John Barth has proven his ability to create interesting, fantastical yet plausible worlds with a deft magical realism. But I found this, his most recent collection, severely lacking and even cannibalistic--there are passages repeated from earlier stories of his verbatim! A sorely disappointing collection, in comparison to his eariler works.

This collection of stories is really a collection of ingenious essays -- on narrative, fiction writing, and stories themselves -- masquerading as fiction. Witty and inventive. Great fun for grad-student aspiring fictioneers.

the intricate intertwining of these short stories was so good that after finishing I didn't just recommend it to everyone, I bought 25 copies to force on friends so they almost HAD to read it. lots of literary games going on, but not at the expense of the story in general. the main story focus of a married couple, their struggles, and exactly what's wrong with the health of one of them gives these stories a dark edge.

Webster continues the task taken up in his previous effort, Barth's Ethics of Reconciliation, which examined Barth's mature ethical writings. Here, he expands the defence of his thesis that Barth's relativizing of human moral consciousness before the Word of God does not at all compromise, but rather properly establishes, the true place of human action. He offers a revision of previous efforts at Barth interpretation (similar to Bruce McCormack's work) through a more exhaustive and systematic study, utilizing neglected or previously unavailable texts such as Barth's Muenster Ethics and The Christian Life, as well as the early ethical writings not addressed in Webster's last study in Barthian ethics. It is an important contribution to Barth scholarship and to theological ethics upon which further efforts will be built.

Think post-modernism is something for stuffy literature professors? Think again. Among the more than twenty essays that John Barth tackles, none is more enlightening than his exhoneration of the most maligned literary term of the decade. Barth addresses his essay to a well-read audience and convinces us that regular-guy readers can enjoy post-modern literature as surely as Persians enjoy "The Arabian Nights." He takes the postition that the label of post-modernism is just that, a label, and that it's practitioners (himself among the vanguard) are members of a generation that can no longer pressume their audiences are naive--twentieth century readers know archetypes and plot devices when they see them. Barth does not, however, try to convince the reader to embrace post-modernism; rather, he simply explains it as he understands it. With a similarly laid-back, take-me-as-I-am tone, Barth tells of how he met his wife, how he learned to write, what he thinks imagination is, and what the virtues and vices of short stories are, among numerous other topics. Also included in this, his second volume of "Friday" essays (named for the day of the week in which he takes a sabatical from teaching), are the prefaces to four of his most popular works. This is an enjoyable intellectual feast for anyone interested in the writer's art--even if you didn't major in English.

"John Hart's careful unraveling of the relationship between Barth and Brunner performs two invaluable scholarly functions. It explores the reasons for their break in careful detail, and, while doing so, gives real insight into the deep theological drives and concerns of two apparently similar, but actually very different, thinkers." (Colin Gunton, King's College, London)

"Barth's 'No!' to Emil Brunner is well known, but the roots of it are little understood. It emerged from a relationship of nearly twenty years, on Brunner's side anxious for affirmation, on Barth's more and more wary. Brunner's enthusiasm for Moral Rearmament proved the last straw. Mining hitherto unpublished archive material, John Hart provides a fascinating analysis of the relationship of these two theologians, from the war years to their final break in 1934. His study throws light on the theology of the whole period." (Timothy Gorringe, University of Exeter)

As a storyguide beginning his third MAGE chronicle and as a player starting in a separate chronicle, I found this book very useful in further detailing the ways in which true shamans work in the World of Darkness. In some ways, the book continues the themes expounded in the Dreamspeaker tradition book, but it goes further and is not limited to Dreamspeakers alone.

That said, this book does focus on shamanic methods and viewpoints, and has a heavy emphasis on interaction with spirits. It's not a spirit compendium, unlike Werewolf's Axis Mundi, and though it touches on shamanic possibilities for all Traditions, it seems far less useful for non-shamanic groups like the Celestial Chorus and the Order of Hermes.

Outstanding features involve blessings and curses of being a shaman, new merits and flaws, the potential "catch-all" nature of Spirit magick, discussion of totems and the World Tree aspect of the Umbra, and finally a new collection of spirit-related rotes. It's all well-written and presents minimal rules-related content. The story is illustrative without being intrusive.

Bottom line was that this gave me a greatly expanded perspective on what it means to be a shaman, the responsibilities as well as the benefits. The only drawback for me was that the authors chose not to explore alternative visions of shamanism, such as technomancer or Hermetic possibilities. Consequently, the book will be primarily useful to chronicles featuring Dreamspeakers, Verbena, or Cultists.

The least talented of the experimental or metafictional or postmodern fiction writers, Barth has delivered of himself another bloated and tiresome book. His tin ear has never been more sadly evident. On his very best day, he will never come close to Donald Barthelme on his very worst.

I wonder about that "post-modern" label. Why can't stories be left to stand or fall on their own merits? I'll leave the categorization to the academics. I'm just a guy who likes a good read, and this is one. Mr. Barth returns to showboats several decades after "The Floating Opera," with a little reluctance, apparently. Sometimes it seems the story is nothing more than a series of devices stacked upon each other like a house of cards, but Mr. Barth manages to keep the flimsy structure from collapsing under its own weight. Much like "The Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor," Mr. Barth starts off unevenly (perhaps because of the strange stage he has to set), then really takes off with a great middle. The story ultimately meanders (like a tidewater creek?) and then just sort of peters out. Still, this is a very worthwhile read, if only for the world-weariness of our humble narrator.

...which is all you need to know.

The man has nearly half a century of literary history, all of it jam-packed with the most mind-bending experimental and metafictional gymnastics the literary community has ever had the delight to call its own.

Consider that for a moment: half a century. That piece of knowledge in hand, you know right off you can disregard out of hand the one-star review of any reader calling this yet "another bloated and tiresome (Barth) book." If one is well read in the Barth canon, and has found it wanting, same one could easily have given Barth a pass thousands of pages ago. Barth has never pretended to be anything less than egomaniacal and pretentious. And for that, I thank him, for he stands out magnificently from the body of even the postmodern pantheon. Some people simply don't like, don't appreciate, or don't "get" Barth. It should take only one book to figure out if you're among them.

Then, what of the book's own merits? I tell you this: this is by no means the place to begin your journey into Barth if you've not read him before. In fact, to read this anyplace among them but last (assuming you're made of stout engouh stuff to make it through them all) would be tragic. It's a 300 page, self-indulgent, metafictional going-away party. It's not merely writing about writing; it's writing about Barth's strange and fascinating literary journey. And what a journey it's been.

Ere you pass the threshold, be prepared to accept the following: this book will be pretentious; it will be literary for literary's sake; it will drip with self-reference; it will be twisted, perverse, convoluted, and obscure. If you're familiar enough with Barth to have made it through Floating Opera, Sot-Weed, Giles, Funhouse, et al, and to have loved the whole mad lot, then you're certain to enjoy this bizarre farewell from the master manipulator. If you haven't, don't bother.

This is an example of Barth in his "too smart for us readers" mode. Instead of telling a poignant and interesting and perhaps moving story about a complicated family wrapped up in cold-war intrigue and general late-twentieth century angst and insanity, this is a book about books, and about writing. If you go in for that sort of thing you will love it. Far from being straightforward, the plotting is circuitous and completely unsatisfying; the shifting point of view is so consciously experimental that it is almost a joke on the reader. There is no doubt that John Barth is a lot smarter than most of us, and is a really brilliant writer and thinker. But his brilliance keeps this from being a fun or entertaining novel. If you like your reading experimental and self-conscious, by all means, pick it up!

This is a great novel, one which you will enjoy whether or not you like John Barth, whether or not you enjoy postmodern fiction. It is comic, the plot is comprehensible and linear, the characters are human and speak like humans, the tale is succinct, and the story mirrors an old favorite--the Odyssey. This is both an intriguing thriller and a warm comic novel. It's also written with grace and intelligence. I recommend it to everyone.