The astonishing thing about this book -- and a lot of Henry James's writing -- is his insight into the problems of women. This book deals with the problem of independence and freedom. Most of us, let's admit it, love the idea of being swept off our feet by some competent, assertive male. It's a real turn-on. If you don't believe it, check out how many successful professional women secretly read historical romances by the boxload. The problem comes the next morning when he starts to take control, bit by bit, of your entire life. In this book you have Olive, who is not, I think, a lesbian but someone who is very lonely and doesn't trust men and Verena, who likes men just fine, but is, for the moment anyway, under the spell of Olive and her feminist ideology. Are these our only options? Verena Makes her choice, but James notes that the tears she sheds may not, unhappily, be her last.

Henry James's, "The Bostonians," is a simple, but increasingly entertaining love story set in the years soon after the end of the Civil War. Basil Ransom, a true Southern gentleman from Mississippi, has moved North (specifically, to New York City) to try and start a career away from the impoverished South of the Reconstruction days. Shortly after moving North, he pays a visit, at her behest, to the Boston house of his distant cousin, Olive Chancellor. Olive, a stalwart in the women's rights movement of the time, invites Basil to her home in order to offer help and assistance to her Southern cousin, but she also wishes to save him from the flawed ways he certainly must have taken on growing up in the South. Her self-seeking, ulterior motives fail miserably, of course.

It is through Olive that Basil Ransom meets Verena Tarrant, the young woman who has left her lower middle-class family to move in with and be molded by Olive. Verena has a tremendous speaking ability which caught Olive's (and the other women's (womyn's?) movement leaders') attention. But ultimately, Verena also catches Basil's attention... not for her feminist diatribes, but for her beauty and the passion of her speeches. Basil is instantly struck by Verena, and from this point onward the plot focuses as Basil attempts to seek out his love interest who is highly guarded by Olive, Verena's parents, and several others.

The dialogue between Olive and her friends with Basil Ransom, is a constant back and forth that is civil on the surface, but boiling with hostility underneath the social niceties. While Basil is always cool and focused as he tracks the object of his love, Olive Chancellor only becomes more paranoid as she sees that she is gradually losing her young charge... to a Southern Neanderthal. "The Bostonians" meanders through the first couple hundred pages with witty dialogue between the alien Basil and his new peers, but as his focus intensifies, so does the plot. James draws all this circling and stalking into a final, climactic scene that many will be cheering, but one that many modern-day feminists and their sympathizers will be cursing.

James after 1898 was too subtle, too often employing apposition to add layers like coats of paint to each observation. Works like The Ambassadors (1903) rely on the reader's powers of synthesis, which can be in turns exhilarating or frustrating. The Bostonians (1885) is an extremely straightforward, dramatic, cruel, hilarious, political, compassionate love story and one of the best novels by anyone. Olive Chancellor is tragic: with so much love behind her cold, horrified stares. Basil Ransom is magnetic, but an educated idiot savant whose passion and will are nothing other than natural talent. Verena Tarrant has nothing but natural talent--she is an organism that throbs with passion like a finely tuned Geiger counter. Whether the private turmoil of sex and marriage finally draw her from the political sisterhood, and what happens to queer women like Olive, are high-stakes, human questions that James presents with sheer drama and almost unbelievable insight.

This is the type of book where all the characters are very good at playing bridge, and the men are mostly either successful lawyers and bankers or unsuccessful businessmen; the women don't work. It is kind of fun to read, and while I cannot take it very seriously, Auchincloss is deeply interested in the characters and society he writes about, and to a great extent he draws the reader into this world. Auchincloss also does very well with the short story form, in that few of his stories come across as mere "trifles". The story about a son who cannot measure up to his father's expectations, and a father who does his best to love his son, is the most meaningful of the stories.

Louis Auchincloss' lateset collection of short stories is a welcome addition to his considerable body of work. Every new contribution helps define Auchincloss as a major force in American literature.

In "Manhattan Monologues," Auchincloss views the seminal events of our last century as they affect and are affceted by characters from his world: upper east side, Hamptons, Mount Desert Isalnd, New England boarding schools.

His characters -- on the surface people of welath, power and priviledge -- slog through their lives just as we common folks do, with much the same results.

As he so often has done in the past, Auchincloss has held up a mirror which helps us better understand the world in which we live.

One of America's most respected authors, Louis Auchincloss has just given us a gift - his 57th book, Manhattan Monologues. As one expects from this celebrated chronicler of upper-class society, the prose is precise and telling. He reveals rather than explains, writing with grace and perception.

This collection of ten stories opens with "All That May Become A Man," the chronicle of a son who cannot meet the expectations of his daring father, a former Rough Rider who considered Teddy Roosevelt both "god and friend."

Agnes Seward is the heroine and narrator of "The Heiress." By way of explanation we learn that in her day it was accepted "that any ambitious and impecunious young man who elected to enter an unremunerative career......would do well to avail himself of a dowry."

She did have a dowry, albeit a modest one compared to her wealthier relatives. Agnes sometimes wondered if it were not possible to be loved for herself alone rather than the financial stability she might bring to a marriage.

In "Collaboration," a revelation of a couple's differing relationships with the Nazis, our narrator is an only son who finds joy in lonely rambles through the marshland of his family's summer home. It is there that he meets Mr. Slocum, a like-minded gentleman who "...was the first adult who had ever listened to me." Their friendship will deepen throughout the years.

Each story is a mini masterpiece impeccably crafted and imaginatively told.

- Gail Cooke

Mr Auchincloss has been very repetitive with themes and plots with his last few novels and short stories. This book provides some fresh stories, a few with some surprising twists. If you like Auchincloss but were getting bored, this is worth a try

Mr. Auchincloss' elegant prose enchants once again. Gone is a recent tendency to repeat themes; these stories seem fresher and better thought out than his last collection, The Atonement. A must for the discriminating reader.

Yet another wonderful, elegant book from this master. It is a delight to read his every carefully constructed sentence.

Typical glam set historical- quick glitzy read!
From back of book:
Old guard New York in the 1930's... where deception polishes the quiet veneer of sophistication. In a world of austere tradition, bold ambitions, and public adulation, a scandal can be silenced only as long as discretion allows. But when honor is threatened by disgrace, dark secrets surface as the consequence of power and irresponsibility.

From the elite New York drawing rooms to the Long Island beach clubs , this lofty secluded world of wealth teeters at teh edge of collapse and moral decrepitude.

"Vintage Auchincloss, another sequence in teh superb tales of Wall Street"- St Louis Dispatch

"Does what John O'hara did for the country-club set!" -Time

"Immensely readable!"- Chicago Tribune

This novel, one of Auchincloss's best and from his prime period, is the life story of ill-fated Guy Prime, who was born into a minor blueblooded branch of New York society, enjoyed a gilded youth, eventually earned lasting ignominy when his embezzlements were revealed, resulting in his indictment, trial, Congressional hearing (it's 1936 and he is made a poster boy for Wall Street corruption by the New Deal), and imprisonment, and spent the nondescript remainder of his life in Panama isolated from all his family, friends, and associates, waiting to die. He is an intriguing, complex character, by no means all bad, and his story is told by three narrators: himself, his best friend (and eventual nemesis), and his wife. This multiple-narrator technique, "surrounding" the central character from a Rasohomon-like multiplicity of differing perspectives, had been successfully employed by Auchincloss in his most famous novel, The Rector of Justin (1964), the novel immediately preceding this one, and it works effectively here too. The book is well written, the right length, and compulsively readable. I first read it when it came out in 1966, have just re-read it, and find that it holds up quite well.

Writer Auchincloss usually writes tedious family-history novels but here he writes a book wherein each chapter is about a separate unconnected character. The result is insightful, different, and fascinating. I held back one star in my rating because I just don't care for books about the well-to-do; they seem (as this one sometimes does) pretentious and self-congratulatory. But the characters here are fully realized and will hold your interest. The book has the added advantage of each character having said just enough about him/her, so that you do not get tired of the personality. If you're looking for something a bit different, that you can pick up and put down, this is a good read.

Well, I can not say that W.D. Howells was another Nathaniel Hawthorne. But what I can say is that his "The Rise of Silas Lapham" is A LOT better than some books that were made famous (probably for political reasons). Do not expect the superb images and construction of Hawthorne. But what we CAN expect is a timeless message about society. At first Silas is a rich money grubbing monster. (Just think of Dickens' Scrooge.) He finds ways to cut his friends out of deals, alienates his family with the want of more money, and even gets his wife upset. Ah, but later things go bad, and he starts losing money. This is when the human side of him begins to show and he becomes a very sympathetic character. In my opinion, to enjoy this even more, you must assume that before the book opens, he WAS a good and decent man. Once he ran into immense wealth, he grew detestable. So while, this is not exactly a masterpiece, the degeneration of Silas and his return to humanity is ample material to carry this book and place it in the American Museum of Literature.

This is a must read book and provides a glimpse of business morals in the nineteenth century. Read first, Mark Twain's "The Gilded Age" and Charles Dickens' "Martin Chuzzlewit". Silas' 'rise' is not ironic unless accumulation of wealth is your only value. While his monetary assets may shrink, his family 'prospers' in many ways. Clearly, Howells makes the point that honest work can bridge the gap of old rich and new. Commerce is not inherently bad, but it does ask the question, how far should one go in disclosure and protecting others from their potential investment folly.

I've had William Dean Howells' "A Modern Instance" and "The Rise of Silas Lapham," like many, many other books on my bookshelf for a long time. A recent meeting of a reading group of mine finally allowed me to make the time to read Howells' 1885 work, "Silas Lapham". I am extraordinarily glad I did. From the start of the novel, we are drawn into the world of late 19th century Boston, post-Reconstruction America, where newly rich industrialists attempt to enter the society life of old money. Howells crafts an extraordinarily realistic look at the American Dream gone awry.

"The Rise of Silas Lapham" begins with an interview that a local newspaperman is doing of Colonel Silas Lapham, a mineral paint tycoon. Lapham's account of his rise from the backwoods of Vermont to his marriage, to service in the Civil War, to his propagation of a successful mineral paint business is chronicled and gives us a taste of the effort and perseverance necessary for his rise, as well indicating the possibility of some potential failings, especially with regard to his one-time partner, Milton Rogers. We soon learn that Mrs. Persis Lapham aided a society woman in distress the year before, and the return of her son, Tom Corey, from Texas, signals another sort of ambition on the part of the Lapham daughters, Irene and her older sister Penelope. The rest of the novel plays out the ways in which the Laphams try to parley their financial success into social status - and how the Laphams are affected by the gambit.

Howells explores a number of significant cultural issues in "Silas Lapham": isolationism, social adaptability, economic solvency among all classes, personal integrity and familial ties, and the relationship between literature and life. The fact that the story is set about 20 or so years after the end of the American Civil War sets an important and subtle context that runs throughout the novel and inflects all of the thematic elements. The ways that the characters interact, the way that the society functions, even though the majority of the novel takes place in Boston, is importantly affected by the fact that Reconstruction is drawing to a close, Manifest Destiny is in full swing, and ultimately, America was at a point of still putting itself together and trying to view itself as the "United" States.

Howells' treatment of the social interactions between the industrially rich Laphams and the old moneyed Coreys underscores the difficulty in creating and maintaining a national identity, especially when the people even in one northern city seem so essentially different. The romance story involving the Laphams and Tom Corey is obviously an important element of the story, and Howells does an amazing job of not allowing the romance plot to become as overblown and ludicrously sentimental as the works of fiction he critiques in discussions of novels throughout his own work. "The Rise of Silas Lapham" questions the nature of relationships, how they begin, how they endure - the contrast between the married lives of the Coreys and the Laphams is worth noting, as is the family dynamic in both instances.

I'm very pleased to have gotten a chance to read this novel. Generally when I say an author or a work has been neglected, I mean that it's been neglected primarily by me. Having turned an eye now to Howells, I am very impressed with the depth of his characterization, the ways he puts scenery and backdrop to work for him, the scope of his literary allusions, and his historical consciousness. This is certainly a great American novel that more people should read. It may not be exciting, but it is involving, and that is always an excellent recommendation.

This is the first book in Trollope's 6 part Barchester series. While the subject matter, the intrigues surrounding clerical life in a fictional English cathedral town, might put you off, don't let it. Trollope wrote fantastic characters. While it's sequel, Barchester Towers, is even better, this is an excellent short introduction both to the series and to Trollope's writing as a whole. (Incidentally, the BBC TV series `Barchester Chronicles' is a really good adaptation of both `The Warden' and `Barchester Towers'.)

This is a simple, short novel dealing with the ethical dilemma of a virtuous man. The Reverend Harding is the warden of a small home providing quarters for 12 retired, indigent workers. The facility is provided for by a trust set up by its founder over two hundred years ago. Income off the land provides revenue for the maintenance of the home and a living for the warden.. The warden has traditionally been the benefactor of this income which has increased over the years. The Rev. Harding is a gentle, honest man who has never given thought to his 800 pound annual revenue until a young reformer files suit, claiming the intent of the will is being violated. Harding thinks about the matter and is inclined to resign. The Bishop and Archdeacon argue that he is entitled to the income.

This book certainly would be a good one for a book club read and discussion. The reformer, the lawyers, the church hierarchy and Reverend Harding all have their views on the matter. Author Trollope does not really pass final judgment on his characters; none of them are cast in black and white terms. In fact Trollope makes the unusual move of bringing a criticism of both the press and Charles Dickens into the novel. The press makes strident value judgments about issues without bothering itself with all the facts or considering the effect their articles will have on the people involved; Charles Dickens treats people as being all good or all bad. Indeed, I found myself arguing with myself for several days after reading The Warden. What should the Rev. Harding done? Was the issue shrouded in shades of gray, or was it clear cut one way or the other?

Many critics consider this to be one of Trollope's lesser works, yet to me it is a very interesting, valuable presentation of an ethical dilemma. And for readers who are reluctant to pick up Victorian novels because of their common 700+ page lengths, this is a little gem at less than 300 pages. Criticism? Well I did a bit of eye-rolling during some of the melodramatic passages. All and all, though, this is an excellent read. From an historical standpoint there was considerable attention being paid to clergy income during this period in England. Trollope's tale was very timely in this regard.

One final note. There are many outstanding Victorian novels that I would give a five star rating to. This book doesn't quite fit into that hall of fame so I have given it just 4 stars, which shouldn't be interpreted as a slight to Mr. Trollope or The Warden.

I first read Anthony Trollope's book "The Warden" in 1995 at the age of 54; three years later I had finished all forty-seven Trollope novels, his autobiography, and most of his short stories. "The Warden" provides a necessary introduction to the Barsetshire Novels, which, in turn, provide a marvelous introduction to rural Victorian society, and its religious, political, and social underpinnings. However, "The Warden" is a small literary masterpiece of its own, even though the more popular "Barchester Towers" tends to obscure it. "The Warden" moves slowly, of course, but so did Victorian England; soon the reader is enveloped in a rich world of brilliantly created characters: in the moral dilemma of a charming and innocent man, Reverend Septimus Harding, who is probably the most beloved of all Trollope's characters; in the connivings of Archdeacon Grantly, who will become a significant force in the later Barsetshire novels; in Eleanor, an example of the perfect Victorian woman, a type that appears in many of Trollope's subsequent novels; and in the sanctimonious meddling of John Bold, whose crusade for fairness throws the town into turmoil. In modern terminology, "The Warden" is a "good read" for those readers with patience, a love of 19th century England, and an appreciation of literary style. Trollope's sentences have a truly musical cadence. "The Warden" was Trollope's fourth novel and his first truly successful one. It provides a strong introduction to the other five novels of the Barsetshire series, where the reader will meet a group of fascinating characters, including the Mrs. Proudie (one of Trollope's finest creations), the Reverend Obadiah Slope, and the Grantly family. The reader will soon find that Trollope's well-developed characters soon become "friends," and that the small cathedral town of Barchester becomes a very familiar and fascinating world in itself. It is a wonderful trip through these six novels. (I read all six in about three weeks.) But one must begin with "The Warden." Brew a cup of tea, toast a scone on a quiet evening, and begin the wonderful voyage through Trollope's charming Barchester. When you have finished the six novels, you may, like me, want to commence reading the Palliser series (another six novels) and follow Plantagenet and Glencora Palliser through their triumphs and travails! However, that remains another story.

Cecil Spring-Rice, the British ambassador to Washington, described Woodrow Wilson as "a mysterious, a rather Olympian personage and shrouded in darkness from which issue occasional thunderbolts." At least to his contemporaries, the twenty-eighth president may well have been something of an enigma. After all, he did somehow move from a fairly conservative philosophy toward a more activist government, including a reversal on child labor laws. Unfortunately, Auchincloss contributes little to shedding some light on these riddles of Wilson's character and mind-except for the all-important (to Auchincloss, at least) reason for the estrangement between Wilson and his advisor/friend/confidante Colonel Edward M. House, which is attributed to Edith Wilson.

Auchincloss paints a very superficial picture of Wilson, and maybe that's because of the nature of the Penguin Lives series, but there was much that was mentioned in passing and not really mentioned again. For example, Wilson's southern birth and upbringing are given early and justified attention, but the consequences of this southern heritage on Wilson's life and politics are not pursued, even though the question is particularly interesting, relevant, and important for the president's views on race. Wilson's deep Presbyterian faith is given similarly superficial treatment. It did much to create the man's stubbornness and sense of moral rectitude, but how it shaped the specific elements of Wilson's idealism, Auchincloss does not explore. All that emerges is the all-too typical portrait of a man with a "divided" nature.

I did find his discussion of the 1916 election interesting, particularly the contingency plan in the case of a Wilson defeat. In this period of international crisis, had Wilson lost to Charles Evans Hughes, Vice President Marshall and Secretary of State Lansing would have resigned, Hughes would have been named Secretary of State, and Wilson would also have resigned. I had never heard this before and hope to explore the issue further.

Besides an apparent affinity for describing certain remarks as "intemperate," Auchincloss seemed to be fixated on the grandson of Henry Cabot Lodge and on Bill Clinton, both of whom he mentions twice. Lodge's grandson receives considerable scorn for trying to justify his grandfather's behavior (his "hatred" of Wilson and his reading of the Versailles Treaty in the Senate). The Clinton impeachment is mentioned as an example of the people's representatives taking action against the will of a majority, and Clinton's definition of "is" is compared to Lodge's grandson's definition of "hatred." Maybe these are legitimate comparisons (though probably not), but they seemed wholly out of place in this biography.

These Penguin biographies aren't necessarily intended to be the deepest or most insightful of books, but they should at least contain some substance. This one, unfortunately, contains very little that can't be had by reading an American history textbook.

I've always believed biographers should do three things: tell what their subject did, why he or she did it, and what it all means, or meant, ultimately. The other two Penguin Lives titles I've read so far -- Paul Johnson on Napoleon and John Keegan on Churchill -- both did excellent jobs of explaining their subjects' lives by drawing out instructive themes from those lives and assessing their subjects' impact on history. Louis Auchincloss, sadly, doesn't do that with Woodrow Wilson.

The basic biographical framework -- the "what" -- of this book isn't bad, and certainly Auchincloss is a fine writer. But while the facts of Wilson's life are presented effectively, they're not tied together with any kind of larger thesis. Auchincloss develops a few recurring ideas -- Wilson's friendship with Colonel House, the theory of "the two Wilsons," the influence of Wilson's second wife, the rivalry with Henry Cabot Lodge -- but none of them seem like more than convenient narrative hooks. Which, if any, is a key to the man's character?

What I found most bothersome is that Auchincloss's biography ends (literally) with Wilson's last word. Remarkably -- for a biography of one of the world's most influential figures in the first half of the century, and a man who is considered by some (justly, in my opinion) to bear a large share of responsibility for the ultimate onset of World War Two -- there is virtually no attempt to place Wilson into his historical context, to measure the long-term impact of his life, or to judge his successes and failures in the considered light of history. It's like Auchincloss bumped up against the Penguin Lives word-count limit and decided just to stop.

Coming off the fine Churchill and Napoleon volumes, I was really hoping for more here -- especially from a writer with such a high reputation. This title is a decent summary of the facts of Wilson's life, but the interested reader will have to go someplace else to put it all in context.

In Woodrow Wilson, Louis Auchincloss provides a useful, albeit brief account of our 28th President. The book touches on the highlights, both good and bad, of Wilson's life, and gives the reader insight into the complexity of Wilson's mind.

Readers of Woodrow Wilson will find a man of enormous intellect who viewed himself as somehow ordained by God to lead the world into a higher level of peace and harmony, but who also battled with arrogance that did not allow him to accept gracious defeat. As a history professor he was well liked by students, but as university president he was beset by strife involving administrative decisions. He appealed to Democrats who wished to cleanse the party of William Jennings Bryan's influence, and accepted the nomination for Governor of New Jersey accordingly. He even adopted a Populist position to appeal to the masses. When the Republican Party divided in 1912, he was assured the Presidency. In that office he was forced to balance personal convictions and political realities that culminated over the ratification of the Treaty of Versailles. This ultimately proved to be Wilson's demise.

Auchincloss' portrait explores many of these complexities, but at times appears to gloss them over. The rivalry between Wilson and Henry Cabot Lodge oddly is detailed from Lodge's perspective, but the author does not particularize how Wilson reciprocated. Auchincloss does not describe in depth the differences between Lodge's snobbish Harvard arrogance, Theodore Roosevelt's heroic jingoism of a bygone era, and Wilson's self-righteous purveyance of his own world order, and how each affected the others as well as the world around them. Auchincloss also has difficulty in describing Germany in World War One in that it was fighting a war of delaying defeat by 1916 and not turning the tide towards victory.

In the end, however, readers will find Auchincloss' work useful and poignant. He inserts comparisons to future Presidents in an amusing way while discussing the merits of Wilson's administration. Woodrow Wilson may not be a definitive work but, due in part to its brevity, should be considered appropriate reading for High School level history courses.