A very moving book. The book was written 50 years ago, and it sounds as current as if it had been written today. A mother's feelings are timeless.

"The Child Who Never Grew," by Pearl S. Buck, is the true story of the struggle of the author after learning that her daughter Carol, born in 1920, was mentally handicapped. The 1992 Woodbine House edition contains a foreword by James Michener, an introduction by Martha M. Jablow, and an afterword by Janice C. Walsh, who was Pearl's daughter and Carol's's sister.

Jablow notes in her intro that "Child" first appeared as an article in "Ladies Home Journal" in 1950 and was shortly thereafter published in book form. Jablow notes that the book is "a landmark in the literature about disabilities." As such, I consider "Child" a fitting companion text to a book like Helen Keller's "The Story of My Life." Jablow notes that mental retardation "carried a shameful stigma" when Buck first had this story published; Jablow provides further useful historical context for the main text.

Buck writes very movingly of her heartache at the discovery of her child's plight. She documents her awareness of the stigma against people like Carol, and also tells of her search for an institution where Carol's special needs might be met. Buck passionately defends the humanity and worth of the mentally retarded, and tells what her experiences with Carol taught her: "I learned respect and reverence for every human mind. It was my child who taught me to understand so clearly that all people are equal in their humanity and that all have the same human rights."

Walsh's afterword continues the story of Carol. She fills in some of the very obvious gaps in Buck's story. Walsh's contribution to this book is very moving, and includes photos of Carol.

In addition to being a work of historical and sociological importance, I found "The Child Who Never Grew" to be a moving and very personal piece of American literature. For another good companion text, try William Styron's "Darkness Visible," in which the distinguished writer tells of his battle against clinical depression. Also, try "On the Way Home," by Laura Ingalls Wilder; this book has additional material by Laura's daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, and like "The Child Who Never Grew" is thus a sort of mother-daughter literary collaboration.

I cherish this book. I am the mother of a wonderful little boy with special needs who is also terminal. I could never put into words all my thoughts and feelings. Ms. Buck did that beautifully and with heart. I reread it often and share it with other parents needing the encouragement that she bestows with her wonderful writing. Thank you!

I don't know if this is the same Don Martin who wrote for Mad Magazine for years, but you can expect the same kind of humor. This book is just what it claims to be- A witty, opinionated "guide" to California Wine Country. The great treasure of this book is that it is written by a couple who obviously love the wine country, and have spent years exploring it. It is also openly, but unabashedly from their own perspective. We're using it to plan our honeymoon- Look for a follow-up review sometime after October 1999!

Two trips in two years....brought this book both times. The maps are simple but helpful in planning daytrips. Liked the sense of humor throughout. Recommended, only hope it is revised soon....

I bought this book in 1997 when my husband and I went to Napa/Sonoma for our honeymoon. We are headed back to CA for our 4th winery visit since and I almost panicked when I couldn't locate this book. I don't know how I'd tour without it. Ours too is falling apart

A tough book to find, but when you do, it's worth it. The essays in this collection are informative, shedding light onto such slippery aspects of the novel as style, recurring motifs, Pynchon's humor, the novel's narrative structure, and satirical targets. The final work in the collection is a memoir by someone who allegedly got high with the notoriously reclusive author in the late-Sixties. Much of the criticism in this collection assumes the reader is familiar with "Gravity's Rainbow" as a point of reference, so if "Vineland" is your first go at Pynchon, many of the references in these criticisms will seem difficult understand. Overall, this is a handy book to read once you've finished "Vineland" and need to make sense of all the wackiness. Happy searching!

Pynchon turns a demented eye to the sixties' leftist movement in this oddball look at sex, drugs, and politics. Zoyd is an aging California hippie, heavily into drugs, rock and roll, and easy living. He lives on a government subsidy (disability) that provides for the simple needs of himself and his daughter, Prairie. His ex-wife Frenesi, the daughter of two old-time Wobblies, takes the leftist movement very seriously until she falls for the fascist federal prosecutor Brock Vond. Despite the story's initial focus on Zoyd, most of the book is devoted to Prairie trying to understand her mother. She is helped in this quest by a butt-kicking ninja babe called D.L. who through press releases, personal interviews, and a series of politically charged home movies, reveals the truth about Frenesi.

As is typical, Pynchon's novel is more effective on a symbolic level than on a literal one. Just as V investigated the dichotomy between the human and the inanimate, Vineland (the name of a city, perhaps similar to "Holly" "wood") explores the relationship between the sixties counterculture movement and leftist political philosophy. Those who view this book as a leftist manifesto have perhaps overlooked the fact that it is Zoyd, the hippie, who is most sympathetic to the reader (and his daughter as well), while Frenesi (the true political leftist) who comes off as a driven, destructive witch. At some level Frenesi's lust for Vond symbolizes her hunger for the power he represents. Her lust for power drives her to sell out her ideals, just as the sixties leftists sold out theirs once the possibility of achieving real power came within their grasp. Thus the difference between the hippies and the leftists was that the hippies wanted freedom, while leftists wanted control, and as such had more in common with the fascist right than with the counterculture that they manipulated. Viewed in this light, Pynchon's message is not that leftist politics is better than fascism, but rather that both forms of political extremism are fundamentally flawed. The book's hero is Zoyd, who is politically paranoid and legally insane (by government standards), so we see that Pynchon's political solution is merely to live one's own life, and maintain a deep distrust of anyone who encroaches on our freedoms whether from the left or the right. And the heroine is not Frenesi, but D. L., who also takes care of Prairie at a crucial moment, and who uses her feminine power to deal with injustices one at a time, rather than trying to change the world.

Despite the metaphorical richness of this book, however, it suffers from some serious problems. The science-fictiony presence of the so-called Thanatoids (ghosts of the unjustly dead) really adds nothing to the story, and along with the occasional reference to high-tech snooping devices, mid-air abductions, and strong female characters, seems a cheap ploy to draw in the cyberpunk audience without the necessity of actually studying science first. But worse than any of that is the depressing world-view that pervades the entire book. Frenesi's betrayals cast a pall over the entire novel, destroying everything in her path, and most of the novel simply follows her downward spiral into depravity and insignificance. Pynchon is a fine writer and has created some amusing characters and situations here, but the bleakness of his political message undercuts the fun of the novel, leaving the reader, like Zoyd, happy to have someplace else to go home to. This is in a many ways a brilliant book, but it's too X-files wacky for serious political readers, too unscientific for cyberpunks, and too dark for good escapism. If none of these bother you, perhaps you'll really love it.

This book marks something of a stylistic step backward for Pynchon, I find it much more reminiscent of CRYING OF LOT 49 than say GRAVITY'S RAINBOW, but, hey, I LIKED CRYING... & I like this. There is the same combination of entertaining characters, impossible-but-weirdly-believable situations, and more than a hint of paranoia that keeps one turning the pages. Enthusiasts for the 1960's & the notion of "hippy purity" will probably be annoyed by Pynchon's cynicism, but I think at the heart of the book Pynchon is asking an important question about the whole notion of "meaning" in terms of how the Woodstock Generation could have been a prelude to Reagan/Bush rather than a real positive "revolution" in human relations. Unlike Gravity's Rainbow, most folks will find VINELAND a fast read with a clear begiining, middle & end & while it isn't the sort of break-through in style that earlier Pynchon represents, it is well worth a read. Hmm, I wondr. In some ways GRAVITY'S RAINBOW was an elaboration on V. and in the same senseVINELAND is an elaboration of LOT 49, so where does that put Mason & Dixon?

In tackling the sixties and eighties, Pynchon has given us both sides of America - the free-thinking, progressive, liberal version that welcomes the huddled masses etc, and the darker, God-fearing, repressed side that downs Iranian airliners. Vineland is therefore at heart a satire, a critique of what happens when these two forces confront each other and who wins in the end (Seattle protesters take note), and also funny and surreal and packed with verbal dazzling and pop references galore. The characters are more rounded and human than in GR, so you feel more involved with the book, and get to care about what happens to them. His mind leaps from place to place, and it's magic to watch, and his language style is fantastic. It is not bad English (spelt with a cap E), and the speech (note the double e, not an a in sight) is not hard to follow. In fact, Pynchon is one writer who defies the usual writer's convention about speech, and writes how people actually speak (now that's got an e and an a). The English lanuage is a wondrous thing; you can make it do what you want it to, and Pynchon succeeds brilliantly at this. Vineland is a great novel, and not 'difficult' in any way - the plot is slow, and has many twists and turns, but it is one hell of a rewarding journey. One of the best books of the twentieth century.