Kipling's JUST SO STORIES certainly rank in English-speaking children's literature right along with A. A. Milne's WINNIE THE POOH and Kenneth Grahame's WIND IN THE WILLOWS. They are fun to read to children 4-8, and even MORE fun for them to read for themselves at ages 7-11 (they're marvelous vocabulary builders --"the mariner of infinite resource and sagacity" ). My English-raised mother heard the stories when they were new and read them to me when I was a child, I read them to my own children, they read them to theirs, and I believe that same cycle has been repeated among millions of families since the stories appeared at the beginning of the 20th century.

It is my impression that today the JUST SO STORIES do not enjoy the popularity with children (and parents) that they once had. That may be because they are occasionally "politically incorrect" in their depiction of historical attitudes regarding race and culture. Joel Chandler Harris's UNCLE REMUS stories and even Mark Twain's HUCKLEBERRY FINN are sometimes removed from local library shelves on the same basis. In this reviewer's view, inattention to the works of Kipling and Harris and Twain deprives English-speaking children of some appreciation of the culture and civilization in which they live today. Worse yet, it deprives them of the fun of reading FOR fun.

Rudyard Kipling, referred to by one reviewer here as "not a very good writer" was the first English writer to win the Nobel Prize (not the Pulitzer) for literature, in 1907. He was staunchly pro-Empire in an era in which Great Britain not only ruled the waves, but a third of the globe -- the sun never set, it was said, on the British Empire, of which he sang in hundreds of poems and short stories and novels which also deserve reading today.

But imperial/colonialist notes are hard to hear in the JUST SO STORIES, which Kipling wrote for the amusement of a young niece. The stories are meant for FUN, and all children deserve to have some. Get this book; read it yourself if you haven't already -- and then read it to the youngsters for whom Kipling intended it.

This book is the most valued in my family history. Now my children are asking after it to read to their children because of all of the beloved memories it brings back. The language is a delight. The way Kipling draws the reader and listener in to feel they are part of the story, it is story telling magic at its very best. I can't believe anyone who has this book in their home, once read, will ever be without it. As long as children and that child in all adults long for the gifted story teller's magic, this book is special.

I love this book, and loved it as a child, for the writing, the stories, and for the pictures which I could pore over again and again, looking for new details I missed previously. I have remembered and talked about many of the stories throughout my life, particularly The Cat Who Walks by Himself, and The Elephant's Child. I also like . . . oh, well, there are just too many to talk about. Read them for youself, and to your kids.

The stories are complex and mysterious and, though I can't say much for Kipling's politics, I find them delightful. I think most children will, too. As an adult, I couldn't get my mother to part with my childhood copy so I went out and bought one of my own.

A classic!

This is Dickens' book (and some would say lecture) on the theme of selfishness. Martin Chuzzlewit is structured around the three variations on this theme: personal selfishness in all its many manisfestations, institutional selfishness by way of an insurance scam, and national selfishness in the form of hypocrisy served up American-style.

To illustrate the theme of personal selfishness, Dickens' parades his usual circus of colorful characters before us, each representing some aspect of the theme. There is hypocrisy appearing in the persons of Pecksniff and Mrs Gamp, thoughtlessness dressed up as young Martin Chuzzlewit and Mercy Pecksniff, suspiciousness and distrust disguised as old Martin Chuzzlewit, greed and villainy personified by Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg Montague (or Montague Tigg), and so on. There are also the usual cast of good characters to set off the bad.

The American interlude takes young Martin and his sidekick, jolly Mark Tapley, to the U-nited States where they meet various members of the American establishment: media moguls, literary luminaries, the American aristocracy, multifarious military men. One and all, they extol the virtues of Democracy and Freedom, American style. Unfortunately, the young travellers' experiences don't quite live up to the advertising. Not to give the story away, but let's just say they find themselves going up a river without the proverbial paddle.

The insurance scam illustrates the idea selfishness when it grows in stature to encompass more than those in one's immediate environs. It's dreamt up by Tigg Montague, but quickly takes on a life of its own and swallows up the likes of Pecksniff and Jonas Chuzzlewit.

On the whole, these themes are convincingly illustrated. The problem with the book is not the structure, but the tone of the narrative, or how Dickens tells the tale. When dealing with personal selfishness, Dickens takes a caustic, condemnatory tone, frequently obtruding in the narrative to rain insults on his poor characters. Pecksniff, in particular, is the unhappy recipient of a lot of this authorial abuse. By contrast, when Dickens narrates the American episode, he takes a combative, indignant tone, and far from obtruding, he is happy to hold his pen and let his characters incriminate themselves.

It's this inconsistency in the narrative that mars this book, particularly Dickens' habit of interjecting his moral imprecations. Indeed, the narrative is sometimes so earnestly didactic that it feels like a lecture. A more artistic way to get your points across is to let your characters make them. After all, that's what they're for.

Not a bad book, especially the American episode, but clearly the work of a still maturing Dickens. If you are new to Dickens and are looking for a place to start, look elsewhere. Come back to MC when you've read two or three of his other books.

If nothing else, one can come away with images of use in your daily lives. Read this book to understand the hypocrisy of Pecksniff and Mrs. Prigg's interesting friend, Mrs. Harris. These two things pop up as literary references all over the place. Now I finally understand the "Harris" reference in Murder on the Orient Express!

There are all sorts of deceptions and selfishness going on in this book, but by far, Seth Pecksniff is the most perfect character to be found of all Dickens' comic characters. There is a darkness in the profile of Mr. Pecksniff, but he is made to ridiculed, and Dickens does not let a chance pass to ridicule Pecksniff.

I want to digress a moment, for Dickens did as well -- there is a section where young Martin Chuzzlewit tries his fortune in America. And there is quite a bit of anti-American sentiment to be found in these parts (a fact which caused emnity between Dickens and the American public until he made his 2nd and final tour in 1870 or so). There are two reasons for this: first, Martin Chuzzlewit simply did not have the sales figures of previous novels. Anti-American books seemed to be "the thing" (just like diet books are popular today) in Britain, so he went for that. Secondly, Dickens had just been on a rather contentious tour of the U.S. in which he had been trying to make a case for international copyright. You see, the U.S. was the China of that day -- infamous for pirating works of people from other countries. Publishers in America had been printing their own copies of Dickens novels at cut rates (because they weren't paying Dickens or his British publishers anything!) When Dickens tried to make his plea for intellectual property rights, these same publishers of newspapers did a hatchet job of Mr. Dickens' reputation. So, basically, Dickens had an axe to grind.

In any case, feel free to skip all the Chuzzlewit in America bits. There is a moment of self-realization for young Martin, but it's not essential. All the essential action is going on in England, and Martin will return to finish business. There's also a pyramid scheme-like scam going on as part of a subplot, so now we've got two things involved in this novel that people think are debates of modern origin: intellectual property rights and bad financial info. Just remember, Napster and Internet stock tips are only the latest manifestation of old themes; at the very least, this book will remind you of that.

This is Dickens' tale (and some would say lecture) about selfishness. Dickens' presents characters that embody different aspects of this vice, from the hypocrisy of Pecksniff and Mrs Gamp, to the thoughtlessness of young Martin Chuzzlewit and Mercy Pecksniff, the suspiciousness of old Martin Chuzzlewit, to the vengefulness of Charity Pecksniff, from the villainy of Jonas Chuzzlewit, to the duplicity of Tigg Montague. But Dickens doesn't stop here: the book also explores this theme on the larger institutional and national scales, as well. The American detour can be seen as a condemnation of the hypocrisy of the U-nited States of the early 1800's. And the Life Assurance Co scam is clearly an indictment of selfishness when its ambitions grow to encompass those beyond one's immediate circle. To his credit, Dickens doesn't lay these latter evils at the abstract feet of 'countries' and 'companies', but shows that even in these suprapersonal entities, the original sin lies with individuals.

As part of a group read, I picked up a week late"Evelina" from my local library. I wasn't quite sure whatto expect - certainly this would be no Tom Jones, but it wouldn't be Austen either - however what I found was a pleasant epistolary jaunt through a young girl's first season out. A jaunt, which, although begun a week late was quickly finished two weeks early! Customary to 18th century novels, Evelina's history is somewhat romantic, both her guardian and the hero impossibly good (a refreshing novelty, if a little sappy in places. They were apparently active members in the Mutual Admiration Society), and the secondary characters ridiculously vulgar. As Burney's first novel, the work shows some awkwardness in construction, but is otherwise excellent. Readers of modern romances may find the heros a bit formal, and fans of Jane Austen may find the epistlotary form unbelievable, but both they and lovers of historical fiction would do well to invest in this book, which provides an excellent glance into the end of an era, and one charming heroine's attempt to muddle through it. END

Anyone who loves Jane Austen (and don't we all?) will certainly enjoy Fanny Burney's Evelina. Burney is really a precursor of Austen, but has unfortunately been completely overshadowed by the later novelist. In its time (1778) Evelina was a tremendous hit and shy Fanny Burney a celebrated author overnight. She was invited into the literary circle of Samuel Johnson, became a reluctant lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte because of her celebrity and at age 41 married a refugee from the French Revolution, thus becoming Madame D'Arblay (check out her interesting diaries). The subtitle of Evelina (The History of A Young Lady's Entrance into the World) says it all: Evelina is an innocent and naive young girl, who suddenly finds herself in unfamiliar London society, surrounded by suitable and not so suitable suitors and a host of other characters. Lots of misunderstandings and perilous situations block Evelina's road, but don't be surprised to find humour and suspense as well, for the continuing question is of course whether Evelina will survive Society unscathed. Even though the pace of a novel more than 2 centuries old may be a bit slow for some, this is something you get used to soon enough: the novel contains far too much life, fun and social commentary too be dull.

I found Evelina thoroughly enjoyable. Much like a Jane Austen novel in its plot (the heroine faces and overcomes countless difficulties and by doing so matures and moves toward marriage with the hero) Burney's novel has a darker side that Austen doesn't seem to explore. Evelina is often in dire situations in which men make very improper adavances. Because of the manners required of polite young women, she is powerless to extricate herself; yet because she does not extricate herself, her postition as a member of polite society is threatened. The trials and ultimate triumph of Evelina make for a very enjoyable book - one I would strongly recommend.

Rose In Bloom is an interesting book about a girl who lives with her uncle. Her aunts wish her to be introduced into society after Rose had returned from a two year voyage around the world. One of her cousins wished her hand in marriage, but had changed so dramatically since she left on her voyage that she had struggle with him to make good choices. Besides this cousin, Rose had more suitors than she cared to deal with, because she was of marrying age with a great fortune and a kind heart. Finally, in the end, tragedy strikes Rose and her family, but the sun appeared again and brought light back into their lives with a wonderful ending. I love reading and Rose In Bloom offers enough enjoyment, sorrow and romance that I was farely satified with the overall picture it created. (I would recommend this book for girls). Personally, I would suggest reading Eight Cousins before Rose In Bloom, because it would be rather difficult to understand all the details of what was happening and who was who if you started with the latter. Enjoy!

"Rose in Bloom" is one of my favorite books ever. I like it more than any other Louisa May Alcott book, although its predecessor "Eight Cousins" is a sweet story in its own right. I can't find many romances that don't make me blush, but "Rose in Bloom" not only doesn't embarrass me, it makes me feel quite virtuous. ^_^ "Rose in Bloom" is so delightfully Victorian and unabashedly idealistic and romantic. The characters are all quite loveable and the plot, although firmly rooted in its time, resonates even now. The story is incredibly emotionally involving, I cry whenever I read this book -- even at a bus stop once! However, it's not a sad book; it ends very happily. (The scene with the quill pen just makes me need to call up a friend and squeal about the cuteness of it all.) When I find that mere words on a page can make the world seem to light up with happiness and goodness, I know I have found an incredible book. I highly recommend it to anyone who likes wonderful characters, a charming and earnest narrative, and a cute romance.

The story of Rose and how she comes of age is certainly idealized, but don't we need more ideals these days? She is rich and rather sheltered, but she faces the same peer pressure, the same temptations with boys, the same problems with friends and romance. Even Charlie's struggle with drinking is as fresh and relevant today as it was then. She also promotes an independent, even feminist, attitude, but without losing sight of the importance of feminine talents and virtues. I didn't discover this book until I was in my 20s, even though I had been a Little Women fan since childhood, but since then I've read "Eight Cousins" and other Alcott classics, and I wouldn't be without them. My daughter is learning to read now, and I can't wait to introduce her to Rose!

This is the best Tarkington book I've read yet. Booth captures the essence of the 17-year-old youth in love in this fictional account of a group of 17-year-old boys mooning over the neighborhood girl. He's got the emotions, the irascibility and the hormones all in one story. This book is a stitch as well -- humor similar to The Little Rascals is also included that had me chuckling from time to time. In addition, it gives the reader a view of what dating was back in that era. Attitudes, liberties and customs have certainly changed... Easy to read, light-hearted, and fun...

A warm and witty look at turn of the century middle America with the central character a self focused teen aged boy and his first summer love, a "ditsy blonde" from down the street. He IS a classic, self absorbed, rediculous teen aged boy, but that is his charm. You feel pity for him but you'll laugh as the author gently makes him the butt of all his jokes. Only problem is the predjudiced view of African Americans (which was probably the norm in Tarkington's time). Other than that, this book is a great, funny read. Don't miss it (and don't take it so seriously, William)!

This is honestly the funniest book I have ever read- it's the kind that makes you laugh out loud till the point of humiliation. A definite must for any reader with a sense of humour- Tarkington captures every moment in perfect language and real life scenes. This is the book I pick up when I'm depressed or need to laugh- it works every time.

The last completed novel by Henry James is, like preceding works of his later era ("The Wings of the Dove" comes up to mind first), very hard to read. That's the warning to every unwary reader who happens to think about starting to read Henry James anew.

The plot is simple: its about two couples of people -- Charlotte and Amerigo, and Adam Verver and his daughter Maggie Verver. Charlotte loves Amerigo, who, however, decides to marry Maggie. Soon after that, Charlotte marries Adam Verver, an American millionaire. Still, Amerigo and Charlotte maintain their former relations as lovers until their secret is discovered by Maggie unexpectedly with an advent of a golden bowl, which looks perfect outward, but deep inside cracked. Maggie, who greatly adores her deceived father, in turn, starts to move in order to mend the cracked relations, or secure the apparently happy family life without disturbing the present relations.

As this sketch of the story tells you, one of the favorite topics of the 19th century literature -- adultery -- is staged in the center of the book, but the way James handles it is very different from those of other American or British writers. The meaning is hidden in a web of complicated, even contorted sentences of James, and you have to read often repeatedly to grasp the syntax. The grammar is sometimes unclear, with his frequent use of pronouns and double negatives, and very often you just have to take time to understand to what person James' "he" or "she" really refers to. It is not a rare thing for you to find that a paragraph starts with those "he" and "she" without any hint about its identity, so you just read on until you hit the right meaning of these pronouns. And this is just one example of the hard-to-chew James prose. If you think it is pompous, you surely are excused.

But as you read on again, you find, behind this entangled sentences and a rather banal melodramatic story, something intelligent, something about humans that lurks in the dark part of our heart. I will not pretend that I can understand all of the book, but James clearly shows how we, with a limited ability of our perception, try to act as the characters of the book do, in the given atomosphere of society. To me, this book is about the way of the people's behavior luminously recorded; about the way of our expressing and perceiving ourselves without uttering them aloud.

Gore Vidal says about the book: "James's conversational style was endlessly complex, humourous, unexpected -- euphemistic where most people are direct, and suddenly precise where avoidance or ellipsis is usual (see his introduction of "The Golden Bowl" in Penguin Classics edition. This is exactly the nature of this book, which would either attract or repel you. Unfortunately, I admit, this is not my cup of tea, for I prefer more story-oriented novels. Still, if you really want to challenge reading something really substantial, I for one recommend this book.

There is a sumptuous film version of the book, starring Uma Thurman and Nick Nolte. It might be a good idea to watch it before you start reading the book.

I discovered James in college and read all his full-length novels before reaching age 30. The only one I had real trouble with was The Golden Bowl.

I recently reread the novel and reveled in its elegant complexity. (It would be nice to think that the passage of 20 years has brought wisdom and insight that made me a better reader, but the credit belongs to Dorothea Krook's illuminating discussion in The Ordeal of Consciousness in Henry James.)

The Golden Bowl is the last, the most demanding, and the most rewarding of James's major novels. Even its immediate predecessors, The Ambassadors and The Wings of the Dove, do not reach its deep examination of the mixed motives, the tangled good and evil, that drive human action and passion. Although he presents his characters' acts and much of what goes on in their heads, James manages in such a way that while Krook believes Adam and Maggie are on the side of the angels, Gore Vidal (who introduces the current Penguin edition) believes they are monsters of manipulation--and (as Krook acknowledges) both views are consistent with the evidence.

Much--too much--of these riches of doubt and ambiguity is lost in the Merchant/Ivory/Jhabvala translation to the screen (2001). The movie has some good things, but it could have had many more. Surprised by extraneous material (like the exotic dance), heavy-handed symbolism (the exterior darkness on the day Charlotte and Amerigo find the golden bowl), and needless oversimplifications (Amerigo's talk of "dishonor" to Charlotte, which exaggerates his virtue and his desire to be done with her), I got the sense that nobody involved in the production had read the novel with the care that it requires and rewards. Had they done so, their version could have been really fine--both as a movie and as an invitation to the novel.

Sandwiched in American literary time between The Scarlet Letter and The Great Gatsby, The Golden Bowl is plainly influenced by the former and an influence on the latter. In all three books, the plot hinges on an act of adultery. More importantly, in all three books, the act of adultery is never explicitly narrated to us. We learn somehow that the infidelity has occurred, and judge the subsequent behavior of characters in light of the infidelity.

There is a tendency in book reviews and literature classes to "boil down" complex works of art into manageable chunks. Suffice it here to say that The Golden Bowl resists reduction marvelously. It's Henry James at his finest, refusing to sugarcoat "love" as an innocent pastime and blessing us with brilliant characters who fully analyze their sophisticated insecurities. Book one (of two) opens with its protagonist, Amerigo, in deep reflection about his imminent marriage to the wealthy Maggie Verver. Why exactly does a rich American beauty who could have whatever man she wants purport to love a penniless, defrocked Italian "Prince?"

Make no mistake: The Golden Bowl is not light reading, and any reader who treats it as such will find him or herself backing up and rereading each sentence to capture what was lost. You can't speed through the book, looking for what "happens." You won't find it. Or at least, Henry James won't tell you straight out. James challenges the reader with the onus of judgment. Is your husband having an affair? Chances are that, rather than ask him straight out, you'll beat around the bush and judge whether he is or not by his behavior. No one conveys such tacit social jousting quite like Henry James, and in The Golden Bowl the old master is in peak form.

Divided into two books, The Golden Bowl provides a neatly segmented picture of life for a romantic couple both before (Book 1) and after (Book 2) an adultery takes place. Now the book's narrator never actually reveals that Maggie Verver, the second book's protagonist, is "on" to her husband's faithless behavior. Instead, it's something the reader must gather through subtle, nuanced shifts in the comportment and dialogue of the involved characters. One can even make a cogent argument -- based strictly on textual evidence -- that no affair has taken place.

The canonical beauty of the book is as much in its narrative style -- one of implicit revelation rather than an omniscient chronicling of events -- as it is in the actual storyline. Where Henry James has evolved from his "Portrait of a Lady" days is in the delivery of the tale. It is as though he is saying, here in his final novel (1905), "Any author worth a grain of salt can give you a straightforward, nineteenth century plot. Here is a different, more elevated manner of story-telling that departs dramatically from anything I've done before."

What we get is a work that straddles artistic boundaries, anticipating the oblique narratives of American modernism while subverting the 'and then...' style typical of the previous century's bildungsromans. On top of that, The Golden Bowl is a character-driven masterpiece, whose six characters possess distinguished Shakespearean personalites -- they are hilariously eloquent and fiercely intelligent. But that's de rigeur for a James opus. The whole book, in form and content, shines with what Harold Bloom calls James' "aesthetic eminence" -- stunning turns of phrase that you wish were yours, along with a deft narrative cadence that seamlessly unites scene upon scene into a layered and cohesive whole. The crown jewel in James' vaunted career, The Golden Bowl is a journey in American letters that no accomplished reader should fail to make.

Charles Primrose, the protagonist of Oliver Goldsmith's "The Vicar of Wakefield," is a living symbol of the combination of ingenuousness and bad luck; a man so naive and unfortunate yet so deadpan and earnest, he would not only be suckered into buying the worst lemon in the used car lot, but walk out of the salesman's office with a "Kick Me" sign taped to his back. What keeps him going is an infectious cheerfulness, an almost quixotic faith in human virtue, and a devotion to the integrity of his family, even though they are often the cause of his troubles.

Primrose, an Anglican minister and the father of six children, begins accumulating misfortunes from the very beginning of the novel. Right before his eldest son George's wedding, he learns that the merchant with whom he has deposited his sizable inheritance has skipped town with all his money. Now impecunious, he is compelled to move his family to a village where he becomes a tenant farmer under an arrogant and devious young landlord named Thornhill. On the way, they meet an itinerant man of questionable background named Burchell who takes a liking to his daughter Sophia.

Life at the farm is fraught with woe, particularly with regard to money. Both Primrose and his son Moses get cheated out of horses they are selling; his daughters lose the opportunity to secure good positions in London because of false rumors being spread about his family; after Olivia runs off with Thornhill, he pursues her and returns to find his house in flames. When Primrose fails to pay the rent and insults Thornhill, who has spurned Olivia in favor of the very girl of whom George was deprived, he is thrown in jail.

But wait, it gets worse. Sophia is kidnapped by a ruffian; Olivia pines away in misery and dies; George, who has left home to make his own way in the world, ends up in Primrose's jail in a return considerably less dignified than that of the Prodigal Son. Primrose, however, remains confident in the glory of Providence and decides to deliver sermons to reform the other prisoners who, unsurprisingly, initially resist his efforts. That they eventually start taking him seriously only implies that they may be even more gullible than he is.

This is a picaresque novel, somewhat in the spirit of "Don Quixote" or "Tom Jones," featuring an intentionally flawed hero who undergoes improbable adventures; and if it appears that I've given away too much of the plot, keep in mind this is a genre in which nothing is quite as it seems. In fact, the denouement is so utterly silly and even stupid that I can't help but respect it for its brazen absurdity; it's really the only ending befitting a dupe as likeable as Primrose.

The Vicar of Wakefield is a good book that shows how a family overcomes one harship after another. It is funny and at times very witty. Even though the language is a bit old fashioned, the book is still fun to read.

Goldsmith's only novel, The Vicar of Wakefield, is, as another reviewer pointed out, a modern (1766) version of the book of Job. In the book of Job, Satan attempts to make a fool of God and at the same time attack Job. Satan accomplishes this by arguing that the godliness of Job, who is God's beloved, is motivated by self-interest alone. God allows Satan to test Job in order that God and Job be vindicated.

In Goldsmith's story, Dr. Primrose is a priest with a loving wife and 6 wonderful children. They have an elegant house, the respect of their neighbors and the means to help others less fortunate. We are barely introduced to Dr. Primrose and his family when they are beset by misfortune. Their wealth is stolen and they must give up their family home and move to a distant village. From this point on, a series of ever increasing calamities occur.

Through it all we know that Dr. Primrose and family will persevere even if we can't anticipate all the twists and turns in the story. With that said, Dr. Primrose is not perfect. The introduction makes clear that he is possessed of intellectual pride. This measure of sin lends the story an air of authenticity that would be missing if Dr. Primrose was perfection personified. As a side note, the Penguin edition of this book does have a useful introduction which helps to frame the issues Goldsmith was trying to communicate as well as providing context for the times. The end notes are also of tremendous help.

The ending may be unlikely but the message of faith and family love endures. Don't let the age of this classic novel prevent you from enjoying its wit and wisdom.

A very readable Victorian mystery, I guess it would qualify in today's market as a cozy. I understand that Braddon was influenced by Wilke Collins, and therefore it is advantageous to also read The Woman in White, a generally more complex novel.

In any case, the first half of Lady Audley's Secret is compelling in its set-up of the mystery that follows, and I read it very quickly as it kept calling me back to it. The rest of the book, while still interesting, is spent observing the Lady's nephew (through marriage) as he attempts to discover the circumstances of the disappearance of his good friend which he believes is related to the Lady's "secret." The reader easily guesses much of the circumstance of the novel, although it's not quite as simple as it appears. It is also important to note that Braddon plots rather deftly and she savors the development of the novel's progression.

I did have some trouble getting through the last 100 pages of the book, as there was very little left for the reader to do but follow around the nephew's movements as he attempted to prove his theory. And, while Braddon does offer a twist at the end, it is not entirely unexpected, and so is not as effective as it could have been. Still, there is much to like about this book; in contains all the elements of Victorian society and, as such, has several layers within which it serves its audience. Not a must read, but if you're interested in Victorian literature, this is a book which was a sensation during the author's lifetime and may well be worth a look into.

I had to read tis book for a Victorian Lit. class and was not looking forward to it, however, to my suprise I ended up reading two thirds of it a t one sitting. Not only is it a great mystery novel, and a romance, it subtly undermines Victorian societal conventions, and questions the authority of gender roles.

Truly a great read, I reccomend it for woman who like romance novels.

...I was suprised at how much I liked this book. I am not one for Victorian "sensationalists" preferring swashbuckling but Miss Braddon (as she was then called) is a great writer who gives explainations for her character's wild behavior. Considered quite a trashy novelist in her day, her stories are much tamer than what is on network television.

Read, enjoy this escapist novel

The introduction to this version of the novel contains a quote to the effect that "[Beerbohm] only mocked what he loved." How he must have loved Oxford! This novel's outrageous satire doesn't fail to please from one page to the next, as Beerbohm swerves from one affectation to another in satirizing the Edwardian Dandy, the Modern Woman and anyone who comes between them. Structurally, the book consists of various collisions between caricatures of the sort that made Beerbohm famous: from the Duke of Dorset to Mr. Oover to Noaks to the fateful Zuleika herself, each character charms and delights.

Beerbohm's prose is liquid, self-consciously affected and simply hilarious. It's the kind of prose that can't be recreated in today's literary environment, but the kind that ought to be treasured and brought out often at night, like the Duke's bottles of port.

(If I had one complaint, it would be that the book is a bit too long, and the plot's fanciful consummation is postponed for a few too many superfluous chapters. But that's minor, since the book isn't very long in any case.)

The unerring owls have hooted. The Emperors of Oxford smile in approval. This book is for the ages.

Zuleika!!! The crys of Oxford's entire undergraduate body before hurtling into the Isis towards death echoed in my memory as I closed Beerbohm's little book. The book was excellent, but in parts I found myself asking- WHY?- so they die for love of Zuleika-then what? But the thinly stretched plot contains gems of scenes, of lines. (The Emperors on the Sheldonian sweating with premonition.) For someone who knows Oxford, the book is intensely funny- however it is not entirely dependent on locus- it is witty-poking fun at Greek drama, at the sense of Duty, sticking to ones word, at love even-though it, in itself bears similarity to Sophoclian play. In its absurdity the tragedy of death bears no real meaning-The race must continue! Definately A READ!

I have to admit that when the Top 100 list came out, I had never heard of this book or it's author. And yet, by itself, the revelation of this satirical baroque masterpiece justifies all the wretched dreck I've waded through on the List.

Zuleika Dobson is the beautiful young granddaughter of the Warden of Judas College at Oxford. She's been earning a living as a conjurer and is the toast of France and America. But Zuleika has never loved a man. She has determined that a woman of her superior beauty can only love a man who is so superior as to be oblivious to her charms. Thus far, there has been no such man.

Immediately on her arrival on campus, the entire student body falls madly in love with her. However, at dinner her first night the young Duke of Dorset seems indifferent. Could he be the man? Alas, it turns out that he too is smitten and when she discovers this she spurns him. Unused to such a dismissal, the Duke decides that he must kill himself & soon the whole College is ready to follow his example.

The book is a shrieking hoot from start to finish & the whole thing is rendered in an ornate prose that is wholly unique. Take this description of the Duke & his troll like flat mate Noaks:

Sensitive reader, start not at the apparition! Oxford is a plexus of anomalies.
These two youths were (odd as it may seem to you) subject to the same Statutes,
affiliated to the same College, reading for the same School; aye! and though the
one had inherited half a score of noble and castellated roofs, whose mere
repairs cost him annually thousands and thousands of pounds, and the other's
people had but one mean little square of lead, from which the fireworks of the
Crystal Palace were clearly visible every Thursday evening, in Oxford one roof
sheltered both of them. Furthermore, there was even some measure of intimacy
between them It was the Duke's whim to condescend further in the direction of
Noaks than in any other. He saw in Noaks his own foil and antithesis, and made
a point of walking up the High with him at least once in every term. Noaks, for
his part, regarded the Duke with feelings mingled of idolatry and disapproval.
The Duke's First in Mods oppressed him (who, by dint of dogged industry, had
scraped a Second) more than all the other differences between them. But the
dullard's envy of brilliant men is always assuaged by the suspicion that they
will come to a bad end. Noaks may have regarded the Duke as a rather pathetic
figure, on the whole.

Or this passage describing the suicidal yearnings of the student body:

You cannot make a man by standing a sheep on its hindlegs. But by standing a
flock of sheep in that position you can make a crowd of men. If man were not a
gregarious animal, the world might have achieved, by this time, some real
progress towards civilization. Segregate him, and he is no fool. But let him
loose among his fellows, and he is lost--he becomes just a unit in unreason. If
any one of the undergraduates had met Miss Dobson in the desert of Sahara, he
would have fallen in love with her; but not one in a thousand of them would have
wished to die because she did not love him. The Duke's was a peculiar case.
For him to fall in love was itself a violent peripety, bound to produce a
violent upheaval; and such was his pride that for his love to be unrequited
would naturally enamour him of death. these other, these quite ordinary, young
men were the victims less of Zuleika than of the Duke's example, and of one
another. A crowd, proportionately to its size, magnifies all that in its units
pertains to the emotions, and diminishes all that in them pertains to thought.
It was because these undergraduates were a crowd that their passion for Zuleika
was so intense; and it was because they were a crowd that they followed so
blindly the lead given to them. To die for Miss Dobson was 'the thing to do'.
The Duke was going to do it. The Junta was going to do it. It is a hateful
fact, but we must face the fact, that snobbishness was one of the springs to the
tragedy here chronicled.

I can't recommend this one highly enough.

Frank Norris was among other things a new correspondent, an editorial assistant, as well as a war correspondent in Cuba. He is considered by many to be the first important American naturalist writer. Naturalists strive to observe and report dispassionately, much like a scientist. His writing reflects this belief, it is the modern day equivalent of a "20/20" expose. He details how monopoly affects the average man. He tells the story of the lifes that were changed as a result of our headlong rush towards industrialism. The book is long, melodramatic, and filled with scenes of early California. Unfortunately, the book carries less weight than it did when it was written and tends to become a bore after 300 pages, or less. Also we must not forget that the events in this book actually happened. So unless you have to read it for class...

Today when we think of California we think of what else but Los Angeles and San Francisco. Many people forget that California has a rich history based in agriculure and mining. The Octopus tells a story about California's past and the epic struggle between the Wheat farmers and the all powerful railroads. The characters are dynamic and Norris has written the story so brilliantly that you actually feel for the characters. If you read this book you also must read "The Pit" also by Norris which tells the tale of the Chicago Commodities market and one mans overpowering desire to "corner" the wheat market.

Definitely not for all tastes, but a strong work, with well-drawn characters and some very beautiful (albeit long) prose passages. Norris has a habit of driving his point into the ground (a section near the end of the novel, which juxtaposes a mother and child starving to death on the street with a wealthy, upperclass, elitist meal comes to mind), but over all a profound and powerful work. Originally intended as the first part of a proposed "Trilogy of Wheat," Norris died near the publication of the second book (see "The Pit.") Definitely recommended for those who enjoy great American literature.