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In early 2000, after the roaring crashes of worldwide electronic mayhem, the second coming of Jesus, and our long awaited deliverance from the mire of this world we should reconsider the prophetic tone of this work. Just kidding. As we all know, January 1, 2000 was no different than any other day nor will there be any supernatural interventions into world history. World history has been, is, and always will be a history of geology and protoplasm engaged in the evolution of species. The quote from Durrell that opens Bloom's book is terrible and true--there is no supernature behind all this hubbub. Shall we then drift into our wildest imaginings: ancestral mythology, Christian sci-fi and the like? Or shall we create a new philosophy of man?
Find out Bloom's answer by reading this interesting book.
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And so, when later in life I developed a keen interest in the Iliad, I was overjoyed to see that Bloom had pulled together a collection of essays to help me understand this complicated yet surprisingly readable poem.
WRONG! Of all the thousands of commentaries on the Iliad, Bloom somehow managed, with a notable exception or two, to pull together some of the most arcane, obtuse writings I can imagine. Even the specialists will be challenged by some of the subject matter here. And the presentation? Well, for the most part the prose is turgid, representing the worst of academic stylism. The exception is the lucid and beautifully written excerpt from E.R. Dodds', "The Greeks and the Irrational." But this is to be expected, as this is justly one of the most famous and important books ever written on the subject of ancient Geek culture. I found the rest of the essays to be overly technical and narrow in scope and compass. If you have read Victor Davis Hanson's "Who Killed Homer", you will find most of the sins he enumerates present in this collection.
But the MOST disappointing part of this entire collection is the introduction itself. In which we see Bloom at his worst - preachy, tendentious, over weaning. He takes the opportunity to take a few pot shots at the authors represented in the collection and to advance his own, in my view eccentric, conception of the poem. You know you are in for a rough ride when from the very outset we are treated to a comparison of the Iliad with the Hebrew Bible - a comparison in which the Iliad does not come off on top. At the end of the introduction, we read that while Homer himself is the "best of the poets", unfortunately, he lacks a "quality of trust in the transcendent memory of a covenant fulfilled, a lack of the sublime hope that moves the Hebrew poet Deborah." Geez, I'm sorry but, umm, who cares? This is a bit like complaining that apples don't have the citrus acidity of oranges.
Clearly, Bloom had an axe to grind - and grind it he did. It is as though he was determined to make the case for the Bible's superiority to the Iliad. As an introduction to a collection of essays, Bloom's is, in a word, "lacking"!
So where does that leave the interested reader. Well, it's not easy. I can think of no good general introduction that is separately published. That said, Bernard Knox wrote an introduction to Robert Fagles' translation of the Iliad that is almost transcendent. It puts to poem in context, describes the central action and delves into the poem's main cultural foundations. I would recommend that a first time reader of the Iliad equip him or herself first with this and second with Stanley's Lombardo's brilliant modern translation - oh, and stay away from this collection.
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Jake, Brett, Bill, Robert, and Mike form a group of friends traveling wherever their consience leads them. Growing restless when they keep themselves in one situation for too long, this mess of human regret lives for the moment. They travel to the week long Fiesta in Pamplona, where they find nights of drinking and days of somber realizations, uniquely tied hand in hand with bullfighting.
As is true with most Hemingway novels, a man and woman's relationship with one another is used as a mode of depicting his views on life. Lady Ashley (Brett, disguising herself with a title as she does with short hair and hats and various other men's traits) stars as the diva without a cause. She wanders the streets of Paris in search of a good night in bed, which is all the war has left her with. As was done to the rest of war-participating America, Brett was stripped of compassion, of desire for love, and was left with a hollow lust. This lust was never to be filled but was continually in search of completement. This is what drew Brett to Pamplona with Mike, her haughty, yet understandably grounded, fiance.
Perfectly depicting the result of Brett's search for completion, Robert Cohn follows Brett to the Fiesta and likewise follows her every move. He is a former lover whwhich cannot seem to tear himself from the idea that she was once his. By his continual snooty comments, and the fact that Brett could find pleasure in him and not Jack (sexually hindered by a war wound) every word that comes from his mouth is the subject of Jack's narrative scorn.
Easily understood is Jack's disattachment from the world which took away his "manliness," especially when this is that which would attract the one thing in life that he values, Brett. Jack's love for Brett is obbsessive and ultimatley dooming when he sacrifices his remaining link to disillusionment, bulllfighting, which is his last escape from the chaos trailing the war. In an effort to please Brett, he gives access to an able-bodied matador, the object of her lust. After losing the trust of a community held tight with respect by Jake, he is left with the same Brett, just a little more contented than she was five minutes ago.
In my careful opinion, Hemingway has reconstructs a world ignored by many, but remembered and endured to this day. In a time of confusion and distrust in the reality of human emotion, this group typifies the actions of self-indulgence and disparity which characterize this generation. Instead of merely a drunken party with some good fights, some bullfighting, and plenty of sex, the novel depicts with pity the lost generation and all their woes.
For all those opposing the seemingly endless stream of war literature, it's fair to say "Give it up, already!" With unforgetable stories like these, how can we complain about a generation willing to share their tales of dedication to one true thing, in a time of great confusion. Their sacrifices will live forever in us and our decisions. Respect this and you can understand any Hemingway novel that is thrown at you.
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After ordering this book and wading through its first few chapters, I had one overwhelming thought:
Thank you, Amazon.com, for your marvelous return policy.
Bloom is one of our better critics in terms of readability, but still... Unless you have a great appetite for arid erudition, just stick to reading the poetry itself. This book has more to do with some pet theory of Bloom's than with Stevens' poetry, or our climate--both of which could have been fascinating subjects for a book.
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I enjoyed Bloom's "Invention of the Human" a great deal, but I am glad that he has given us more of his insights into Hamlet. Bloom's thoughts about how the play should be presented, what other critics have written, how his own perspectives have changed over the years, what it means to have a play within a play within a play. I also found his discussion of which verse is archaic and which is written to be understood as bad verse quite illuminating. Since my ear cannot hear the shades of Elizabethan English quite so clearly I have to admit that I didn't pick up that the slaughter of Priam was supposed to be taken as awful. I will have to work on hearing the language in all its varieties within this play and the others.
I think it is vital to remember that works like this provide their greatest value by giving us a path to further thought, study, and deeper reading. We waste them by either accepting or rejecting their arguments at face value. This is a book that everyone who loves Shakespeare and Hamlet should read and then make their own judgments. I found this a very valuable book.
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The great majority of the essays were written by esteemed Poe scholars, poets and novelists. D.H. Lawrence's essay contains a number of factual inaccuracies and is gratuitously offensive. Allen Tate's essay "The Angelic Imagination" is very good, as is Richard Wilbur's "House of Poe."
What surprised me most is the pausity of references to Poe's metaphysics, mysticism and hidden meaning. Harold Bloom has written at least 3 books on gnosticism and gnosis in American religion and literature. In at least one of those books, he called Poe a "representative American gnostic." Ironically, Bloom more or less pretends in this book that Poe's works have no meaning or message whatsoever and that Poe wrote only for effect. There are a number of essays which focus on Poe's metaphysics. Take a look at those collected in Eric W. Carlson's book, Critical Essays on Edgar Allan Poe.
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For those who are looking for an attractive, permanent edition, this is it. The fifty Alan Lee paintings are gorgeous, and the more you look at them the more you realize how carefully Lee put them together to remain faithful to the vision and the detail of the text. It's obvious he loved the books as much as the rest of us do. A keeper.
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