uses a strange man named Paul Berlin to illustrate the realities and illusions of the Vietnam war. Through Berlin's imaginative trek to Paris he presents views for and against the war. Although the characters and plot are not real, the book leaves a disturbingly realistic impression of war. The book flows like a person's thoughts, through imagination and real events to bring a complete picture of the psychological effects of Vietnam. At times this gets confusing but overall the effect is new and different. This is not just about war either. The themes of non-conformity and finding inner peace could be applied to many aspects of life. And most of all O'Brien shows that although Berlin leaves the war, it is not absent from his life because he has not yet found peace.

I really don't want to short-change this novel. It is definitely a true-to-life, highly-charged account of what it was like to be a part of the lunacy that was Vietnam. I like the way that it starts out in the real world and descends into the undergrowth of the subconscious, similarly to Coppola's "Apocalypse Now" and Kubrick's "Full Metal Jacket." The allusions to The Naked and the Dead and to Catch 22 are also on-the-mark. An even more contemporaneous comparison would be to "Saving Private Ryan," obviously, though the motives of the reconaissance teams would not be comparable, morally speaking.

What prevents the five star award is that I've read another Vietnam War book that is so far superior to this account, that I can't in good conscience award them equal status. Meditations in Green, by Stephen Wright is so superior in terms of scope and artistry that I have to reserve my full endorsement for that novel. O'Brien is a highly competent author. On the other hand, Wright just might make it to the highest rungs of the literary ladder, breathing the same air as Faulkner, Fitzgerald, and Hemingway as far as American mountaineers are concerned. O'Brien may have to be content with breathing the slightly thinner oxygen of Mailer and James Jones. Which might not be so bad, since most of us mere mortals are down here taking in corbon monoxide.

This is a different kind of war story, one that women can read without being grossed out by all the guy stuff. O'Brien's writing elevates the telling of Vietnam war events to poetry and art, even in the face of bodies blown to bits by land mined. For instance, at one point he goes on for, oh, maybe 10+ pages commenting on the silence, the lack of anything scary happening, the quiet jungle, the unseen and unfelt enemy. And it began to bug them all, making them edgy and crazy and nervous. And still, page after page, he only talks about the fact that nothing happened.
Then, the last sentence of the chapter: When Pederson stepped on the land mine and blew to bits, it was something of a relief.
For my money, that kind of telling of war stories can't be topped.
Read it; you won't regret it. And read The Things They Carried, too.

the climax of Dune Messiah is mindblowing, shocking, thrilling and brilliant- getting there is one huge pain in the back.

this book is roughly half the length of Dune, yet took me nearly twice as long to read. the focus shifts from Muad'Dib to a conspiracy against him and the effects his victory in Dune have had on the Fremen and Arrakis itself.

the jihad of the Fremen that Paul feared has been allowed to occur. meanwhile, Dune has begun to be made green, alienating the older Fremen. the Bene Gesserit, Bene Tleilax, spacing guild, and Paul's own wife- the Emperor's daughter- scheme to rid themselves of Atreides rule. the palace intrigue and underhanded maneuvers that fill this book are niether engaging, nor particularly interesting. it is only when at last the novel truly brings the focus back to Muad'Dib that things begin to pick up.

Paul has always known the path he must take, yet in the stunning conclusion, he rejects it and passes the legacy and responsibility onto his infant son Leto, setting the stage for the books to come.

Muad'Dib's true end illustrates why so many Dune fans hate David Lynch's movie with a passion.

Dune Messiah, the follow-up to Dune takes place 12 years after the end of the first book. Paul is now emperor and is finding that the real challenge is not gaining an empire, but ruling it. He has become cynical and disillusioned, as plots against him abound and the jihad continues.
Although Dune Messiah is an enjoyable sequel it lacks the sweep and grandeur of Dune, while keeping its complexity. In Dune Messiah the complexity is the result of Herbert just not fleshing out the story enough. I've read the novel twice and I still don't understand exactly the nature of the conspiracy against Paul. Why the stoneburner if Duncan Idaho was programmed to kill Paul. Why did Paul feel that Chani's death was necessary? What was the point of the dwarf? It seemed as if Herbert had more in mind than he put on paper, and the reader is left to fill in the blanks.

Frank Herbert's DUNE is arguably the best novel of speculative fiction ever written. That book is a tour de force, binding wildly disparate elements of ecology, religion, politics and sex into a compelling plot about rebellion and empire. His follow-up, DUNE MESSIAH, is perhaps a less ambitious effort, choosing to frame the story in very intimate terms. But as with DUNE, the actions of individuals have galaxy-wide repercussions.

Trying to read DUNE MESSIAH without having read DUNE is an exercise in futility. Familiarity with the characters and plot of DUNE is an absolute necessity, as Herbert makes no effort to spoon-feed back story to his readers. DUNE MESSIAH opens years after the events of DUNE. Paul Atreides has not only retained his imperial throne, but has extended his influence over countless worlds. A jihad has spread from world to world like a viral outbreak, spearheaded by religious fanatics steeped in the traditions of Arrakis' ferocious Fremen warriors and fueled by the ongoing rule of their living god. A suffocating religious orthodoxy has constructed itself around Paul and his sister Alia. With this invasion of holy bureaucrats comes a web of conspiracy that draws in the old players of the Bene Gesserit and the Guild, as well as new forces such as the Bene Tleilax.

Unlike DUNE, which frequently leaped from planet to planet in the Imperium, updating the reader with short scenes that kept the reader updated about all the various plot threads taking place, DUNE MESSIAH chooses largely to keep the subtleties running in the background and focus squarely on Paul and his "abomination" of a sister, Alia. Herbert wished to make a point with DUNE about the ability of one man to make a difference on the universal stage. In DUNE MESSIAH, Herbert strives to demonstrate how grand events like the taking of an Empire can easily turn on their manipulator and destroy him utterly.

Those readers who cared little for the philosophical meanderings of DUNE will likely have little patience for DUNE MESSIAH. Because this work is primarily about issues of fate and Paul's rumination on same, whole sections go by when nothing is "happening" in the traditional sense. Herbert doesn't fail to keep the machinations of power in full view during the course of DUNE MESSIAH, but he's clearly far more interested in the topic of Paul, and what it must be like to be turned into a deity against one's will by one's followers.

There are still more layers to DUNE MESSIAH for those who care to look. As if the rest were not enough, Herbert delves into the nature of oracular vision, as well. Taken together, all the major issues Herbert has chosen to discuss could fuel late-night philosophical discussions for decades, and probably have. No single volume could possibly hope to adequately address all of Herbert's divergent interests, but DUNE MESSIAH does quite a bit with fewer pages than DUNE boasted.

In the final analysis, DUNE MESSIAH is a lesser work than its predecessor only because it doesn't pretend to stand alone. The book is entirely supplemental to DUNE, a true sequel in every sense of the word, as if Herbert had decided to pen a few hundred more pages and attach them to the conclusion of his masterwork. And thank goodness he did.

Like all devoted lovers of Jane Austen, I have long pondered why she chose to write this, of all books, at time she was experiencing the intoxicating success of Pride and Prejudice.

The protagonist is a loathesome little priss. Austen herself says so in her letters. Fanny Price is neurotic and oversensitive where Austen's other heroines are brash and healthy. Even Austen's own family found the ending as odd and disappointing as do subsequent generations of readers.

So there's a puzzle to be solved here. The answer may lie in the fact that this book was written when, after a lifetime of obscurity, Austen found herself, briefly, a huge success. As is so often the case with writers, the success of her earlier book may have given her the courage to decided write about something that REALLY mattered to her--and what that was was her own very complex feelings about the intensely sexual appeal of a morally unworthy person.

This topic, the charm of the scoundrel, is one that flirts through all her other books, usually in a side plot. However, the constraints of Austen's day made it impossible for her to write the story of a woman who falls for a scoundrel with a sympathetic viewpoint character.

So what I think Austen may have decided to do was to write this story using Edmund--a male--as the sympathetic character who experiences the devastating sexual love of someone unworthy. Then, through a strange slight of hand, she gives us a decoy protagonist--Fanny Price, who if she is anything, is really the judgemental, punishing Joy Defeating inner voice--the inner voice that probably kept Jane from indulging her own very obvious interest in scoundrels in real life!

In defense of this theory, consider these points:

1. Jane herself loved family theatricals. Fanny's horror of them and of the flirting that took place is the sort of thing she made fun of in others. Jane also loved her cousin, Eliza, a married woman of the scoundrelly type, who flirted outrageously with Jane's brother Henry when Jane was young--very much like Mary Crawford. The fact is, and this bleeds through the book continuously, Austen doesn't at all like Fanny Price!

To make it more complex, Fanny's relationship with Henry Crawford is an echo of the Edmund-Mary theme, but Austen makes Henry so appealing that few readers have forgiven Austen for not letting Fanny liven up a little and marry him! No. Austen is trying to make a case for resisting temptation, but in this book she most egregiously fails.

2. Austen is famous for never showing us a scene or dialogue which she hadn't personally observed in real life, hence the off-stage proposals in her other books.

Does this not make it all the more curious that the final scene between Edmund and Mary Crawford in which he suffers his final disillusionment and realizes the depths of her moral decay comes to us with some very convincing dialogue? Is it possible that Jane lived out just such a scene herself? That she too was forced by her inner knowlege of what was right to turn away from a sexually appealing scoundrel of her own?

3. Fanny gets Edmund in the end, but it is a joyless ending for most readers because it is so clear that he is in love with Mary. Can it be that Austen here was suggesting the grim fate that awaits those who do turn away from temptations--a lifetime of listening to that dull, upstanding, morally correct but oh so joyless voice of reason?

We'll never know. Cassandra Austen burnt several years' worth of her sister's letters--letters written in the years before she prematurely donned her spinster's cap and gave up all thoughts of finding love herself. Her secrets whatever they were, were kept within the family.

But one has to wonder about what was really going on inside the curious teenaged girl who loved Samual Richardson's rape saga and wrote the sexually explicit oddity that comes to us as Lady Susan. Perhaps in Mansfield Park we get a dim echo of the trauma that turned the joyous outrageous rebel who penned Pride and Prejudice in her late teens into the staid, sad woman when she was dying wrote Persuasion--a novel about a recaptured young love.

So with that in mind, why not go and have another look at Mansfield Park!

Mansfield Park is the work of a mature Austen. Compared to her earlier book, Pride and Prejudice, it features a particularly complex plot structure (complex for Austen, anyway) that works especially well in the first volume, and somewhat less well in the second. The book also features Austen's characteristic nicety of interior character description, her really superior ability to follow the subtle nuances of thought and feeling. This ability is raised to a whole new level, however, in Mansfield Park since the heroine, Fanny Price, is a particularly sensitive, selfless, and considerate girl. Austen is up to the challenge, though, and develops stylistic techniques uniquely and perfectly suited to evoking all of Fanny's moral and emotional struggles. It is simply a joy to follow Fanny through all her travails.

The weakness of the book is the structure of the third and last volume. Here, Austen falls back a little to much on the technique of letter writing to move her story forward. This weakness IS offset somewhat by the wonderful scenes in Fanny's hometown of Portsmouth - scenes that evoke one of Dickens' favorite themes, the impoverished family - but overall, the structure here is not up to the standards of the first two volumes.

Another weakness, though this is more a comment on Austen's style than on this book in particular, is the paucity of vivid imagery, of truly original metaphors or similes. Compared to Dickens or Flaubert, two of her near contemporaries, Austen is decidedly inferior on this score. Her strength really lies in her ability to describe the subtleties of the emotional and intellectual lives of her characters with a fidelity and clarity that I think is superior to Dickens and the equal of Flaubert.

Finally, a comment on Fanny's 'likeability'. While I don't want to deny that a character's likeability can influence our enjoyment of a book, I also think that it should not be a consideration in our judgement of the book's merit as a work of art. Madame Bovary, the book by Flaubert, is populated by unlikeable people and there isn't any one we can 'identify' with (or so we hope), yet that book is certainly a great work of art. In the same way, our gut reaction to Fanny may not be favorable, but this should have nothing to do with our assessment of Fanny as a character or the book as a work of art. The only consideration should be, 'did Austen succeed in creating the kind of character she set out to create?'; NOT, 'did I like Fanny Price as a person?', or, 'would I like to have Fanny Price as a friend?'.

Anyway, a good book, flawed only by the somewhat weak final volume. Certainly one of Austen's best.

I am a new reader of Jane Austen and after reading the other reviews of this book, I was a little scared to read this one so I saved it for last. I was so surprised how much I liked it. Fanny, the main character, is someone I could relate to in ways that many other readers apparently have not been able to. Unless you grow up in a home where you are made to feel unwanted, and have a Mrs. Norris as an aunt in Fanny's case or a stepmom in my case, it would be hard to understand Fanny. Take it from me,the character is very real in many ways and not the wimp or doormat that many other reviewers find her. Alot of people said this book of Jane Austen's is her deepest because of the social issues she tackles. I will have to read it again to pick up on more of that, I was so busy focusing on Fanny's situation and understanding her feelings, knowing how her situation affected her responses, that I missed things. I look forward to reading it again. I think others will enjoy it too,don't be put off by the other reviewers. Of course, I look forward to rereading all my Jane Austens.

Sunshine is a substance of transparency, yet when it touches the soft mist and shines through the concrete droplets, the arc of color manifests and dazzles the human yes. In many ways, this is the journey of man as the essence of living is filtered through the mist of love. D.H. Lawrence's controversial Rainbow makes few reference to the natural phenomenon as rainbow, yet through out the lines, readers feel the "unbearable lightness of being" sipping through to cinch the yearning hearts. Countless twenty-century writers dedicated their finest works to capture this evanescence, and surviving through scandals and suppression is this ambitious piece.

One of the unique faces of The Rainbow is its treatment of characters; instead of expanding from individuals, D.H. Lawrence reverses focus and lets the plot drift along. It's impossible to determine which character is the true protagonist because individuality is simply abashed in this banned work. In place of emphasis on characters, Lawrence traces a circuitous journey through three generations-alternating voices of three generations of Brangwen women. Despite the complexity of this novel however, each of these three women are given their space to dictate the path of their own rainbow. The word "journey" itself is repeated frequently enough, and the torch of change is constantly being passed along. The journey traces from the Polish widow to her Brangwen husband, her daughter to another Brangwen, and eventually the "heiress" of Brangwen memories-Ursula. The mother-daughter loop itself is a symbolic journey as the understanding of love is inherited.

As a novel focusing on the very nature of relationships and their connection to love, to sex, and to God, The Rainbow captures the pain and anguish of each woman as they come to possess the fruit of union with a man. And as the daughter gains voice over the ailing mother, the readers come to see how much time leads the mind towards something new. All characters seek illumination of love, and different from conventional romance novels, The Rainbow traces not the journey of one person, but the journey of an understanding. Anna Brangwen, the daughter of Lydia Lensky, finds a lover with whom she develops "a sensuality violent and extreme as death" (280), a relationship that ends in great fecundity. As her fresh and wishful perspective fades, her eldest daughter, Ursula commands the pace as she comes to possession of passion. Through her youthful flirtation with Anton Skrebensky, Ursula grows to be an emotional teacher eager to share her passion, only finding herself shut down by reality into "a hard, insentient thing" (445). Her meager knowledge of love leads her to a physical and emotional affair with Skrebensky as both grope for the truth behind relationships. But this truth is too grand for both of them as they yield to the tempting nature of passion, and let love pass by. But does the journey stop there?

"The primeval darkness falsified to a social mechanism" (499) is indeed the chimera that propels all characters towards the light of human affections. During a time of great changes, men and women cannot help but clang to one thing that seems unscathed-this primordial sense of protection in the bodies of opposite sex. But this need fades so fast as they probe deeper into the soul in search of the amorphous answer that leaves them sleepless. Just as the sun penetrates through the seductive veil of mist, the characters reach a point where physical relationships is a concrete something that does not satisfy. But while they reach in the darkness of lust for the light of emotional union, all falter just as the beautiful array of colors fade away. The sunshine never fails to reach earth, but it never fails to trick wild hearts into the trap of a surreal realm of love-the paradise beyond the rainbow.

I successively declare each Lawrence novel I encounter to be the best I've read, but in my opinion, "The Rainbow" is especially brilliant in its painstaking and accurate depiction of the universal experience of adolescence...and especially noteworthy in its spot-on description of the evolving feelings and thoughts of adolescent girls. Lawrence's feeling for and understanding of his female characters is astounding, particularly when compared with that of other writers of his time.

This work is sometimes criticized because of "repetitiveness" in the writing, but I find the repeated phrases add to, not detract from, the power of the novel. As in Lady Chatterley, he also manages to work in many brilliant and cutting observations of the price of progress in an industrial society, and document in careful, keen-eyed accuracy the varying responses of his characters--and, through them, archetypal human responses--to that society.

Lawrence's fame (or notoriety) rests on his sexual frankness, but what a lot of readers overlook is how well he wrote about parent-child relationships and family dynamics. The beginning of this novel is absolutely brilliant: Tom Brangwen and the Polish widow marry in haste, then find that they still haven't worked out their relationship. Her young daughter is an uneasy third party, and the child's sensitivity to the unease in their household is beautifully described, as well as her stepfather's gentle efforts to befriend her. As Lawrence continues the family history, his usual obsessions surface. But in general, it's a good story: sex is an organic part of his characters' lives rather than the mainspring of the whole plot (as in some of his other novels). And the characters come across as multi-dimensional human beings rather than talking heads (or other organs) for Lawrence's comments on life. A good novel for people who "don't like D.H. Lawrence."

My Antonia was a colorful book full of exploration, times of life and laughter, and times of heartbreak and sorrow. My Antonia written by Willa Cather portrays how life was for imigrants trying to make it in the world. Also, how life was for those already living in North America.

The book opens up with Jim Burden, a 10 year old boy who has just lost his mother and father and is traveling with a ranch hand, Jake. They are both going to Nebraska to live with Jim's grandparents. After Jim has gotten settled in and has made himself known to most of his new surroundings, he and his family go to visit their new Bohemian neighbors. There they meet the Shimerdas consisting of: Mr. Shimerada, Mrs. Shimerada, Ambrosch,Yilka, Marek, and Antonia. Once Jim and Antonia meet they become close friends rather fast, by hanging out and teaching Antonia English. This is only the beginning of many years of love, friendship, heartache, and emotion.

The weather represents many events and emotions in My Antonia such as, "As the sun sank there came a sudden coolness and the strong smell of earth...." Another place that Cather uses emotion is Antonia, "looked off at the red streak of dying light," although Antonia knows her father would have liked her to go to school and get a good education she must stay at home and do chores like a man. Her hope that she might do what her father would have liked her to do is that, "of dying light."

Whether you are into the adventure novel or the romantic sappy one; My Antonia is both. I began reading this book and didn't want to put it down. Although certain parts of the book were slow, that happens in the best of novels. I would recommend this book to the avid reader and even to the every once in a while reader.

Ten-year-old Jim Burden arrives in the dark Nebraska vastness, on the same train as a hopeful but impoverished Bohemian family. The newly orphaned boy is welcomed by loving grandparents and kind farm hands, who gently teach him prairie survival skills. Alas, there is no one but a sly cousin from the old country to greet/dupe the hardworking folk who sacrificed their homeland to make a better life in the New World for their children. Still, hroughout the entire book it is Nature--particularly in the form of the undulating, ever metamorphosing prairie--which dispenses both cruelty and blessing on Americans and immigrants alike. How each group copes reveals their moral fibre and hints at future success.

Young Jim is most enchanted by his 14-year-old neighbor, a bronzed, hardworking daughter of the soil, who toils selflessly for her family--Antonia Shimerda. Their strange customs and diverse personalities awe and confuse Jimmy, who immediately feels appreciation and affection for this brave girl from a flawed family. The novel recounts their lives from childhood until young adulthood; how they took divergent paths in their quests for true happiness and contentment in life.

Cather's style is lyric: music is found in both Papa's violin and the waving of golden grain. She vividly portrays the chiaroscuro of shimmering sunsets and dappled leaves by the creek; gracefulness in the lilt of a barefoot walk and the natural aspiration of the heart toward peace and beauty. Does Jim regret the lost days of his boyhood, when life's pleasures were innocent, when hope was young and shy, when dreams were easily shared with a trusting companion and sincere smile? Was it worth all his serious studies and prestigious N.Y. job, when he recalls the tremulous private confessions of their youth? Can a prairie lad completely divest himself of his nurturing environment, or do the dancing grasses still hold secret sway in his adult heart? An American classic of the midwest, MY ANTONIA is meant for readers all over the world because of the unashamed truths it reveals about the heart of man.

In MY ANTONIA Willa Cather does an extraordinary job of showing a true struggle with the weight of the personal nostalgic impulse. Jim Burden is unfulfilled in his life as a New York husband and lawyer, a predicament that his many travels near the Nebraska he grew up in do not alleviate. His most powerful memories center around the Bohemian immigrant girl Antonia. The story is really about their relationship rather than either individual: Cather's depiction of Jim's friendship with Antonia as a child, a young adult, and then a man shows how both Jim and the novel reconcile and transcend the combination of place, time and fortune. Written primarily from Jim's perspective, the story helps him regain a vital measure of the fulfillment he has lost in the over twenty years he spends away from his roots. It's hard to go home again, and often we don't when we should, but Cather reminds us that home is not strictly a matter of geography: the people we carry in our hearts mean more to us than any street address ever can.

Cather's pen paints vivid and detailed pictures of the landscape and complex, well-rounded characters to people it. I could not finish this book when it was assigned for summer reading in high school; it didn't grip me. Reading it twelve years later, with my childhood gone and a dozen years more life experience and memories, I found it not only gripping, but stirring and beautiful.

Shades of Gray

Will doesn't respect anything after his family dies. He blames everybody , everything. He even has to move to his Aunt and Uncle's house where it gets more frustrating and hard. This book is called Shades of Gray by Carolyn Reeder, who won a Scott O'Dell award for historical fiction. The book wasn't that great because people like Will had too much feeling. They switched off and on with their emotions in the book . But it gave them all a lesson about life.
In the beginning of the book Will was mad at Uncle Jed because he did'nt fight in the war and thinks it's his fault. Close to the middle of the book, Will tries to be friends with three boys, but somehow they try to bully him. At the end, Will finally realizes that he should change his old attitude and tries to be nice to everyone around him.
In this book, Will should maybe not of have thought of just himself, but maybe somebody else's feeling .Don't just think of yourself but maybe think about other people's feeling's in a problem.
6th grade student at OHES

Death, sickness, anger, and war are really causing Will Page to go mad in Shades of Gray by Carolyn Reeder. The story revolves around Will Page taking place in Shenandoah Valley in the 1800's. Will is being ached by the death of his family during the Confederate War. Will has now moved to his Uncle Jed and Aunt Ella's house along with his cousin Meg. Will has now found out that his Uncle Jed did not serve in the war along with his father which is really bothering Will. Will William Page be able to get along with his new family and Uncle Jed?
My opinion is Shades of Gray is a good book because of the information the author gives to the reader and its enough to explain to the reader what's going on in the book. The author shows letters, a lot of dialogue and also when the characters say things to themselves which the author makes descriptive thoughts by the characters. You should get this book because it's a book with morale to it. The author shows the main goal for the character which is the character is trying get over the fact that his family died and he's struggling and trying to get use to a new family and a new lease on life. I recommend this book a great book to read and enjoy.

Shades of Gray is a novel about a boy that faces some of the hardships of the Civil War. In the book, the main character named Will, is forced to live with his aunt and uncle after all of his family dies. Will was a strong Confederate supporter, and this clashes with his uncle's decision not to fight with the confederates. Will sees his uncle as a traitor, while his uncle thinks of himself as a person who thought there was no good cause to fight for. Will, being a city boy, encounters many troubles during his stay. Some of these include hardwork, a few mean boys, and a letter that could change the course of his life. I think that Shades of Gray is a good book. Not only is it good, but it accurately depicts the hard times during and after the Civil War. This book is enjoyable as well as informative. The characters seem to be very well developed. I give this book two thumbs up. I would recommend it to anyone that enjoys Civil War novels.