This was a very popular novel of 1896, and is considered by many to be a literary classic. Theron Ware enters the scene as a small town Methodist Minister. He and his wife seem to be humble folk and settle into a small house near his church. Soon he meets a Catholic priest, an atheist physician, and a beautiful Irish lass. They make quite an impression on him. They are sophisticated, well educated, and quite worldly. Alas, they are such a strong influence on him that he starts playing the worldly role, and begins to look down on his job and his religion. He also finds himself strongly attracted to the lovely Celia Madden. I should mention that in those days the Irish were assigned to the caste of untouchables.

Theron acts as if he is now a man of the world, although he knows nothing of the literature, music, and philosophy discussed by others. He becomes a boring, mean minded buffoon. The book continues with his steady degradation, a preacher who has become a victim of that secular humanism that our current day fundamentalists complain so much about.

The novel provides an interesting view of religion and culture of the late 1800s. It was somewhat difficult for me to understand how such a seemingly pious man could turn into such a churlish fellow. Perhaps his upbringing was quite religiously strict, and he developed a strong reaction formation to it all.

I found this book on my father's bookshelf and brought it home to read. I'm not sure why I picked it--nothing about the title or description excited me too much, so it sat on my own bookshelf forgotten for several months. Finally, hurriedly getting ready for a vacation I needed a book to read and found Theron Ware. I loved it so much that I went right out and bought my own copy. I recommended it to my 21 year old son and he loved it too. One caution though, do NOT read the introduction first--it gives the entire plot away. Save it for after when you can savor the analysis.

IMHO, this novel can and should be included with the other American novels that we cram down the throats of high-schoolers: Moby Dick, Scarlet Letter, Huckleberry Finn, etc. This is the almost painfully realistic story of a preacher who discovers that there is another world outside his previously sheltered existence. For many of us, this sort of discovery is a happy and broadening experience. But in Ware's case, his new discoveries cause him to reject all the good things about his old life, and to build fantasy castles in the air of his imagination. In his increasingly desperate attempt to escape into a fantasy life, he leaves behind many of his values and ethical standards - not least his responsibilities to those he loves.

This book will hit a nerve for many readers - it did for me. It is easy for the reader to identify with Ware and realize only too late, as Ware did, that he is embarking on an illusory and self-destructive quest. Frederick constructed both the plot and the character of Ware perfectly, and this novel is worth everyone's time to read. You will keep thinking about it long after you have closed the book for the last time.

I liked this book, don't get me wrong. But intentionally writing a novel based upon a famous porn star's name just to sell books is just wrong. I'm sure Gidget the Midget could sue if she wanted to.

It's true this is not a work of a profound and philosophical nature. On the other hand, it is a fun and quick read. The fact that it is at least loosely based on the life of Kathy Kohner and that it was written by her father, who picked up some ideas for the book by eavesdropping on her telephone conversations, only adds to the enjoyment. The beach culture/counterculture presented in this book ushered in not only the Gidget movies but also all of the beach-oriented movies from the early and mid-60s. It's easy enough for anyone who recalls being a teenager to identify with at least some of the teenage angst contained within Gidget. If you're looking for a light, sunny read on a dark winter's day or at any other time, give it a chance.

When my mother thrust Gidget at me about ten years ago, I shuddered. My only experience with the perky California teen was the movie (no dis intended to fans of the flick). Frederick Kohner's novel is a whole other ball of wax (board wax, natch!). While not particularly deep or philosophical, this novel is a delightful coming-of-age story.

Gidget's trials and tribulations convey all the horror, delight, confusion, and wonder of the teen years, from finding a pastime for which she has a passion (surfing), to the exultation, heartache (and, again, exultation) of her first real crush.

As Gidget takes the reader along on the magical summer of her fifteenth year, she also provides an in-depth tour of the California surf culture in the mid to late 1950s. Every sub-culture has its own lingo, and Kohner gives the reader a colorful, entertaining look at what has become an American Icon: the professional beach bum.

Each time I reread my faded, old copy of Gidget, I prayed that it would hold together for one more perusal. Imagine my delight when I found that it had been reissued! It may not be Shakespeare, but Kohner's "bitchen" novel is a classic of American pop culture!

The book is well written and reads fluently. The characters are very well and lively described. The story is realistic.
I have read lots of John Grisham books, but this one is more complex and takes more effort to read.
One minor point : 500 pages is a bit too much for me... I prefer stories of about 250-300 pages. But, certainly...I would buy this book again.

It is a credit to Robert Goddard's writerly abilities that he manages to lead and keep our interest alive in this complex story. We travel from Greece to the British Isles (a map of the UK would be a nice adjunct). The cast of characters in another author's hands would be cumbersome. A tribute to Goddard that even the minor characters are crisply delineated, and not once was I confused as to who was who.

Harry Bennett, a professional failure, has to be one of the more depressing heroes of all time. He has no confidence, few social skills, and not one yearning desire to better himself. He glumly concludes he is not worthy of success. His stylistic sense is so poor; his rumpled appearance causes comment in even an average restaurant. The late Carroll O'Connor could play the part to perfection. On Harry's watch, the young and fragile Heather Mallender disappears while they are hiking up sinister Profitis Ilias Mountain in the Greek Isles. Predictably, Harry has petered out slightly below the summit and elects to wait for Heather to complete the climb. And that is the last he sees of Heather.

The rest of the novel recounts Harry's painstaking search for Heather. Harry is nothing if not persistent, and even his wrong turns forward his search. Nothing is quite as it seems, even Harry. Mr. Goddard has given us a story laced with irony. As in a previous Goddard novel "Caught in the Light," I had a good idea "who" was the main villain; I just had no idea "why." This is a finely crafted novel, and the characterizations are delightful. A very satisfying read.

I've read hundreds of books and this has to be one of the best I've ever read. You follow the tale of loser Harry trying to find his friend who went missing on Rhodes,from the Greek island and around the counties of England. Harry has only done one heroic act in his life and without giving away too much this becomes a sad irony as the story concludes. This book is impossible to put down!

This, to me, is a good example of a book that is primarily premise. The idea of London being broken up into little city states is amusing, but Chesterton doesn't do enough with the comic possibilities. It was difficult for me to enjoy this book, while constantly being reminded of "Passport to Pimlico," a much more whimsical take on the notion.

The theme of the Napoleon of Nottingham Hill is that it is better to live a short exciting life than a long boring one. GKC would argue that the moment when you are most lucid and the world is convinced that you are mad is exactly when you are the most sane. The Napoleon of Nottingham Hill is the story of how an irrational war among London's suburbs finally gives meaning to the lives of moderns who have become so board with living. The book also explains what humor is and how man can stand proud without sinning. If you read one book by GKC, let it be this book.

G.K. Chesterton has seen the future of men.
Auberon Quin, a man who takes nothing seriously. He is chosen as a leader that runs his country as a joke.
Mr. Buck, a man who takes himself too seriously. He accepts Quin's eccentric leadership as long as it doesn't stand in the way of progress.
Adam Wayne, a man who takes everything and everybody (except himself) too seriously. He believes Quin's way of the world is not a joke, but romantic and truthful. He fights for it with all his might!
These men help take the reader on an adventure of exploration of our life, our actions & our deepest beliefs. And what's more ?
-- a defense of our sense of "home" and our sense of "humor"!

Has there ever been a more perfect marriage between character and actor? As ever, discussing any of the Morse books is impossible without discussing the actor who portrays him. The two are linked (in my mind, at least) forever. In this title, Morse is his quintessential self and calls to mind Jonathan Thaw. As usual, the mystery is good, Morse's ego is exquisite, and the writing is engaging. Here is one series where watching the videos does not detract from the source material. In fact, knowing John Thaw's Morse serves to heighten enjoyment of reading the books.

The history of the mystery is replete with examples of detectives who tread a fine line between the amusingly eccentric and the downright boorish (Sherlock Holmes being the archetype; Poirot, Nero Wolfe, and others following in his footsteps). Colin Dexter's Inspector Morse fits squarely and delightfully in this tradition. If you've never seen the TV series on PBS and A&E, or better yet read one of the books, you're really missing out on something special.

Morse, whose first name wasn't revealed for years, is an Oxford-educated, beer-drinking, Opera-loving, vintage Jaguar-driving, Crossword puzzle maven and also one of the biggest curmudgeons in all of literature. He does not suffer fools gladly, other than his much put upon but continually bemused partner Lewis. His superiors are forced to tolerate his idiosyncrasies and his bibliousness because he also has a uniquely intuitive mind and a knack for solving the most puzzling crimes. In an interesting symbiosis, John Thaw's television portrayal of Morse bled over into the novels and took some of the harsher edges off of the character and Kevin Whatley's Lewis helped to make the character less of a dolt and more of a naïf in the books too.

In this Gold Dagger winning installment in the series, Morse is on an unwelcome holiday when he gets drawn into the case of a year old disappearance of a Swedish girl who is assumed to have been murdered and ditched in the local woods. The largely moribund investigation is reinvigorated when The Times receives a cryptic letter with tantalizing but ambiguous literary clues to the dead girl's whereabouts. As the story unfolds Morse finds himself in the midst of a murder investigation that includes everything from pornography to ornithology. As always, the book offers both a satisfying mystery and the great pleasure of watching Morse and Lewis interact with one another and with suspects, superiors and the various ladies who inevitably tweak Morse's heartstrings.

After a highly successful run of 13 novels, Dexter killed Morse off earlier this year in The Remorseful Day. On the one hand, it's nice to see an author finish a series while he still has his fastball, but Morse and Lewis will be missed. Try one of the books and keep an eye peeled for the show, both are outstanding.

GRADE: A+

A very well crafted book. Superb plotting as one would expect from this author. This book continues the Morse mystique (he is still able to attract women half his age) but gives Lewis a little more assertiveness. Quite unputdownable.

The night after I finished this book I found myself before a slot machine in a small casino. I had a feeling and put a quarter in. I won and won again. I stuffed the quarters in my pockets but there were no buckets available. When I lost two quarters in a row I left. Unfortunately this was a dream and I awoke empty handed. Bob the Gambler is a beautifully observed, enviably perfect novel by a master who doesn't seem flashy because he stays within his means. It is also a surprisingly, even surreally loving story. The novel centers around the fissioned nuclear family of down-on-his luck Biloxi architect Bob Kaiser, a plump transplant moved by the Mississippi coastal decay before it was invaded by "gussied-up Motel 6 hotel rooms [and] an ocean of slicked-back hair," his pretty, witty, and wonderful wife of nine years Jewel, who is tough and stable, and yet the first to thirst for casino action, Jewel's daughter RV, an amazingly rendered, very sweet fourteen year old mid-90's teenager whom Bob adores, and Frank, the family dog. All the principals, as well as Bob's mother, whom we meet later in the book, are expert at the art of the cryptic tough-talking but secretly loving epigram. One of the great charms of this book is the depths of love of the family members both concealed by and revealed by their fragmented banter and quips. There are some wonderful moments and descriptions of daily life and teenage rearing, the euphoric swirl of casino gambling, and the decrepit Mississippi coast. The lasting impression one is left from this book, aside from the controlled brilliance of Barthelme's prose, is in my opinion a meditation on the meaning of money vis-à-vis love. Bob's wife's name, Jewel, is a token of facets of wealth unobtainable by any number of markers or wild infatuation-like risks; theirs, an irreducible love that includes and absorbs others (such as RV) in its understated wake, is the multicolored antithesis of liaisons such as those between David Duke (who make a cameo appearance)-and a sprightly young thing-of any coupling that can be price tagged, exchanged, or discarded. The casino and noncasino lights that surround Jewel, in her preternatural (and perhaps ultimately unrealistic, or at least extremely rare) stability, enact a preciousness beyond money and its temporary accumulations. They symbolize the nonmonetary values of the gift of being, the privilege not of accumulating but of existing-of the privilege of being alive, a spectator of phenomena in a world whose mortal decay, far from being its downfall, guarantees the preciousness of the light show it displays. Anyone who has taken junkets to Atlantic City may have noticed how on the flight there everyone chatters; they are full of excitement on hope. The way back is different. Everyone, or almost everyone has lost. They are quiet-until the plane lands, at which point they clap. Why? Because, although they have lost their money, they are newly appreciative of the far more precious gift of being alive. That is the mini-miracle, the lottery ticket, the stiff Barthelme hits for us in this wonderful paean to human frailty and true, tough love. In a way, Barthelme, his heart bigger than any red chip, says in this book the exact opposite of comedian Steven Wright's quip, "You can't have everything, where would you put it?" Barthelme says (with mathematician Paul Erdos) you do have everything, you have it all, already-you are infinitely rich.

I read this book as soon as it came out, have recommended it to friends, and just now purchased another copy as a gift. It's one of the best books I've read in years. The characters are so acutely observed, the dialogue so on target, that I got carried away with it. The well-written gambling scenes made my hands sweat at points. And the ending -- the ending is absolutely perfect.

Barthelme's new book is fantastic. Rich in detail like his earlier "Two Against One," and chilling in its ability to paint the down and out life of its characters.

Bernard Cornwell just keeps getting better and better as these books progress! This is now the 13th volume on Sharpe's timeline, and the 6th in order of publication. The character development continues to improve as new personae are introduced in each installment. An especially appealing new character is the one-eyed and mutilated rifle captain , "Sweet William", who joins Sharpe and Harper in this highly entertaining novel.

The time is late 1812 with Christmas approaching. A renegade army of British , Spanish , Portuguese , and French deserters have captured the "wife" of Colonel Sir Augustus Fotheringdale (what a name!), another of those rich and aristocratic and enormously egotistical bungling incompotents that seem to pop up regularly in these novels. Sharpe is selected to rescue the damsel in distress who is being held at an old castle and watchtower on the Northern border of Portugal , known as "the Gateway of God". He is provided by Wellington with two additional companies of riflemen and a batallion of Welsh Fusileers as reinforcements. Sharpe , now a Major , commands the rescue operation and manages to effect it with only minimal losses. The subsequent interference by Sir Augustus manages to result in the death of Colonel Kinney , the commander of the Fusileers , leaving Sharpe as the only experienced senior officer present. Also liberated is the wife of a French Colonel , who is returned promptly to her husband . The French seemingly have also mounted a rescue attempt , but only as a cover for an invasion of Portugal. Sharpe manages to uncover the scheme and settles in to thwart the French and brings them to battle , seeking to buy time for Wellington to respond.

There are many interesting twists and turns to the plot , in which Sharpe encounters his old mortal enemy , Obadiah Hakeswill , fights a battle , commands a batallion , and suffers a tragic loss.

This is one of the best Richard Sharpe novels ; not necessarily "the best" , but close enough. Five stars.

i've been reading the sharpe books since a little girl and this one has never failed to make me cry. Possibly the most beautifully written ending to any book I have read- proof to the huge empathy that Cornwell evokes in readers for his characters. A wonderful book and one that i shall never tire of reading

'Sharpe's Enemy' by Bernard Cornwell is probably the best in the Sharpe series. There is nothing lacking in the story: evil and corrupt enemies, damsels in distress, heart breaking pathos and (of course) hard-fought battles. The year is 1812 and it's Christmas time in Spain. Joining Sharpe in 'Enemy' is his trusty companion Sargent Harper, the battle scared Captain 'Sweet William' and the often drunk Lieutenant Harry Price. Typical of Cornwell's Sharpe adventures are the enemy forces that will stop at nothing in their efforts to defeat the brave British soldiers.

Major Sharpe is given the task of liberating two officer's wives and capturing the forces of Pot-au-Feu, a 'Marshal' in the renegade army. During his ransom negotiations with the deserters, he encounters his old nemesis the evil and twisted Obadiah Hakeswill. Other enemies include: Sharpe's commanding officer the incompetent and cowardly Colonel Sir Augustus and the evil and conniving French Major Ducos. One of the refreshing themes in this story is that the enemies are not just the French army but the people that are supposedly his allies. Surprisingly enough during a temporary treaty he gains some respect for a few of the Napoleon's officers. Throughout the course of the story he commands a battalion, defends a castle and wins countless battles.

For people that have never read a Sharpe book I would like to quote a couple of sentences as an example of Cornwell's style.

'Charge!
This was the way to end it! Sword in hand and charging, and even though the battle was lost he could still make these
French regret the day they had come to the Gateway of God. He could put fear in them for their next battle, he would make them remember this place with sourness.'

This is Cornwell's gritty style. Sharpe is a soldier's soldier and hero for all ages.

FB's style in these stories is mainly to set you up with a scene and characters (which he brings to life fairly easily and quickly) and then end the story right on the brink of when something's going to happen.. or not happen.
In many of these stories, the sexual frustration between characters is leaping off the page; just when you think something will break, it gets even more intense. Most of the stories involve a male and female as the main chars.
A handful of stories are written in 2nd person, which is extremely difficult to pull off. FB does an okay job of it, but doesn't convince me.
I enjoyed the collection and will definitely consider other works by him.

So many books are filled with lousy, hothouse prose, so many are overwritten or underwritten, or have no ideas other than the ideas you might hear on any newscast on MSNBC. Even books that get a lot of press seem sort of mundane and off-the-rack when compared with Barthelme's. He sees the world we live in from an odd angle, seems to like the really plain stuff that's always going on around us, and in his hands it tends to take on a magical glow. How he does it I don't quite know. Maybe it's just good writing, maybe it's the particular ideas that he elects to write about, maybe it's finding the slightly miraculous in the utterly ordinary. Anyway, it's a pleasure to read stories that have a different slant. I like the story where the meat slides down the counter, and the one where they go to the Home Depot, and the one where the girl writes her number on his arm, and the one where the big strange guy gets to drive the car. I like the crazy story about the runaway girl in the back and the story called Ed Works in which almost nothing happens. These characters have a realness about them that so much fiction misses--the people are just going though their lives and stuff is happening to them and they're reacting and sometimes it gets out of hand or there's a big moment that's really lovely and they don't miss the moment, but they don't make a religion out of it either. And best of all, these stories don't preach. That's rare these days.

For two decades Frederick Barthelme has been turning out an impressive collection of some of America's best short stories. Intimate, funny, economical, and quirky -- and usually set in a recognizable limbo of suburban estrangement and surrealness -- Barthelme's stories detail relationships that almost happen and ones that almost don't, the ways we look at each other when we mean things we can't bring ourselves to say, and the overflow of feelings we all share but can't always, or even often, come right out and express. The Law of Averages is a stunning collection of old and new stories, fully representing a master's broad range of accomplishments, while deservedly winning an audience of new admirers; recommended without reservation.

Sharpe's Gold by Bernard Cornwell is an exciting adventure yarn about greed, guts and duty. This time the British army is defeated and General Wellington fears that his forces are being pushed out of the peninsula. In order for Wellington to continue the war he needs money and lots of it. There is gold in some remote Spanish village and once Wellington hears of it, he MUST have it. And who do you think the General would give this important assignment to...none other than Captain Sharpe (naturally). Spain may be lost to the French but there is one thing the British forces have that France does not and that is SHARPE. If there is one thing Sharpe hates is losing. So you know he will do what ever it takes to win. Cornwell's blending of fact and fiction are amazing. You get the sense of being there, you visualize the battles and the scenes at the fortress of Almeida are spellbinding. Of course Sharpe gets the gold, receives the praise (reluctantly) from Wellington and he even gets the pretty girl in the end. My only problem with the story is the ending. What Sharpe must do to get the gold is too ruthless to be imagined. If this is your first Sharpe book don't let it be your last, Sharpe's Rifles or Sharpe's Company are better. However, all of Cornwell's Sharpe books are good reads, you will not be disappointed.

In this installment in Cornwell's Napoleonic War series, Sharpe and his riflemen are sent by Lord Wellington on a secret mission to recover a huge cache of Spanish gold deep in French held territory. At this point in the war (August 1810), the British have been driven from Spain, and French armies are marching on Portugal. Meanwhile, the army has run out of money and without the gold, the British will have to abandon Lisbon, and the war. Sharpe's mission introduces him (and the reader) to the uneasy diplomacy between England and Spain, as for the first time, Shape encounters Spanish partisans fighting the French. The partisans currently have the gold, and are loathe to relinquish it to the English troops, whom they don't trust. In each book in the series there is a main villain, here it is the partisan leader, a cruel warlord called "El Catholico." And, in each book in the series there is a beautiful woman, here Teressa, who will play an important and long running role in the series. True to form, she falls into his bed a little too readily, but that's par for the course in the series.

SPOILER WARNING << Read no Further: Plot Twists to Be Revealed! >>

As usual, even once Sharpe successfully extricates the gold and his company from the partisans, and then French forces, he still must battle his greatest foe: army bureaucracy. Holed up in the fortress of Almeida, he is ordered by the garrison commander to relinquish the gold to Spanish representatives. Unwilling to let that happen, he comes up with a rather drastic way to avoid the command--blow up the garrison, thus dissolving the commander's authority! Cornwell bases this on the real explosion of the magazine that destroyed Almeida, but it seems a rather extreme solution, even for the ruthless Sharpe. Pursing his "break a few eggs to make an omlette" plan, Sharpe's explosion ends up killing around 500 British soldiers--rank and file soldiers just like him. He grapples with his remorse momentarily, but it's a monumentally guilt-inducing event that seems not to have caused Sharpe many sleepless nights later in the series (at least the ones I've read so far). Considering Cornwell's has Sharpe's repeatedly recall his whipping in India, and other traumatic events from his past, it seems a slight misstep that the climax of this book doesn't affect him in later ones (although perhaps in working my way through the rest of the series, I'll find myself wrong).

In any event, it's a fairly solid entry in the series.

I own all the Sharpe books - including Trafalgar.

Sharpe's Gold is right up there with the best of the series. It's a rollicking Boy's Own yarn, a swasher of buckles, a putter-downer of foes, a sweeper-away of tempestuous heroines. It's fun, and makes no pretence to be otherwise.

Bernard Cornwell rarely writes badly (I disliked his Starbuck / Civil War stories, but that's me) and he doesn't let his fans down with this book.

Wellington's army is backed into a corner, and broke. The Spaniards have a lot of gold, and Sharpe's just the man to steal - er, appropriate it. That he has to blow up a city to do it is just another day in this larger-than-life, ultimately pragmatic soldier's life.

And yes - there's a great love story, too.

If, in reality, Wellington had had a Sharpe or two under his command, Napoleon would have gone back to Corsica to study pre-revolutionary tatting. Fortunately, he didn't... which means there are plenty of more opportunities for Sharpe to battle his way across Spain and into France.

The current status of Freud and his legacy is hotly contested. The struggle over
Freud is intense, because you tend to find the true believers on one side, and everyone
else on the other side - that is, Freudianism resembles a beleaguered religion
more than a science in trouble. The struggle is further clouded by the fact
that many of the true believers have a direct financial interest in the
status of Freud - that is, they make handsome incomes from peddling Freudian psychotherapy to
their clients.

I myself dismissed Freud as a scientist long ago, when it became clear to
me that Freud and his followers were never going to assume the discipline demanded by
the scientific method - to construct clear theories and hypotheses, and to subject them to
the standard methods of science. The contrast with Einstein is compelling; Einstein went
so far as to describe experiments which would prove him wrong, while nothing,
apparently, can ever prove that a Freudian is wrong. (The contrast with
Darwin is also highly compelling.)

In this excellent anthology, you can find all the little troublesome facts that
your Freudian analyst does not want you to know. Among other things,
Freud was an early cocaine enthusiast, prescribing the drug widely for his
patients, and he also spent many long years in close collaboration with a man
who believed that all psychological problems were seated in the nose.

That is not a typo. Wilhelm Fliess, a man whose ideas Freud "borrowed"
regularly, was convinced that the human nose was the seat of all emotional problems.
In one memorable incident, these two quacks went so far as to operate on some poor
woman's nose, and almost killed her with their incredible bungling!

If this looks like science to you, well... I know a man who has a
bridge he is trying to sell...

An excellent book! Highest recommendation!!

If you make a large number of predictions, and if you word them loosely enough, you will make a large number of correct predictions. You will then be regarded by many as a "seer," and you will attract a large number of innocents called followers. If you make a large number of statements or claimed observations, and if you word them with enough vagarious terms, you will make a large number of statements that will be accepted as true. You will then be regarded by many as imperious, a true intellectual. These and similar deceptive postures rely on the mathematical fact that a small percentage of a large number is a large number. This very simple mathematical principle underlies the successes of religions and of other dogma, including of course many of the dogmata of many so-called intellectual professions - fields such as sociology, economics, psychology, and especially psychiatry, where little by way of scientific approaches are ever practiced. Also, in these fields, one too often finds the error of regarding an implication as being equivalent to its converse; example: most alcoholic children have alcoholic parents, so most alcoholic parents will have alcoholic children. Result for psychiatry: look "deeply" into the patient's childhood (or even pre-birth) for explanations of almost any behavior.

This book is the brainchild of Frederick Crews, who clearly doesn't suffer fooleries lightly and is a longtime critic of Freud and his followers. He assembled this compendium, a full score of essays by a wide range of authors who are scholars of Freud and his influences, and the essays are grouped and framed with overviews by the incredibly erudite Crews. The list of these contributors is impressive. They include professors of literature, independent Freud scholars, philosophers, a research scholar in cognition, psychiatrists, a mathematician, an American studies professor, and independent authors.

To attempt a review of the entire book would necessitate some attention to each and every essay, which would be impossible, given the restraints on Amazon reviewers. But if you want to peer into troublesome Freudian landscapes or waters, just choose a number at random from among the numbers 3 to 276, open the book to that page, and read for a short while. Of course, a better recipe is to read the whole book. You will find disturbing Freudian conclusions, terribly inept Freudian procedures, questionable Freudian actions, the misanthropic Freud, the egomaniacal Freud, and other such repulsions, all adding up to a fraudulent Freud. Indeed, one of the professional reviewers of this book describes Freud as, " . . . a Viennese quack distinguished only by a certain low cunning and a cigar."

It's a handy book that you can pick up and read for snippets of time. The 20 essays and four overviews comprise 274 pages, an average of only about 11 pages per snippet.

Try it. You'll like it.

P. S. The cover art on this book is delicious. The only thing it omits is Freud having his socks knocked off.

I am definitely not a professional in this field, and I highly suspect that most people who engage in a professional practice of some kind have some secrets. For lawyers, certain privileges prevent the disclosure of confidential information, and certain corporations are run by executives who feel that any information pertaining to their business deserves the same hidden status.

This book, mainly about a field in which what is secret is mostly what everybody knows, is a very knowledgeable attempt to show how the use of the idea, "Know yourself" by experts in pursuit of some cure for the problems which individuals encounter in life may wreak havoc when combined with the ambitions of those who seek professional advancement. Exposing Freud's secrets is a theme that is so close to the practice of psychoanalysis itself that the approach taken by this book should be obvious to anyone who has taken time to reflect, which his opponents have definitely done here, and have had plenty of time to sharpen their arguments against Freud's theories, in fuller appreciation of the mental catastrophies which have been produced by Freud's own applications of his principles. The examples which strike me most sharply involve a divorce advised by Freud for Horace Frink, the brightest star in the New York Psychoanalytic Association, to allow him to marry heiress Angelika Bijur. According to page 270 of this book, Freud wrote to Frink in November 1921 that "Your complaint that you cannot grasp your homosexuality implies that you are not yet aware of your phantasy of making me a rich man. If matters turn out all right let us change this imaginary gift into a real contribution to the Psychoanalytic Funds."

The Emma Eckstein case, which involved the removal of the middle left concha in her nose by Wilhelm Fliess, who had a theory about a "nasal reflex neurosis," (p. 55) has been explained more fully elsewhere by Max Schur and Robert Wilcocks, duly mentioned by Crews. This might relate more to the generally clueless nature of medical experiments than to Freud's practice if Freud hadn't try to absolve Fliess for a botched, superfluous operation. I would just like to add that if anyone wants to be friends, or maybe just colleagues, with people like this, get used to this kind of thing.