In this first book in a five-volume set collecting all the short stories of Philip K. Dick, we get a chance to see the first stories he wrote and published and can learn that from the very start, Dick was a great writer.

This is one of those rare story collections where there absolutely NO bad stories. Each one is a well-written and interesting piece; some have a dark humor, others are utterly horrifying, but each one is good or great in its own way.

Written in the 1950s, these stories are a refreshing change of pace from some of the more banal sci-fi pieces to come out of that era. The emphasis here is not on the science (which is often unexplained) but on the fiction: the characters, the mood and the plot. Adept at the plot twist, Dick often resolves his stories in logical but unanticipated ways.

From evil toys and malicious butterflies to trolls and lethal towels, Dick puts us in a number of worlds not far removed from our own and entertains us from first page to last. I look forward to reading the other four volumes in this set; some of the stories I have read before and others I haven't, but I'm sure I'll have a blast with all of them.

There are three consistent aspects to PKD's (Philip Dick's) work that I find compelling:

1. He constantly asks the (most important) question, "What is the nature of reality"?

2. He repeatedly states and offers evidence that the answer to the question "What does it mean to be human?" is the ability to feel empathy.

3. His plots involve such "ordinary" people, and have excellent character development - so you quickly get to understand them. Meanwhile, the story involves some bizarre science fiction device , idea, or condition, that he makes a part of this very normal human's world. You're quickly drawn in by the master.


PKD spent a significant amount of time thinking and writing about philosophy. In a way, reading his stories is an entertaining way of doing a survey of his take on the world's philosophical history without having to read (and understand) endless tomes of the great philosophers. You can see how this changes in PKD as you read different books in the Collected Stories series.


Philip makes it abundantly clear that he hates much of the stupidity that mankind inflicts on itself. War is a commonly expressed example of this. Of course, with the science fiction plot theme, he can easily spread examples of this through time, through the galaxy, and beyond (even to gods, other sentient races, etc).


As is tragically true so often with deep thinkers, Philip's life was far from carefree...As a consequence, and the fact that he's obviously a man bent on searching for TRUTH, his writing often has a dark underlying feeling. Comedy is sprinkled through the stories, but it too has a dark quality. Even the moments of greatest joy provide a somewhat bittersweet feeling, due to the background of the plot worlds. But again - reading PKD is not a dose of happy-pills, it is about TRUTH, whether pretty or not.


No matter who you are, these stories will make you think and I suspect learn a thing or two. They cover such a variety of plots that almost everyone is bound to be pleased by some, alarmed or saddened by others, and to feel a surge of empathy for some situations and realize that (bizarre as the situation may be) - this too is human.


I think it would be truly impossible for any thinking person to read and reflect on the 118 stories in the 5 volume series and come away completely unchanged. And for the vast majority of us (to borrow a PKD novel title) "Cosmic Puppets" with empathic capabilities, I'm betting the change will be for the better...

Reading the collected short stories - Volumes 1 through 5 - is like watching the old Twilight Zone. Weird and wonderful stuff!

This is an extraordinary book, described by the well-know author E.M. Forster as "here is the egg of a seabird - lovely, perfect and laid this very morning".

The author, Muiris Ó Súilleabháin, is an Irish-speaking boy growing up on the Great Blasket Island (An Blascaod Mór). He describes his childhood in the twenties on this 100% Irish-speaking island in Co. Kerry. The population of the island never reached 200, and life there was very archaic - resembling the society in Europe thousands of years ago. Nowhere else in Europe did the shear joy of speaking and love of words live on as here, where thousands of pages of folklore has been collected as well. This love of the language is obvious in this vivid book, in which Muiris presents an affectionate, lively and interesting account of a way of life that no longer is.

Despite being published 70 years ago, the book still feels fresh and manages to blend fond memories and humour in an extraordinary way. This is definitely THE book to buy for anyone interested in the Irish way of life.

Twenty Years A-Growing by Maurice O'Sullivan is one heck of a "coming of age" story. I'd never even heard of it until a friend of mine told me that he was reading it. I'm sure glad he did. This is a great book!

I've actually read several coming of age stories recently. I didn't plan to...it just kind of occurred that way. Some of them were really good (David Copperfield by Dickens being one of them); but none of them, Copperfield included, spoke to my heart like Twenty Years A-Growing.

Twenty Years A-Growing was translated into English from Gaelic. I personally find this astounding. They (whoever "they" might be) say a book always loses something in translation. Yet Twenty Years absolutely sings in English...the translation is so powerful that the original must truly be a thing of beauty.

It is an autobiographical tale of growing up in the Blasket Islands off the coast of Ireland around the time of the first world war. For me at least, it was a thing of wonder to be able to enter into this world which has since moved on. It is a story told in a wonderfully simple yet almost lyrically beautiful way. Each chapter is a story in itself. The story as a whole slowly ingrains itself upon your heart and mind.

I felt an affinity with Maurice and his friend Thomas. The adventures they find themselves in ring true even as they entertain the reader. Likewise, the character of the grandfather in particular now feels like an old friend to me now. I particularly appreciated some of the wisdom he espouses to Maurice.

I dare anyone to read this book and not be charmed by the lives of these wonderful people who lived almost a hundred years ago in a kind of societal setting that seems all at once foreign, yet somehow more sane than today's world of constant "time management" in pursuit of hollow "muchness" and "manyness."

It does not happen often that I do not to want a book to end. I usually approach the end of a book with satisfaction. Rarely am I left wanting more. Yet that was the case with Twenty Years A-Growing. It is a truly special book.

Twenty Years A-Growing, or Fiche Bliain ag Fás in its original Irish, is a humorous and well written book about the sometimes hard life at the great western island, An Blascaod Mór, off the cost of Ireland. It tells about the everyday of the islanders in the beginning of the century in a surprisingly modern and lively way. The language of the Island was Irish, and although the Great Blasket is now abandoned, the Irish language still lives on in the mainland parishes in this area. I strongly recommend this book to everyone interested in Ireland, its culture, the Irish language or readerswho just want a fun and good book. I myself have only read the whole of it in its Irish original, but the passes I've read in English shows a well-done translation

Finally after 91 years of "scholarly" and mediocre translations of The Agricola by self appointed "learned academics" A. R. Birley has produced a work that demonstrates why Tacitus has been regarded as among the best historians and rhetoricians of antiquity. The beauty and the elegance of the original is apparent in this translation, that has been lacking since the translation of W. H. Fyfe in 1908. The love and the sense of loss that Tacitus had for his father in law is still apparent to us, who live two thousand years after them.

To illustrate the superiority of this translation a few examples follow:

The first example is the translation of the term "divus" as in "divus Augustus" or "divus Claudius". Fyfe translated this term as sainted, and Birley as deified. Both of these seem to be adequate renditions of the term. However the Leob Classical Library's translation, by M. Hutton, translates the term as "of happy memory." This is curious because in their edition they compare the original Latin on the left with the English on the right. One would think that one of Leob's editors would have just looked at the Latin to see if it at least resembled the English. But this is even preferable to the Penguin translation, by H. Mattingly revised by S. A. Handford, wherein they just dropped the term altogether. Apparently Messrs. Mattingly, Handford, and Hutton felt that we the reading public wouldn't understand roman titles of respect and sought to protect us from this pagan ritualism.

A second example occurs near the end of the third chapter when Tacitus laments the passage of fifteen years due to the tyranny of Domitian. Birley's (and Fyfe's was similar) translation reads; "So many years have been stolen from the middle of our lives, years in which those of us who were youths have become old men and the old men have reached almost the end of their allotted span - in silence." The Penguin translation reads; "since so many of our best years have been taken from us - years in which men in their prime have aged and old men have reached the extreme limit of mortality, without ever uttering a word." The Leob translation has, "for out of our prime have been blotted fifteen years, during which young men reached old age and old men the very bounds almost of decrepitude, and all without opening their lips." Apparently the Leob and Penguin translators wanted us (the reading public) to understand that the young are now old and the old almost dead, but in their haste to "dumb-down" the original they sacrificed the beauty, the brevity and the profound nature of Tacitus. Furthermore the Leob and Penguin translators apparently didn't realize that it was "us" that had aged and not other "young men" who had aged.

The final example is from the last paragraph of the Agricola. Birley's translation reads; "Many of the men of old will be buried in oblivion, inglorious and unknown. Agricola's story has been told for posterity and he will survive." The Penguin translation is close and reads; "With many it will be as with men who had no name or fame: they will be buried in oblivion. But Agricola's story is set on record for posterity, and he will live." But the Leob translation gives us; "Many of the ancients will forgetfulness engulf as though neither fame nor name were theirs. Agricola, whose story here is told, will outlive death, to be our children's heritage." The remarkable thing about the Leob translation is that it doesn't even resemble the Latin original with spurious details about children's heritage and engulfing forgetfulness. That is bad but Penguin is worse because the editors added a note that this last passage is "strange". They didn't realize that Tacitus had lifted a line from Horace. One must wonder why these "scholars" learned Latin in the first place if they weren't going read and study the classics. Maybe Penguin's editors simply thought we, the public, would be oblivious to other classical writers and would learn to hate the Romans as they so obviously do.

There are many other examples in both the Agricola and the Germania that I could quote however; that would serve no purpose. In conclusion this translation of the Agricola reminds me of why I admire and respect the writers of antiquity. Perhaps the reason that the ancients are no longer esteemed isn't because they are no longer relevant to our age but because of the miserable quality of recent translations.

This book contains a pair of early works by the great Roman historian Tacitus. Agricola is an homage to the historian's father-in-law, a Roman governor in Britain during the 1st century A.D. Germania describes the German people and their culture during the same period.

The author's admiration for his late father-in-law is manifest in Agricola. Sometimes his admiration comes across as tender, sometimes as fawning. Tacitus writes near the crest of Roman world-domination (Americans take note). He frequently adopts the tone of a tourist in a third-world country -- sometimes looking down his nose at local customs, sometimes in fascination at a primitive culture that compares favorably to a Roman empire suffering decay and corruption. He is a loyal Roman and an educated man. As such, he can glorify Rome and, in the same breath, criticize Rome's tyranny and empathize with the empire's victims. Tacitus lends an eloquent voice to Rome's enemies and those facing enslavement. The speech (probably apocryphal) of Caledonian warlord Calgacus before the climactic battle of the Graupian mountain may be the best section of either book. Backed up to the northern tip of modern Scotland, Calgacus tries to rally his men before battle. "Now there is no people beyond us," he says, "nothing but tides and rocks and, more deadly than these, the Romans ... They have pillaged the world ... They plunder, they butcher, they ravage, and call it by the lying name of empire. They make a desert and call it peace."

Tacitus has no personal connection to any person in the second book, Germania. His writing is more sterile here, but he provides a captivating description that seems part based on observation and part on rumor.

Tacitus is a pithy writer, given to understatement and the wry aside. The translator does a tremendous job of carrying these qualities across in English. Important books both, Agricola and Germania provide some of our only glimpses of the early ancestors of the English people, the Anglo-Saxons and the Britons.

Tacitus' opens up a lost world before the Christians in what was, for many of us, our mother countries - Britian and Germany. The book is divided in two; the first piece `Agricola' (farmer)is named after the father-in-law of Tacitus. Tacitus gives us part biography and part eulogy in order to confer immortality on Agricola's memory at the edge of Empire among the barbarians. Agricola was loved and honoured by Tacitus, and Tacitus gives an account of his military and political triumphs before being called to Rome. For anyone interested in early British history, warfare or pagan themes observed first hand, this is a must have.

The second part is an amazing series of geograpgical, religious, and general cultural observations among the Germans. In this age of political correctness, Tacitus' observations are a delicious treat of unfettered notation of racial difference and character that still ring guiltily true about the Germans (good and bad), especially in the first half of the last century. "Their holy places are the woods and groves, and they call by the name of god that hidden presence which is seen only by the eye of reverence." ... "They count, not like us, by days, but by nights." ... "No form of approval can carry more honour than praise expressed by arms."

Great stuff. Short, entertaining and informative of another time and place.

When King Steven calls a council, many people hasten to attend--those who hope to win a lawsuit, those who seek royal favor, and even whoremistresses like Magdalene la Batarde. Magdalene owes her life to William of Ypres and knows that she can serve him by providing a place of refuge and a secure meeting area. She doesn't expect to become involved in murder, but when an attempt at a forced wedding ends with the prospective groom stabbed in the back and one of William's men a suspect, Magdalene decides to investigate.

Magdalene's lover, Bell, is also in Oxford, serving his master's orders at the great council. Bell is jealous of Magdalene's loyalty to William and concerned for her safety as she plunges deeper into the investigation, but overall a good sport. He pitches in, serves escort duty, and interviews men at arms, bartenders, and others that Magdalene could not approach.

In BONE OF CONTENTION, author Roberta Gellis delivers a powerful and fascinating view of an important time in English history. Her historical details are excellent, providing insights to the historically inclined without being obtrusive to those following the mystery. Even more so than in A PERSONAL DEVIL, Gellis delves into her characters. Both Magdalene and Bell are successfully detailed, with understandable conflict that cannot be resolved by a simple discussion. The mystery is compelling with a rich assortment of suspects and an abundance of clues.

Once she was a wife to a minor lord and mistress of her own manor until her husband, in a fit of jealousy, tried to kill her and she defended herself by killing him first. She ran away and thanks to her beauty became a courtesan but even then two men were killed because of her beauty. Now, Magdalene la Batarde is determined to be her own woman. She is the whore mistress of the Old Priory Guesthouse and her patron is William of Ypres, King Stephen's chief enforcer.

William asks Magdalene to meet him in Oxford where the king is conducting a council. He needs a place to go where he can hold meetings that will be kept secret and nobody can arrange things like that better than Magdalene. She is accompanied by her lover Sir Bellamy, the Bishop of Winchester's chief knight and together they find a place to serve William's need as well as their own. While in Oxford, a series of murders occur and to protect William's interests (and her own sense of justice) Magdalene conducts an investigation in hopes of flushing out a murderer.

She is the grand mistress of medieval works of fiction and her series of medieval mysteries are some of the best ever written. One gets a sense of the era as well as learning how the different classes acted and thought. Although this is a work of fiction, the historical events are very true and make for a fascinating reading experiences. BONE OF CONTENTION will be sought after by those who like the Brother Cadfael mysteries and those written by Peter Tremayne.

Harriet Klausner

William of Ypres summons Magdalene la Batarde, Whoremistress of the Old Priory Guesthouse, to Oxford as he is in need of her services. Magdalene knows that the services requested are not of the flesh but to provide William with a means of initiating covert meetings with various Lords of King Stephen's Court.

Well versed in the political situation Williams finds himself in, Magdalene, through ties of patronage as well as affection for him, goes where she is bid. In the midst of providing William with his meeting place, at the Soft Nest in Oxford, Magdalene becomes involved in trying to solve the murder of one Aimery St. Cyr.

Who is St. Cyr? Who does he serve? What is his connection to the Court? Why is he in Oxford? What purpose does his death serve? Who profits from his death?

This compelling medieval mystery could only have been written by Roberta Gellis. Using subplots as twisted as the dark alley ways of Oxford, Ms. Gellis supplies her fans with another installment in the Magdalene la Batarde/Sir Bellamy of Itchen series. With rich, vivid imagery, and impeccable historical knowledge of the time and political situation, Ms. Gellis once more demonstrates her outstanding ability to tell a tale.

She is, without a doubt in my mind, indeed, the premier author of historical fiction today. I absolutely could not put this book down.

'The reader seems to have some disaster of far vaster import than he can fathom. That is the mysterious effect of Mallarme's poetry. One gets a strange emotional effect past analysis'. So declares translator C.F. MacIntyre of a typically impenetrable Mallarme sonnet. Unfortunately, it's an effect the non-French reader will never experience. In translation, somebody like Robert Frost once said, what is lost is the poetry, and no other writer exemplifies this truism more clearly than Mallarme. Most translations will at least yield some sort of broad narrative or imagistic or intellectual sense. Mallarme's self-contained, bookish, exquisitely artificial poetry (Borges was a fan) exists on a plane beyond sense. It is an intensely intricate agglomeration of sounds, forms, distorted grammar, codes and riddles whose 'meaning' is not literal. Mallarme is usually compared to a costumier, jeweller or musician, such is this artisan's devotion to the poem as crafted object. The only real way to translate Mallarme is not to find literal English equivalents for his words as printed, but to find new word-constructions with sounds and resonances that transmute the originals' spirit, rather than sense. But if the translator had that kind of gift, s/he wouldn't be wasting it on Mallarme translations. Despite MacIntyre's best efforts, then, literal Mallarme in English sounds like the worst kind of sub-decadent pot-pourri, like the imitations of French Symbolism Oscar Wilde churned out in his youth. Pick a line, any line: 'The sun that is exalted/by its supernatural halt/forthwith redescends/incandescent/I feel how vertebrae/in the dark give way'; 'You know that, amethystine gardens, hidden/without end in dazzling erudite abysses'; 'Just any solitude/with neither swan nor dock/mirrors its desuetude/in my abdicated look'. Etcetera.

This does not mean the volume is useless. French students struggling with the originals can use the translations as a kind of grammatical glossary, and will find MacIntyre's synopses and explanatory notes, with background and critical infomration, helpful, if dated. The casual reader, however, will find much to enjoy. After a few poems (including the famous 'Herodiade' and 'L'apres-mide d'un faune'), I gave up struggling with Mallarme, and gave into the pleasures of MacIntyre's annotations. A real-life Charles Kinbote, he doesn't even seem to like Mallarme very much: one poem 'is built up of so much nothing, like a fragile pastry of whipped cream. It is artful in the worst sense of the word... He should have had a stern editor! (As I have)'; 'Line 4 is particularly good, [a critic] insists, because it suppresses the classic caesura! I don't think many readers would suffer if the whole sonnet had been suppressed'. He refers to Mallarme's art as a 'dead end', execrates 'his miserably bungled up French', and cheerfully admits that he doesn't really understand the poems! So what qualified him to translate them?! A delectable egotism blows through the pages, from its overheated, homoerotic dedication, and the unwarranted, though very welcome, detours into autobiography and war memories, to the Olympian sneers at previous commentators. Published in sexually unliberated 1957, MacIntyre is forced to euphemise Mallarme's detailed and relentless erotics, which leads to some splendid tongue-twisting; the frequent suspicion that MacIntyre himself misses the point of a poem like 'What silk...' ('the mouth will not be sure/in its bite of finding savor,/unless he, your princely lover,/breathe out, diamond-like, in your/considerable tuft the cry/of Glories stifled as they die'), which he says is about a woman brushing her hair at the mirror (!), is quashed by his mocking one persistently misreading critic: 'Really now. I wish I still had Herr Wais's niaive innocence. I really do'. Barmy, endearing and delightful.

Verlaine is perhaps my favourite poet--many of his poems are exceptionally beautiful, salacious even. However he wrote prolifically, and as is often the case with prolific artists, his work is of uneven quality. Nevertheless, at his best, Paul Verlaine's poetry is among the most remarkable that I've ever read. I highly recommend this collection.

I first read this collection during Christmas break of my freshman year of college, and have never again had a more powerful experience with poetry. Verlaine is often viewed as the poor man's accomplice of Rimbaud; MacIntyre, the translator of this volume, is often dismissed as an awkward versifier. I regard both assessments as absurd.

Verlaine is not as close as Rimbaud to the free verse dogma of recent decades, but precisely for this reason he plays a vintage music in his poems, mixing whimsical subject matter with rock-solid traditional verse forms. (I don't agree that he did better work after his encounter with Rimbaud-- far from it, in fact.) Consider this lovely, even haunting refrain:

In the ennui unending
of the flat land,
the vague snow descending
shines like sand.

With no gleam of light
in the copper sky,
one imagines he might
see the moon live and die.

Wind-broken crow
and starving wolves too,
when sharp winds blow
what happens to you?

In the ennui unending
of the flat land,
the vague snow descending
shines like sand.

This sort of melodic drollery is mastered by nobody in the history of poetry like Verlaine, and MacIntyre is just the man to capture it. (He also does fine versions of the early Rilke.)

Don't miss this volume!

What A. J. P. Taylor's The Struggle for Mastery in Europe suffers from in being nearly fifty years old, it more than makes up for in style. It is a riveting book that is smattered with wit and an author's thorough knowledge of his subject. Alternate titles might have been The Struggle to Prevent the Mastery of Europe, or the Decline and Fall of the Balance of Power.

Taylor's unyielding faith in diplomacy reflects a Cold War notion that any political problem can be solved by maintaining a diplomatic balance. He deftly navigates the Byzantine web of diplomatic intrigue to show how negotiations, not war, ultimately resolves crises. His whig interpretations are at times blatant. Conservative Russia and Prussia are often "humiliated" and "old fashioned" while liberal France fell victim to its own "ingenuity" or suffered "shattered prestige."

Not all events are treated equal. The 1867 Anschloss or the 1894 Dreyfus Affair receive practically no attention, while obscure diplomatic conventions receive detailed analysis. Great leaders like Napoleon III or Bismarck receive Taylor's praise while British statesmen of lesser stature receive criticism. Taylor is also anti-imperial, stating that colonies are a sign of weakness (though he later seems to suggest the opposite). His treatment of the coming of World War One is perhaps his greatest weakness, or perhaps this is where the book is most dated. He seems to be somewhat surprised that war erupted in the face of diplomatic failure. He fails to see that many at the time lost faith in diplomacy and allowed the war to happen.

In the end, though, this is a fine work. Taylor interjects personal philosophies throughout the book. "Men learn from their mistakes how to make new ones (p. 111);" "Once men imagine a danger they soon turn it into a reality (p. 450); and "A historian should never deal in speculations about what did not happen" (p. 513) are but a few examples. (This last is a personal favorite as it flies in the face of alternative history.) Clever recto page headings and use of dates keep the reader aware of what is happening, and Taylor is a master of the semi colon. All in all this remains a very informative work.

I think what made me start loving Alan Taylor is the passage from "Struggle" about Louis Napoleon's government being "run by gangsters". After a lifetime of school histories unwilling to venture a judgement, scrupulous in their aridness, this was a revelation.

Taylor suffered ostracism for his outspoken views, especially from Oxford, where his trampling of sacred cows prevented him from gaining a professorship. On the other hand, his rival, Hugh Trevor-Roper, played the Tory historian and prospered. (It was, of course, Trevor-Roper who staked his reputation as an historian on the authenticity of the fraudulent Hitler diaries of 1983, hopefully giving Taylor the last laugh. But being an establishment historian, Sir Hugh was immunized from serious career consequences.)

If you want to understand the century past, you must begin in the century previous, in about 1848. When Taylor deposits you in 1918, you will be on secure footing while reading his, "Origins of the Second World War" or Ian Brendon's "Dark Valley: A Panorama of the 1930s," leading you in turn to WWII, which brings the nineteenth century to a close in 1945. It is said that Alan Taylor liked paradox. I wonder how he liked this one.

This is A.J.P. Taylor's masterpiece of history. Taylor is an exquisite writer, with a unique style that cannot resist the irony and contradictions inherent in the actual fabric of European diplomacy. This sprawling tale of folly and pretension is informed by Taylor's exhaustive reading of the official foreign affairs correspondence of the respective nations involved, as well as his own mastery of modern European history. His prose is consistently edged with wit on the verge of sarcasm, always keen to the absurd roots of tragedy. For Taylor there are no sacred cows: every class, every institution, every political party, even cynicism itself, fumbles in the dark, toiling under the weight of its illusions and contradictions. One does not emerge from this book with an enhanced respect for statesmen, generals or revolutionaries. This is one of the few history books I plan on reading at least twice.

There is probably no book in American literature more loved and hated than "Huckleberry Finn". Twain's masterpiece has been reviled as a racist rant; parents have tried to get it banned from school libraries, and people have claimed that not only is the book racist, so is its author. But Twain was hardly a racist; Jim is presented as one of the few characters in the book who has real dignity, humanity and common goodness; and Huck learns to see Jim as a friend and a fellowman. But how does Huck reach this epiphany and who did Twain base his character on? In a solidly researched and fascinating book, Shelly Fishkin posits that Huck was based on two young African-Americans Twain knew personally, one a ten year old boy named Jimmy and the other a young slave in Missouri named Jerry.

Jimmy was described in Twain's newspaper article "Sociable Jimmy", which was published in The New York Times in November of 1874. Jimmy's family was employed in a village inn where Twain was staying, and Twain was clearly fascinated by "the most artless, sociable and exhaustless talker I ever came across... I listened as one who receives a revelation." Twain invited Jimmy to sit and chat, and Jimmy planked himself down in an easy chair and proceeded to regale Twain with stories about his family in the inn; in particular, their aversion to having cats around. "When dey ketches a cat bummin' aroun' heah... dey snake him into de cistern -- dey's been cats drownded in dat water dat's in yo' pitcher. I seed a cat in dare yistiddy -- all swelled up like a pudd'n." (Imagine the look on Twains face as Jimmy fed him this tidbit.) As Fishkin shows, Jimmy and Huck share some key characteristics. They both launch into long family narratives to hold their listener's attention. They both have a visceral loathing of violence and cruelty, and they speak with a remarkable similarity. The are both "unpretentious, uninhibited, easily impressed and unusually loquacious." When we close our eyes and listen to Jimmy, we can easily hear Huck in Jimmy's voice.

Jerry was young black man in the 1850's who Twain idolized when he was himself a teenager, much to the dismay and disgust of Twain's mother. Actually, Mom could be a stand-in for Tom Sawyer's Aunt Polly, who didn't want Tom associating with Huck because he was unwashed, uncouth, and the envy of every boy in the neighborhood of good family who admired him and wished they dared to be like him. Here we see Huck as Jerry. Jerry was a master at "signifying", or indirectly satirizing whatever he held in contempt. There is a lot of Jerry in the characters of both Huck and Jim, who compensate for their lack of formal education with a large store of mother-wit and down to earth common sense.

We don't know if Twain directly based Huck on Jimmy and/or Jerry, and it may be impossible to determine for certain. But there are enough similarities in all three characters to make the point that Twain thoroughly liked and respected both Jimmy and Jerry, and turned some of the best qualities of each of them into one of the most endearing and enduring people in all of American fiction.

This book and her book "Lighting Out For The Territory", have made me reconsider a lot more than Mark Twain's Huck Finn. No teacher of literature or American History should get a degree without reading these books.

The high-toned wording of the Kirkus Review might just turn you off of the this book before having given it a chance... and that would be a great loss. I've read the review three times now and I still can't tell if it is praising the book or condemning it. Ms. Fisher-Fishkin's prose is very readable and this book can be enjoyed by plain ol' Twain fans and academia alike.

Here are some responses of undergrads at a liberal arts college in a seminar on contemporary art-
Student 1:
1. The book was interesting and well developed...it moved at a steady pace
and was consistent.
2. Hopkins used too many difficult words that weren't familiar and he was
unclear as to the main objective in some of his chapters.
3. In some areas of the book, Hopkins only touched on some of the artists
who seemed important and went too into depth on a few others. He needed to

keep that aspect of the book consistent...the rest was well done.

Student 2:
Hopkins used many examples of Contemporary Art that were very relative to the concepts he explained. While they helped me to understand his ideas, some of his writing was very difficult to understand. He was wordy and used many uncommon terms making reading slow and hard to comprehend. This would be an excellent book for those who are in the advanced stages of learning about Contemporary Art.

Student 3:

Hopkins does a wonderful job of providing ample examples for the reader.
However, he does not do a very good job of explaining the examples without
creating some confusion. Hopkin's also uses a vocabulary that is too
advanced for the undergraduate reader that this book is intended for.

Student 4:
Hopkins used some very interesting examples to try and create a new way of looking at the transition from modern to post-modern art. I think that the book is mislabled as a beginner book, since from the start the author assumes that we have a strong basic knowledge of art history. To be fair the issue he is talking about in this book is so complex that writing an introduction is a very difficult task, I think that Hopkins did a good job.

Student 5:
-The book takes a different view on 20th century art, and helps put things
in a historic context.
-The book is difficult to understand at times, and seems to be at a higher
than introductory level.
-Some of the references to works are vague, and they are hard to connect to
the photos.

i really enjoy reading the Oxford History of Art books. all of them are very informative and easy to read. i go to art school and these are the books are what we use as text books, so i highly recomend it !

I have - for professional reasons - read several introductions to contemporary art written in the late 90s, and this is by far the best. Hopkins does not only have a great knowledge on the field but he is also good at writing about it, and furthermore he is up to date with the latest scholary researches on the field without being academic in his way of formulating it.

I recommend this for students and scholars as well as for the just interested. No matter who you are, you will definitely know much more about contemporary art than before, and have a lot of good color reproductions of the works as well.

This is a challenging work.

He realizes 5 standpoints. He writes "What is historically called art in China, by whom and when?". Really, I feel it rather reflect unconscious attitude of 20th century collectors and scholars.

Art in the Tomb /Art at Court/Art in the Temple/Art in the life of the Elite /Art in the Market-Place

Following recent searching environment of artifacts; lifetime of painters, art-market, patrons, etc., as "Painter's Practice" by J.cahill, Mr. Clunas searched relations of arts-makers and the society. This approach is interesting and very suggestive. It may be the first try among such cheap and popular books about "Arts in China". For such character, I feel it should not be an elementary textbook.

Calligraphy was more focused than M. Sullivan's book"The Arts of China" in the chapter "Art in the life of the Elite". Short columns explain words and technical terms vividly. It is worth to buy it only for them. Bibliographical essays(231-237 p.) are very useful. Plates and figures are all fine. There is few inadequate item. Fig 83 and 87 shows as we appreciate in museums, i.e. shows its handscroll format. I think the author make effort to show surrounding textile of paintings and the format in some figs.

As an avocat d'diable, I notice some. The gong of Fig. 49 is not 8th century. Dragons and a beast should be genuine 8th century items. The gong is regarded 12-13th century Japanese artifact. The item of Fig. 82 may not be a representative work by Tang-Yin.

Both C. Clunas and Michael Sullivan edited catalogues of Sir Alain Barlow Collection(now in Sussex College). (ref. The Barlow Collection of Chinese Ceramics, Bronzes and Jades: an Introduction, The University of Sussex, 1997/Nov.) Sullivan did in 1963 and 1974. Clunas did in 1997. They might have share common intellectual environment according Oriental Ceramic Society, England.

While not the easiest to read, Clunas's book is currently the best short modest-sized introduction to art in China. The title "Art in China" (not "Chinese Art") is intentional, for Clunas is one of the rare Occidental authors on this subject who transcend the limitations of their background and succeed in communicating some of the subtlety and complexity of the subject, so remote from Western tastes, but no less beautiful and profound.

For example, he points out that while Western art has concentrated on painting, calligraphy is the most esteemed art form in China. Furthermore, from its earliest beginnings, Chinese aesthetics has placed little emphasis on illusionism and perspective, even regarding these as juvenile and distracting from artistic self-expression. (In this respect, the Chinese anticipated "modern art theory" by centuries.) The very term "Chinese Art", he maintains, is a Western invention, since the art work in China was, until recently, never divorced from its political, religious or decorative functions. (That is to say, it was not "museum art" isolated from its context and consciously regarded as art.) Because of these characteristics, art in China has been little appreciated in the West.

Clunas's probing book should be read slowly-- and re-read. The illuminating text gives a relatively sophisticated and sympathetic account of art in China, unlike many books, which are simply naive, provincial and as full of trivial dates and abstractions as they are lacking in insight. The representative works, drawn from all periods of Chinese history--including modern times--are superb and well chosen, and the pictures are excellent, considering the book's modest size. I especially enjoy the full-page color reproduction of Guo Xi's masterpiece "Early Spring" which equals, if not surpasses, the finest landscape paintings of the Dutch golden age (of course, not in illusionist technique, but in sheer expressive and evocative power as it unveils a mysterious fantastic landscape reflecting an interior, as much as an exterior, reality).

My only complaint is that there is only one book on "Art in China" in the Oxford History of Art series, while there are at least 30 on Western art in the same series. One book covers Western art for a 25-year span (1920-45), but 5,000 years of high art in China--in painting, jade, ceramics, lacquer, porcelain, calligraphy and sculpture--gets only a single volume! Talk about provincialism! Certainly, this is no fault of Dr. Clunas, whose work seems all the more commendable in the midst of the naive insularity and ethnocentrism with which it has unfortunately been grouped.

In researching information regarding Sung Dynasty scrolls and artists, I found this book to be a most generous indeed. The author provides clear, precise information without the clutter of person guesses. He provides a wonderful assortment of pictures and resources. Clear, clean photographs of artifacts providing the reader with primary documentation .This is a MUST for anyone studying the Arts and Artists of early China. Thank you Craig Clunas!

"Can Jane Eyre Be Happy" is only one of the many questions about classical literature you will have answered by this book. Other novels explored include "Great Expectations", "Mansfield Park", "Hound of the Baskervilles," and other novels of that genre and category. Sutherland's insights are simple and straightforward and his questions are probing and answer those sometimes irrelevant things your curiosity won't let you sit on! However, this book loses one star because Sutherland often does try to contradict the author and occasionally discards the author's motive in writing the novel. Also a warning: Don't read through the table of contents before you have read all the books addressed therein. Some of the questions assigned to each book will give away or ruin in part the ending to the novel. Luckily this is not a major setback. I do heartily recommend this book, but the reader must be open to new ideas about some of his or her favorite novels and authors, and must also take Sutherland's ideas with a pinch of skepticism.

Lovers of Mr. Rochester beware - in this, his second book of literary puzzles, John Sutherland turns his considerable powers of literary analysis towards, amongst other things, undoing the good reputation enjoyed by Jane Eyre's brooding hero. Bronte fans, brace yourself for some idol-smashing. As in his first book of devoted to literary head-scratchers (the wonderful Is Heathcliff a Murderer?), Sutherland here sets himself out to answer some of Western literature's most intriguing questions. Though you might not always agree with some of the conclusions Sutherland comes to (we have to have a talk, he and I, about Mr. Rochester's moral integrity) as a writer he is always witty, as a thinker always innovative, and as a guide through literature's most baffling conundrums, always genial. Buy this book and I promise not only will you learn something (and, if you're anything like me, get into some very heated debates with fellow literature lovers about Jane Eyre's prospects for bliss, etc.) - but you'll also have a heck of a lot of fun.

As Sutherland points out, the 1835 act prohibited marriage with a deceased wife's sister. However, aside from this, she was not "too young to marry for a month or so." A girl could be married at 12 in Britain until the Age of Marriage Act of 1929, although the age of consent for sexual intercourse was raised 1n 1881 from 13 to 16. Whatever Roger Prynne's reasons for staying away, Massachussetts was not a place "where they like to burn witches and wizards." (They hanged them). I enjoyed combing for nits to pick.