If you are choosing between several editions of the -Opium Eater-, this one is the one you want.

True, it does not have Alethea Hayter's introduction, like the Penguin edition has; that being a point in that one's favour. But here you -also- get the entire -Suspiria de Profundis-, which is in many ways more beautiful and interesting than the Opium Eater itself. -Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow- must surely be the single greatest prose poem ever written in English.

The -Suspiria- was intended as a sequel to the -Opium Eater-, and those who enjoy the one will want them both.

This masterpiece of literature is a fascinating account of the pains and pleasures of opium as well as an autobiographical account of his youth. This books illustrates that sometimes moral or other world issues are not always in black and white. A sensitive and beautiful man, de Quincy's great book is a treasure!!!!

This strange little book also has a strange distinction - it is Thomas De Quincey's first important work and in the revised edition, his last important work. Mr De Quincey regarded himself as "the Pope" of the poppy and his work reflects the dreams he had while under the influence of opium.

When the book first came out (1822), some reviewers thought it was Coleridge's work - Mr De Quincey had to prove he indeed wrote it. Despite the use of the word "Confessions" in th etitle, Mr De Quincey does not seem repentant or remorseful regarding his use of opium. In fact, Mr De Quincey believed that the use of opium released the "majestic intellect" of a person's mind, similiar to Dr Timothy Leary's view on LSD.

Those of you who are interested in pharmacology or drug addiction would be well served by reading this book. Mr De Quincey felt that his opium eating was actually beneficial to him and judging by his articulate arguments, one wonders is he could have been right.

Read it for yourself and see how this type of thing was handled in the nineteeth century.

Let it be known that I cannot be unbiased when it comes to De Quincey. When browsing aimlessly through my college's library a year ago, I discovered him and have been entranced ever since: with his eloquence, with his brilliantly feverish imagination.

Klosterheim demonstrates the fascination with German themes that one sees in other Romantics and Victorians (Carlyle and Coleridge, for example). De Quincey was a loyal reader of German metaphysics, and perhaps one can see their influence here. One also wonders (and I am no expert, so take this with skepticism) how much Poe read of De Quincey.

An exquisite gothic Thomas De Quincey's book, where converge suspense, terror, heroism, fight for justice, love.

I love Thomas DeQuincey. His writing and thoughts are so beautiful. It's interesting that two great literary minds, DeQuincey and Ezra Pound, became involved profoundly in economics. One point DeQuincey made in this book had to do with the concept of inherent worth. His example had to do with diamonds. Another writer had stated that a woman would pay more for a diamond than it's intrinsic worth. DeQuincey said that an article does not have an objective, intrinsic worth, but that somehow it's "worth" is based on a subjective determination, a person's desire for the object. It's not correct, therefore, to think of an object's having an objective, instrinsic worth. I remember also his observation of an error on the part of Ricardo, with regard to his concept of what is wealth, which was key to DeQuincey's book, but I can't recall the exact point. It seems to me also that this book talked about the worth to the acquirer (presumably high), and the worth to the seller (presumably lower), and that the transaction generated wealth in the sense that the acquirer acquired something worth more to him than he paid for it, and the seller received more money for the object than it's worth to him. This concept has affected me in my everyday life, in the sense that when I sell my services, I don't try to get everything it's worth to the buyer, but rather go for a price where there is value to the buyer in the sense that he pays less than its worth to him, and value to me, in the sense that the money is more than the trouble or effort to me, hence it's a contribution to wealth and to society (presumably). DeQuincey is above all a philosopher, in the sense of his standard of clearness and exactness in concepts. He would have understood and sympathized with Ezra Pound, when he wrote at the start of "The ABCs of Economics" (I think), that "I am not writing in any sense metaphorically." (or words to that effect). DeQuincey's work on economics is beautiful.

Thomas De Quincey was a contemporary of Wordsworth and more importantly in terms of comparison, Coleridge. He writes that Coleridge and he met several times and in one instance they perused some Parnesi prints together. Whether on not they were both high at the time, De Quincey doesn't reveal. However, given the tenor of the tangent upon which De Quincey expounds, it is certain that at least he was using, and given Coleridge's history, he probably was a well. Why do I cite this incident? Because it is one of the few points in the narrative that is memorable. As someone interested in literary figures, the image of two 19th century literary hop-heads grooving-out whilst staring at Parnesi prints (you should look up Parnesi on the web - a definite precursor to M.C. Escher)is just plain marvelous.

Unfortunately, that, and a few paragraphs depicting some truly macabre nightmares are the only noteworthy incidents in this book. Too often, De Quicey's labarynthine riffs doen't really lead anywhere. His writing style in some ways can be compared to another of his more illustrious contemporaries, Thomas Carlyle's. Both go in for elongated Latinate constructions, with modifier upon modifier and dependent and independent clauses ad infinitum. Carlyle, however, can pull it off. His great wit and energy of mind holds the center of the thought together, even as the rest of his sentence veers off into Baroque space. De Quincey is not an adept enough magician to perform this trick.

De Quincey's subject is himself. His mode of writing in this instance is primarily that of a diarist. This leads to comparisons with some other English diarists of note. Two that come immediately to mind are Defoe (A Journal of the Plague Year) and Pepys (the most famous of all). De Quincey doesn't hold up well in comparision. Defoe's journal is interesting because his subject matter is compelling, he's a great journalist (conveying to our mind's eye the events he depicts), and he gets to the point. Pepys is wonderful because he provides us a full panorama of life in London in the latter half of the 17th century. De Quincey is so absorbed in his solipsistic self-examination, that we as readers aren't even allowed to come up for air, much less see anything around us. That would even be permissable if the narrator were like Proust's Swann, who is at least likeable and self-effacing. Not so De Quincey. He interupts his own narrative on countless occasions to tell us what a splendid scholar he is and (to borrow a phrase from Ophelia) "what a great mind is here o'erthrown." He peppers the text with words like "heautontimoroumenos" to indicate that he is learned in Greek. Throughout the narrative, he is in way to big a hurry to impress these points upon the reader, instead of allowing the reader to judge for him/herself.

If you want to know what it's like to be a junkie, read Burroughs. If you want to read some painfully constructed English prose, give this one a go.
BK

De Quincey is an exceptionally honest writer. Yet, while remaining honest, he manages to express his thoughts and emotions in beautiful words. While reading this book, one feels as if they're having a personal conversation with De Quincey(no doubt, a one-way conversation), and it becomes easy to develop a love and admiration for the guy. Moreover, it is interesting to hear a first hand account of what life was like in the early 19th century. It is not hard to see why this book is a classic. Read it, its short.

Thomas De Quincey wrote this account of his life and his struggle with drug addiction to both educate on the evils of opium and also to share the dream trances that he experienced while in the throes of addiction. This version by Penguin presents De Quincey's original version from 1821 and then his revision notes from 1856. There is also a short section of comments that De Quincey made concerning his Confessions from 1821-1855. The introduction by Alethea Hayter is one of the best I've seen in a Penguin book, and it really helps in understanding Thomas De Quincey and his writing style.

The Confessions, in a nutshell, begin by recounting De Quincey's early life and the events that led him to begin taking opium. The rest of the tale deals with his problems with opium and his dreams that came from taking the drug. The original version isn't that long of a read, but his revision notes add considerable length, and for the most part weren't as interesting as the 1821 original.

De Quincey's prose is absolutely amazing. He is one of the most gifted writers I've had the pleasure to read (up to this date). Many times I felt as though I was lifted up by his words and carried directly into his world. I've yet to have as profound an experience with any other author. De Quincey can also be difficult. His grasp of the English language will leave many modern readers scratching their heads. Footnotes and notes by the editor help, but a dictionary will find heavy use during the reading of this book. So those with short attention spans, be forewarned. You won't survive this book. Also, De Quincey received a classical education. He makes heavy use of Greek names, places and other classical references. He even uses Greek words in the text (although notes provide translations). I can read Greek and have studied classical history, so I got most of his references and in jokes. This is one of the things that impressed me about De Quincey. He mentioned early on that he could speak classical Greek fluently. Anyone who has studied Greek realizes how difficult this is to do. Even Romans had trouble speaking Greek fluently, so much so that it is mentioned in various historical works when an emperor could do so. The fact that De Quincey can do this is a sign of his deep intellectual abilities. I can only imagine how prolific he might have been if he had not been saddled with an opiate addiction.

An amazing book and one I highly recommend to those who are prepared to read and understand it. For those looking for a justification for drug use, look elsewhere!

First, the good part. This book is mostly well-written and clear; it is certainly interesting; and it is often quite convincing as well.

On the other hand, though, there is always the problem of trying to reduce the way a writer writes to environment, and alas, this book is guilty of that flaw much too often. It tries, above all, to read De Quincey by focusing on British imperialism, which seems to me to be fundamentally silly. Here is the rub: if one wants to prove that writer X writes in manner Y, then one has to build a gigantic theoretical treehouse when there is usually a much simpler explanation--and much more convincing one--to be found IN THE TEXT ITSELF. Surely context is important. But text is more important than context, and this is what this book, however intelligent, refuses to acknowledge.

However, when the book focuses on De Quincey's individual psychology--and it does often--it is very good.