George Sand was a feminist back in the days when women really had things to gripe about -- long before the incessant crusades for abortion and the whining about the "glass ceiling." An occasionally cross-dressing, cigar-smoking iconoclast, amazingly prolific writer, and friend and lover to many a luminary in 19-century France, she knew poverty, luxury and class struggles. She also left a rich paper-trail legacy, including a monumental autobiography. So it's surprising, not to mention disappointing, that this book on her is so dull. Belinda Jack reels off facts and events about the France of that era but somehow does not manage to give us a real flavor for the place where Sand was rooted. Born Aurore Dupin, the writer adopted the masculine pen name and became a notorious character of her day: Madonna, Yoko Ono, J.K. Rowling rolled into one. Her celebrated affairs included one with the composer Chopin that was featured in the fine movie with Judy Davis,"Impromptu." Her fight to split legally with her husband was a cause celebre at the time, and her political involvements and lifestyle choices were controversial, as well. I refreshed my memory by reading a couple of Sand's novels; they stimulated my curiosity to read this autobiography, which I slogged through in constant hope that it would get better. I imagine that even with all the documentation of books, diaries and letters, a complex person like Sand would be hard to pin down. But it seems as if a lively,graceful writer should've been able to do so. (Books on writers such as Virginia Woolf and George Eliot, to cite two examples, have been filled with interesting insights.) Regrettably, Jack's book is not up to the task of introducing this compelling, multitalented woman of the 1800s to the readers of today.

I admit that my knowledge of George Sand's writings is very limited. I have heard of her, probably in the more amorous context because of her "sordid" past. However, upon recently having viewed for the first time the movie "Impromptu," I became intrigued with this fasinating woman and sought to search out what was myth and what was reality. There have been several biographies of the writer; however, they seem to have concentrated on her art, or her writing, or her plays, or her personal adventures. The authors at all times attempted to place George into a category as a way to contain a palatable explanation of her. What I have found through reading Belinda Jack's book is that the only category of which Sand is a member is the human category. Belinda took all facets of the writer's life to reveal a woman in constant evolution. Driven to form explanations to first deal with her fears then to reconcile a practice to life, Sand formed a being who was uniquely herself that absorbed and expanded as she grew.

I strongly commend this book to anyone and everyone who desires to learn more about the psychological makeup of George Sand. The author of this excellent book does not hesitate to share her own conclusions and hypotheses about George Sand's character, and gives special emphasis to both the origins of her makeup and the contradictions in her thought process and conduct. I have read several other good biographies of George Sand, and while I prefer not to rank them, my knowledge of George Sand would be very incomplete if I had not read and digested this too. While the other biographies have given a lot of emphasis to her relation with Chopin, this biography probably slights Chopin in favor of the many other (and probably more important) men and women in her life. Once you begin to read this book, you will not be able to return it to its shelf until you finish it.

This novelette set in 19th century France reveals a heroine of remarkable emotional stamina and a sense of self-worth--purchased at the cost of betrayed naievte. Like a drama where the protagonist does not "enter" until our curiosity has been sufficiently whetted by premilinary gossip, Lavinia herself--no longer ingenuous but still a dusky beauty--bursts upon the stage as full blown woman, eminently desirable and self possessed.

Sir Henry, who had jilted her in the past, aided and abetted by his gayblade buddy, Lionel, stages a risky rendez-vous repossess his old love letters and trinkets before his impending marriage. But Lavinia does not swoon at his feet, begging his return, which annoys his masculine ego. Ah no, poor Henry sees the amorous tables turned upon himself. Much of the novel is like a play: there are "scenes" and "acts;" there is a preponderance of dialogue that would make this work a pleasure to stage. Sand spares nothing in villifying French 19th century "Society," with its highly restrictive women's roles and impossible demands placed on the fair sex.

So which suitor will win la belle Lavinia: panting and repentant Sir Henry or a rich young Count--equally besotted? This novelette of 45 pages seems a cleverly disguised treatise/expose on the foibles and injustice of French society, at whose tyrannical hands George Sand herself may have suffered. But expect a surprise ending, for Lavinia may do that which real women dare not. Almost mortally wounded in affairs of the heart, Lavinia will remain true to her instinct of self-preservation: physical and moral. This a fast read, which may appear lite, almost trite; but this piece actually simmers with Sand's scathing denunciation of her constricted world.

George Sand, a feminist before it became fashionable, writes of young love, class conflict, and the artist who nobody can understand. While she does often present a romanticized and idealized version of love, her social critiques are poignant. She was a socialist and while this is not her most socialist of novels, it does make its point. Besides the social issues, it is a wonderful love story. For those interested in the Romantic Period, peasant or pastoral novels, or feminism (even though the official feminist movement did come until the end of the 19th century) George Sand is an author that should not be passed over, and this is one of her best books.

I was disappointed by this book. Its title and slight size might suggest that it deals almost exclusively with Chopin's last days and burial. Not so. Eisler's description of Chopin's funeral comprises the first nine pages of this book. Another two at the end tell of Chopin's last minutes. (She sheds no new light on either event.) In between, you will find a Reader's Digest version of Chopin's life with particular emphasis on his relationship with George Sand. The book ends when Chopin does: the aftermath of his demise, it's effects on those around him, are not discussed.

I assume the author's intent was to quickly distill the couple's relationship so that she could speculate on it's unraveling. But the pair's quirky "association" lasted for twenty-one years. So this abridgement leaves much to be desired.

If you want a brief recap of the Chopin-Sand story, or are totally unfamiliar with their singular relationship, I suppose this book wouldn't be a bad place to start. However, it's not written particularly well. The convoluted, ungainly sentences were difficult to forgive after a while. If you want a better written and more detailed book on the composer, I recommend "Chopin in Paris" by Tad Szulc.

A richly textured and artfully compressed biography filled with family violence, political passions, dependencies and pride. Eisler has created a vivid portrait of the man who was blessed with musical genius and success -- and the love for the infamous woman novelist George Sand. Chopin was revered by contemporaries such as Schumann and Liszt, and after an early success dwindled away to a very unhappy demise.

Not much new territory here, but Benita Eisler has made a contemporary biography that truly brings Chopin's life to light in a book that is both compelling and creative. A recommended read.

Benita Eisler had written a concise and powerful book about the life of Frederic Chopin, including his loves, his music and his friends. Beginning with a colorful account of Chopin's funeral, the author then begins to weave together a tormented picture of him. His many illnesses, the distance from those he loved, his constant need for funds....all describe a life of unbelievable turmoil. Eisner is able to capture the essence of Chopin brilliantly and relate it to the reader with strokes of understanding and compassion.

While Chopin's relationship with George Sand has been well-documented over the years, the author, nonetheless, gives an emotional portrayal of their lives together...and apart. It is the central part of this book, as it should be. But how many readers know the influence that Sand's children had on him....especially Solange? Chopin relied heavily on both women but it was Solange who comforted him at the composer's end.

As a pianist, I enjoyed Eisner's brief and occasional comments on Chopin's compositions. They always seemed to complement her narrative and they were never too weighty to drag down any chapter. Her writing style is often brisk but not in any way capricious. The "photo" taken of Chopin towards the end of his life says it all. A man barely five feet tall, weighing little by a body wracked with suffering....a man in this condition who could still write some of the most expansive music. Eisner secures it all...she allows the reader to have great empathy and awe for Chopin.

It's a rare occurrence that a dust jacket adds so much to the book. It's really designed to give the look and feel of a first edition classic. Eisner's "Chopin's Funeral" is a highly recommended, thoroughly enjoyable book.

I found this book disappointing, because I expected it to be about the relationship between George Sand and Frederic Chopin while in Majorca. However, this book has absolutely nothing to do with either Sand or Chopin. This book is entirely made up of George Sand describing the scenery, people, and foods of Majorca, and just complaining about how she hated it there. And to make it worse, there are footnotes on every page saying that Sand was totally wrong about everything she was saying. I would not recommend this book to anyone, unless they wanted to read up on what Majorca was like during the 1800's.

Sand's chronicle of a wretched season spent on the Balearic island of Mallorca is the archetype for the "bad-trip" school of travel writing. Caustic, spiteful and utterly devoid of sentimentality or remorse, Sand (who was visiting with her beastly young daughter, Solange, and an ailing Frederic Chopin) trashes everything Mallorcan, from the olive oil, to the weather, to the landscape, to the moral character of the islanders. (If only the British and German package tourists who have colonized and defaced Mallorca in the 20th century had read Sand beforehand!)

An added pleasure in this edition is the sniping and meticulous footnoting by Mallorcan expat Robert Graves. He gainsays and qualifies nearly every contentious little gripe of Sand's, providing the reader with an interesting cross-generational literary (and personal) cat/dog-fight.

My guess is, if you enjoy the withering observations of Paul Theroux and his disciples, you will enjoy Sand's nasty little book. If, however, you like your travel books in soft-focus and heavy on the ambience and schmaltz, look elsewhere.

Ever since having watched Impromptu with Hugh Grant, I have wanted to read this book. I read Indiana, which I didn't like a lot, but Sand's autobiography is a great story that one enjoys reading. Swings of her mood, her independence, her love for men. It's great, although it's not a masterpiece of literature. But maybe it's better in French. If you want to know about her life, read the book, but don't expect Hugh Grant in there. As far as I've read, the movie is much more interesting.

Before the U.S.-Mexican War and long before the Civil War, the U.S. Army and Navy had its hands full with the Seminoles in Florida. Charged with the near impossible task expelling the Native Americans who had moved into the swamps of southern Florida, the military had to develop new ways of bringing warfare into the swamps.

Buker tells in a relatively dry fashion the changes in naval strategy that occurred during the war and which would end up playing a role in later conflicts throughout the mid 1880s. The culmination of these changes was a coherent strategy for riverine warfare that employed a mix of sailors, soldiers and marines using shallow draft boats that could navigate their way through the swamps. All in all it's an interesting slice of military history.

For some time, I used this English translation in a course I teach in translation. It was never satisfactory, but for a long time it was the only one available. Now there is a new one, skillfully and thoughtfully translated by Rosemary Lloyd and published by Oxford. (Also offered by Amazon; check the list.) I would recommend this one over the Cassandra edition. David A. Powell

First of all, this book is pretty classist. In the beginning George Sand says that poor people are unable to understand beauty and the higher things in life--then she says that writers should stop whining about the plight of the poor people, that they are happy just the way they are. Well, it seems to me that if learning is an important part in life and there are people who have never had the opportunity to be enriched by that, it isn't "whiny" to want to mitigate their situation---but there's George Sand for you. She never thinks things through.

Then, of course, since this is Sand, it is more mawkish and sentimental than even Chateaubriand. The story is simple enough, yet Sand would have us fall to our knees and weep with joy over it. And furthermore, it is incredibly dull and cliched. The plot is about two people in love who reciprocate each other's affection and get marrried. The characters are a handsome, sensitive widower and a delicate milkmaid. Somewhere along the line there's a magical pool that keeps them stuck in the woods long enough for the man to declare his love for the woman. There are no complex, philosophical meditations. There's not much more to it than that.

Oh, if you like elitist dilettante musings wrapped in the most tired commonplaces imaginable and disguised as beauty, then you'll like this book. But otherwise, stay far, far away from this book.