The cold Alaskan air could burn anybody's skin and heart, but not this wolf named Buck. He showed he had heart in everything that he did. One of the many things Buck did during his three thousand miles was earning ownership from all the dogs on the team and from all of the men and women who owned him. He showed courage by pulling twenty five-pound sacks of flour for one hundred yards all by himself. This book is a good one to read if you love adventure, excitement and danger. I would recommend this book to anybody, but mostly the younger children because of its many fun adventures.

This review is by a family of three kids. Our mom read this book aloud to us. Here are our opinions:
Anne (12): I think this was a really moving book, but some of the writer's opinions, I didn't quite agree with. Jack London says that we are shaped by our society, but I believe that we can change ourselves, because we have free will.
Michelle (11): It was a great book, but I didn't like the middle portion, because White Fang was all hatred, killing all the dogs he met.
John (9): The best part was when White Fang was sitting at the shore as boats came up, waiting to kill all the dogs. I think White Fang was good and bad. He would be a good guard dog. But he was bad because he tried to kill. He never let any dog retreat to save themselves.
Mom: This was really a good book, but I recommend it as a read aloud. The reading level is way above my kids heads, but they understood it in context as a read aloud. There are some very ferocious parts that I skipped as I read, because I thought them too graphic. But the book did inspire us to discuss the idea that we are shaped by our surroundings, and that we have free will to make our way. But also, we shape other's lives by our own choices -- so we are responsible before God to others.

London's near epic tail of a wolf struggling to adapt to civilization is one marked by adventure, excitement and emotion. London flawlessly depicts the nature of wild beasts and the environment in which they live.
The storyline follows a young gray cub called White Fang, who is thrown into the midst of human culture against his will. The young cub develops into a dominant wolf and experiences confrontations beyond his vivid imagination. White Fang possesses unique and distinctive qualities for a wolf which is wonderfully detailed in the characters countless struggles.
This is truly a well-written book, with more than enough excitement to keep any apathetic reader intrigued. Although an interesting and insightful look at the nature of animals, the book's beginning can be considered a toil to accomplish and perhaps even tedious for some.
Fortunately, with the introduction of mankind, the story sweeps into action as White Fang strives to fuse with society, and the domesticated animals that come along with it. White Fang's Possession changes multiple times during the novel, keeping readers enthused and captivated. Be advised however, the exhilaration reaches a climax only halfway into the book, and never achieves the high level of excitement at any point afterward.
Despite the less absorbing material in the first and last parts of the book, Jack London's timeless account of a ferocious wolf molded by the fingers of civilization is well worth the read. The emotional attachment one attains from reading the pages of White Fang is more than enough to engage readers of all types. Don't miss out on this book.

First off, a disclaimer: I knew Dickey personally toward the end of his life. I met him once (in 1991) and talked to him on the phone every now and again after that. He was out of sorts much of the time, and not much of a conversationalist. But occassionally he would be on the upswing and revert to his old self. He loved the title of my first, unpublished novel, Seamarks, and used to always tell me "I'm on yo' side son!"-So, I suppose all this biases me, though I'm not sure in which direction, because I haven't sorted out my feelings toward this great man of letters, old enough to be my father or grandfather, who encouraged my efforts as a literary artist during the past decade. I truly don't like that this book was published, as is, so soon after his death. It doesn't take the shrewdest person in the world to figure out that the editors were trying to capitalize on his death while he was still fresh in the ground. I don't know how they selected which letters to publish. But I don't like whatever methods they employed. The letters just don't cohere like they should.-It seems to me, truth be told, that there wasn't much method or forethought; more a rush to publish what looked passable as a chronological sequence of some of his correspondence.-Such is the posthumous fate of a great artist. I made it a point to get to know Dickey because I thought, and still think, him to be the last truly geat poet alive. It just happened that he lived in Columbia, a two hour drive from my native Greenville.-Dickey was the last poet that I know of in the tradition of the visionaries of the early 19th Century. Though he would deny this at times, his son's memoir has him comparing himself to Shelley just before his death.-Also, the great English writer Malcolm Lowry had a TREMENDOUS influence on him, as the letter recounting Dickey's visit to his grave shows. Dickey was always recommending Lowry's works to me (particularly Lunar Caustic, an out-of-print autobiographical work regarding Lowry's stay in New York's Bellevue psychiatric hospital for alcoholism treatment.) - I'd already discovered Lowry years ago and read just about every word written by him three times over. - Chris Dickey may or may not know this, but those lines his father quotes from Goethe at the end of the book (attributing them to his mother) are from one of the three opening quotations to Lowry's masterpiece, Under the Volcano. The point of all this emphasis on Dickey's debt to Lowry is that Lowry was one of the last in the same tradition. I'm just making my case. I think the earliest letters in this selection the best. I got a particular thrill of how taken he was with the now forgotten English poet Ernest Dowson. I was mentioning poets I liked when I met him in '91 (He was not in a particularly good mood, by the way.)and he kept stoliidly shaking his head and saying "never heard of him." But when I mentioned Dowson, he perked up, and a twinkle glimmered briefly in his eyes. Dowson drank himself to death in his early thirties, the victim of unrequited love, among other things...What Dowson, Lowry, Shelley and Dickey all have in common is that they viewed their roles as writers as seers, visionaries and prophets who, through their work, brought what others could not feel or see into the written word, and thus into the worlds of others less gifted....This is Dickey at his best, and this is why his letters are worth reading, to understand how such a person recognizes such a gift and evolves into a human being capable of expressing unparalleled beauty and unworldliness. I would, however, recommend that the reader wait upon a more comprehensive, less higgeldy-piggeldy collection of his letters. In the meantime, this one will have to do of course. Dickey could also be a monstrous jerk, as those of you who've read Hart's bio, The World as a Lie, know all too well. Hart did a great job, by the way, and I don't have the same reservations about his bio as I do about the publication of these letters. But buy this book anyway and read it. There aren't any poets like Dickey around anymore, and such a man's letters are worth reading...Although, who knows, maybe there are some left in this sound bite world of Oprah Winfrey show poetry. If you find one let me know, it will be like catching a falling star...My apologies to John Donne.

Matthew Bruccoli and Judith Baughman edit Crux: The Letters Of James Dickey, an excellent autobiography which provides a rich collection of works from 1943-1997. Dickey's extensive letters to literary correspondents from John Berryman to Ezra Pound and Anne Sexton are gathered together in a presentation recommended for any with an interest in Dickey's varied works.

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is a great,fun,challenging novel. Adults need to be reminded of their childhood and remember the crazy things they used to do. Children should read this book because Tom does things they can only dream of. Their are many aspects you will enjoy about this novel.
The story of Tom Sawyer is about crazy fun adventures. Tom is a misunderstood child who is tricky and sly like when he gave his cat painkillers. He tricked kids into giving him things so they could they paint the fence he was punished to paint. He also witnesses a murder and nearly gets killed for it. There are many more adventures that he goes on with his friends like Huck. The excitement never ends.
I learned that we must cherish our childhood, for it is merely a waning period in our short life. Thank you Mark Twain for showing me that I must enjoy everyday.

This book is about a boy named Tom Sawyer, a mischievous boy who was cared by Aunt Polly. He's in love with this young girl named Becky Thatcher. He teaches her how to draw. Tom and his friends Huckleberry Finn and Joe Harper discovered a secret island. They go off onto that island to live like pirates. They were presumed dead until they came back just in time to attend their own funerals. They were caught and punished for their actions. Tom and Huckleberry Finn saw Injun Joe, a killer hid a treasure on that island. The only clue was a number two. Injun Joe died tough by starving to death. Tom told Huckleberry that he followed Injun Joe one day and saw that he buried it in the cave he died in. Tom and Huckleberry found the treasure box and looked inside of it. It was filed with coins, guns, and a pair of moccasins.
I recommend this book for other readers that are my age because this book teaches you that it is bad to lie. Tom Sawyer lied a lot. Hs stole jam from his Aunt in the beginning of the story. He had to lie to his aunt to get away and get to their secret island to be like pirates. He also told to Huckleberry Finn that he didn't see where Injun Joe hid the treasure.
My favorite part of the story was when Tom, Huckleberry Finn, and Joe Harper went off to their secret island and live like pirates. Nobody was with them and except themselves. It was funny how they came back on there own funerals. They also saw Injun Joe on that island and were he buried his treasure. Tom's aunt got so mad at him for running away from home. This is a great book to read.

"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" is a wonderous tale of childhood, mixed with fact and fiction, from Mark Twain's own life, as well as those of several childhood friends. Tom Sawyer is the mischevious, imaginative, intuitive child we all once dreamed of being, if only for a day. Huck Finn is the outcast, shunned by the adults, and envied by all the children. Becky Thatcher is the girl that steals away Tom's heart, and breaks it more than once.
Here is a brief summary of the four distinct adventures intertwined within the main story, including the graveyard adventure, The Jackson's Island adventure, the treasurehunt adventure, and the cave adventure.
In the first adventure, Tom and Huck Finn stroll out to the graveyard along midnight attempting to cure warts with a dead cat. They inadvertanly come upon a grave robbery, perpetrated by Injun Joe, Muff Potter, and Dr. Robinson. When Injun Joe demands more money from Robinson, a fight ensues, and Muff is knocked out. To Tom and Huck's horror they witness Injun Joe murder the doctor. The two flee moments before Muff comes to, and Injun Joe lays the blame on him. Tom and Huck swear an oath never to tell a living soul what they saw; something which later on weighs heavy more on Tom's shoulder's, than Huck's.
In the Jackson Island adventure, Tom, feeling rejected by Becky Thatcher, and the world in general, runs away from home with Huck Finn and his bosom friend Joe Harper. On the island the three children hunt, play, fish, and learn to smoke, until becoming home sick. Tom steals away in the middle of night to find out wether or not his family misses him. Not only does he discover that they do, much to his delight, but that they are presumed dead, and will be holding a funeral for them. A plan is born in Tom's mind, namely to attend their own funeral and make a grand entrance. And what an antrance they do make!
In the treasurhunting adventure, Tom and Huck hit upon the idea of searching for treasure. Tom is certain there must be some kind of fortune hidden somewhere within the abandoned homes of St. Petersburg. When he and Huck explore one such home, their adventure is interrupted when two men arrive. One man is a stranger, the other man, a "deaf and dumb Spaniard" seen around town of late turns out to be Injun Joe, much to the boys horror. These men are at the home planning a job when Injun Joe finds an actual treasure buried long ago by Murrell's Gang, it is supposed. Tom and Huck are awe-struck at such a glittering sight; but are heartbroken when the men leave with the treasure. From that moment they begin a dangerous mission to track these men, in the hopes of stealing away the money.
In the final adventure, Tom, and Becky Thacther, become lost in the cave they are exploring during a picnic. There is an immediate rush to find a way out, which only leads to further confusion. Suddenly, the two realize they may die in the cave, if they can't find a way out. Their struggle continues as they search deeper in the cave. Becky, weak with hunger, pleads with Tom to go on without her. However, he is too much the chivalrous one, and refuses. In their plight, Tom sees a shadow and calls out, as he runs toward it. His relief is rapidly turned to shock when he sees the face of the man - Injun Joe. Luckily for Tom, Injun Joe does not recognize his voice, and makes a mad dash for safety. Tom and Becky are left to continue their search, and when all hope seems to be fading, a way out is finally found.

This novel operates on myriad levels, and there is enough here to make you think for years. Multiple readings will only raise more questions, and/or cause you to rethink the conclusions you've previously thought solid. Merely for the fact that this is a book that makes one think and ponder and consider, it is a great book.

The basic story is that of a WWII bomber crewman shot down over Tokyo immediately prior to the great firebomb raids of Spring 1945. He is utterly alone on a hostile foreign island, likely listed as missing, presumed dead, with the book's opening pages promising a superior adventure as our protagonist struggles to stay alive and eventually repatriate. But, as the story matures and we gradually learn more about Muldrow, we see that repatriation has been only a fleeting inspiration. Mudrow has been freed, and he pushes north toward a place that is much more imagined than real.

As he struggles north Muldrow changes from serviceman to fugitive, from survivor to predator, from endangered hero to questionable protagonist to a perplexing and difficult-to-like principal character. To my reading, Muldrow is an unpredictable, dangerous psychotic, with only the regimen and discipline of societal interaction and military service having kept him in check during brief periods of his life. When in his element, out in the wilderness relying only upon himself, he is a nation unto himself, free to make any choice which suits his needs and his whims. We see it in the flashbacks to Alaska, and we see it in his maniacal odyssey to Hokkaido and the White Sea, and to a mental and physical place which of course does not exist.

In the end where does Muldrow go? This is as debatable as the nature of his character, the origins of his actions and thoughts, and his motivations. Dickey takes us from a strong, pulsing adventure narrative in the opening pages to a lyrical, poetic, almost mythical climax as Muldrow finally dies/transforms/transcends. It is a fascinating transformation for the character, for the narrative, and for the experience of the reader. I wholeheartedly recommend this riveting, expertly written book.

I knew James Dickey at the University of South Carlolina, and I later spent 14 years living in the interior of Alaska. His last novel is a stunning achievement, missed utterly by anyone hoping for "Hogan's Heroes." Critics who wrote at the time that the protagonist is "a sick puppy" were probably also offended by the first 20 minutes of "Saving Private Ryan." If you want standard Hollywood, and you buy Dickey, you will be disappointed.

To be a hunter, keen and alert, raised to know the life of the wild and the ways of the hunted, and then to be placed, as Muldrow was, into a world of aliens, each one a hunter, and to have all the usual means of becoming inconspicuous stripped away: that is the story. That was Muldrow's lot; what exactly was he supposed to do?

No one who hates this book can admit to even a vestigial smidgen of the feral in mankind. Dickey's unlikely and unwilling hero had it, and so when he appears to be camouflaged at the book's end, he really is: no one in the crowd who sees him understands what he is seeing--and that includes some readers.

I had the rare honor of a long telephone conversation with James Dickey 12 months before his untimely death. We talked about "To the White Sea" and the novel I was working on "Greif". James was busy writing the screen play for the novel, which I hope his daughter will finish. When I first read it I was sucked in, shocked, stomped and emotionaly drained. Here we have a novel written in the first person which is essentially some of Dickey's best poetry. At the same time Dickey places the reader squarely into the mind of a serial killer (Muldrow) who has the entire Japanese Home Army tracking him down. They are faced with "Muldrow's" ultimate camouflage! Himself! A wild human being hunting other human beings with absolutely no conscience or feeling for his victims. The reader will, at first, cheer on Muldrow! But as Dickey begins to work on your mind, you feel a chill up your back as he takes you on a wild ride that seems to have no end. I discribed my experiences in Alaska exploring the Brooks Range to Dickey, who merely chuckled. I had the impression this consummate Southern Gentleman had an unreal grasp of those desolate wind swept and COLD plains. COLD IS THE WORD THAT BEST DESCRIBES 'TO THE WHITE SEA'.

Ok, this might just be me, but I found this book extremely boring. The author did an OK job on making it bearable for girls, yet I would definitely classify this as a "boy book." I found it impossible to enjoy, although guys may like it. I don't like reading about animals. I like reading about people, and how they react to different situations, a position no animal could fulfil. My favorite books are The Phantom of the Opera and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. If you like those books, you will probably not like this one.

I have to admit that I have not really given Jack London his proper due up to now. Perhaps it is because I don't by my nature like outdoor adventure type stories, or perhaps it is because I associate White Fang and "To Build a Fire" with my youth. The fact is that Jack London is a tremendously talented writer. His understanding of the basics of life matches his great knowledge of the snow-enshrouded world of the upper latitudes. The Call of the Wild, despite its relative brevity and the fact that it is (at least on its surface) a dog's story, contains as much truth and reality of man's own struggles as that which can be sifted from the life's work of many other respected authors. The story he tells is starkly real; as such, it is not pretty, and it is not elevating. As an animal lover, I found parts of this story heartbreaking: Buck's removal from the civilized Southland in which he reigned supreme among his animal kindred to the brutal cold and even more brutal machinations of hard, weathered men who literally beat him and whipped him full of lashes is supremely sad and bothersome. Even more sad are the stories of the dogs that fill the sled's traces around him. Poor good-spirited Curly never has a chance, while Dave's story is made the more unbearable by his brave, undying spirit. Even the harsh taskmaster Spitz has to be pitied, despite his harsh nature, for the reader knows full well that this harsh nature was forced upon him by man and his thirst for gold. Buck's travails are long and hard, but the nobility of his spirit makes of him a hero--this despite the fact that his primitive animal instincts and urges continually come to dominate him, pushing away the memory and reality of his younger, softer days among civilized man. Buck not only conquers all--the weather, the harshness of the men who harness his powers in turn, the other dogs and wolves he comes into contact with--he thrives. The redemption he seems to gain with the fortunate encounter with John Thornton is also dashed in the end, after which Buck finally gives in fully to "the call of the wild" and becomes a creature of nature only. While this is a sad ending of sorts, one also feels joy and satisfaction at Buck's refusal to surrender to nature's harsh trials and his ability to find his own kind of happiness in the transplanted world in which he was placed. This isn't a story to read when you are depressed. London's writing is beautiful, poignant, and powerful, but it is also somber, sometimes morose, infinitely real, and at times gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.

The other stories are also powerful tales of survival (or demise) in the face of nature's harshness. I feel I am not alone in saying that I cannot recall most of the stories I had to read in school in my younger years but I distinctly recall "To Build a Fire." London's real, visceral language and description is hard to forget, as is the human pride and stupidity that characterizes the protagonist--London seems to be saying that we must respect and understand nature in order to survive and prosper. The protagonist's demise is more comical than tragic because of his lack of understanding and appreciation for the harsh realities of his environment. All of the stories bear the same general themes as the two I have mentioned. In each, man or beast is forced to battle against nature; survival is largely determined by each one's willingness or freedom to recede into primitiveness and let the blood of his ancestors rise up within his veins. Those who refuse to give in to their lowest instincts and who do not truly respect nature do not survive. I feel that London sometimes went a little overboard in "The Call of the Wild" when describing Buck's visions and instinctual memories of his ancestors among the first men, but his writing certainly remains compelling and beautiful, an important reminder to those of us today who are soft and take nature for granted that nature must be respected and that even her harshest realities are in some ways beautiful and noble, and that the law of survival applies just as much to us as it does to the beasts of the field.

The Call of the Wild is about a dog and his adventures. The writing of it and the action that takes place is excellent.

An addiction to Ripperology and other infamous cases of true crime originally drew me to this book. A warning: THIS IS NOT AN ITEM FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. Even with the various Ripper related books I've read over the years, parts of the prose had me cringing in horror.

The most compelling prose in the various selections lies in the exploration of the six most common Ripper suspects (The Butcher, The Priest, The Poet, The Physician, The Psychic and The Prince). Even a casual reading can turn into a marathon reading session.

The language used is graphic and the images presented can be quite disturbing. Small details from the real Ripper case files such as the contents of victim Catherine Eddowes' pockets are woven in the narrative, adding that extra bit of realism to draw you into the insular world of Whitechapel during the murders.

Ripper! is not another volume in the endless flow of armchair detective volumes that litter the true crime section of your local bookseller. You will not come away with a definitive answer to who committed these crimes. Buchanan does not force his opinions or wild theories about the Ripper's true identity on the reader unlike most Ripperology selections. Instead the reader is offered a look into what visions may have filled the mind and compelled the person behind the Ripper murders.

This book was really really borring

Bartram's "Travels" is an odd, idiosyncratic, and highly original book. There is really nothing else like it in all of English or American literature. Certainly there are scads of chatty travel narratives by later explorers who wrote of more exotic regions and more dangerous adventures, but there are none I can think of that rise to the level of Bartram's. Its rich and colorful images, the poetic quality of its language (in places), the strange juxtapositions of prosaic discussions of the habits of certain animals or features of certain plants with profound analogies between the physical world and the spiritual realm, and the narrator's frequent speculations on the meaning of human existence and humanity's relationship to nature and the creator mark it as distinct a contribution to American letters as Melville's "Moby Dick."

The world Bartram writes of is late 18th-century (just after the American Revolution) Southeastern America: mostly East Georgia and East Florida. Some of the places he visits, if you are a Floridian or a Georgian, you will recognize: Augusta, Savanna, the St. John's River, the area around Gainesville, Archer, and Micanopy; the Suwannee River and its tributary springs (specifically Manatee Springs). Below Savanna, it is a sparsely populated wilderness inhabited by various Indian tribes (such as the Seminoles and Muscogulges) and where whitetail deer, racoons, black bears, rattlesnakes, alligators, turtles, and various species of bird and fish grace the fields, woods, lakes, rivers and streams.

If you love good descriptive writing infused with a passionate appreciation for natural beauty, you will be moved by Bartram's descriptions of Florida, which comes off in the book, quite convincingly, as a sort of prelapsarian paradise. Bartram entering Florida is like Adam going back to the garden of Eden before the fall (I am admittedly a little biased, being a native Floridian): he sees seemingly endless vistas of sawgrass and sabal palms under amethyst skies, crystal-clear springs of the purest water bubbling up out of the forest floors, emerald hammocks of palmetto, sweetgum and cypress; groves of massive liveoaks and wild orange trees. All of this is taken in and recorded in an attitude of childlike wonder, and a deep awe and respect for the mysterious but benevolent power that fashioned all of it. Bartram is a scientist (botanist), able to engage (sometimes, to the detriment of the book) in detailed discussions of biology, so his effusions about the majesty of the deity seem all the more genuine and sincere.

Lastly, what endears the book to many of its readers, I suspect, is the personality of the author. The "William Bartram" of the book is a kind, gentle, reverent, simple, generous, tolerant, and quiet person. The great thing is, he doesn't really tell us about himself--we get an idea of what he is like mainly from his observations on the people and things he encounters. His Quaker faith in the wisdom and omniscience of God undergirds all of his observations and speculations.

Regarding the book's place in literary or intellectual history, it stands at one of the turning points when one episteme is giving way to another. In the "Travels" we can see the influences of the Enlightenment: an emphasis on empirical observation and data-gathering, and the emphasis on the role of reason in securing man's betterment--but at the same time we can see the influences of the then-ascendant Romantic worldview: a belief in the "noble savage," that all people are basically good but corrupted by institutions, and a pantheistic sense (looking forward to Wordsworth) of God as immanent in nature.

Belongs on the shelf with Jefferson's "Notes on the State of Virginia," Thoreau's "Walden" and "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers", the "Journals" of Lewis and Clark, and Melville's "Typee."

This Dover edition is the best buy out there. It has an attractive cover (some unknown artist's rendition of a Florida hammock) and has all the illustrations included, plus Mark Van Doren's short but helpful introduction. It's also a very durable volume--you can keep it in your rucksack to pull out and gloss over choice passages as you hike the wilderness trails of Florida.

This is a wonderful book for anyone interested in the nature, landscapes, Indians, and early settlements of Georgia, Florida, South Carolina, and Tennessee around the year 1775. I haven't read this book in about 10 years, but I do remember checking it out of the library about 3 times, and I'm going to buy it for my birthday. The landscapes the Bartram describes will by and large never be seen again. Bartram described seeing a 45 square mile forest made up of nothing but magnolia, and dogwood trees. He saw forests that were covered by grapevines for miles. The trees were sometimes 20 feet thick, and the grapevines were so old that the vines were more than a foot thick. He saw canebrakes that covered miles, and some of the bamboo cane was 40 feet high. Canebrakes are practically extinct as an environment. He saw virgin forsts, abandoned Indian fields, overgrown Indian villages, open pine savannah forests, and uninhabited swamps. He saw wildlife which today would be scare, or extinct. He reported seeing a bobcat stalk a turkey. He pleaded with a market hunter not to kill a mother bear, and lamented the reaction of the bear cub to it's mother being killed. Bartram also reported seeing wolves, and bison skulls from recently killed buffulo. Bison were just rendered extinct in eastern Georgia at that time. Bartram took literary licence with some events. He exaggerated his encounters with alligators in Florida. After enjoying a meal of fish, rice, and oranges from the Spanish missionary orchards, he battled "fire breathing dragons." Bartram had many encounters with the Creeks, and Cherokees, and most were friendly. He feasted with Indian cattle raisers. Bartram also gives a good account of early settlements. If you decide to get this book, also get a copy of a tree guide with the scientific names, because Bartram tells exactly what kind of trees he came across in each forest. What I wouldn't give to see what Bartram saw?

i did not like the book adventures of tom sawyer because i thought the book was to slow. they would carry on and on about things that were not that important. in my opinion i think that junior high kids should read this book. i thought that the book was like a roller coaster because one chapter you start getting to the climax and it just turns on you and goes to something differnt that is not even involved in thier adventure.

This is the first novel that I ever remember reading and thank the lord for Mark Twain and what he did for me. I was amazed, as a young boy of eight, that a book could bring me so much pleasure. I loved the adventure and romance of Twain's world and thirty years later remember the adventures he took me on and the charachters he introduced me to. True, this is not the depth of James Fenimore Cooper, the detail of Clancy, the clarity of thought of Dostoyevsky or even the shock of Steven King, but it is classic American literature and had it not been for Tom and Huck, I may have never learned to love to read as I do. This book should be read by every young person.

This book is descent but a poor substitute in light of better alternatives, namely Zar's Biostatistical Analysis or Sokal and Rohlf's Biometry. Zar's book is my favorite. I am not as familar with Sokal and Rohlf's but know enough that I prefer the organization and context of Zar. The limitations of Steel et al. is the needless use of matrix algebra, the lack of calculations in many cases (instead, the linear model is presented without decomposition into formulas), the brief discription for many of the analyses, lack of good examples, and difficult to follow writing. On the positive side, Steel et al. have a chapter on experimental design, which Zar and Sokal and Rohlf lack, although it is not an easy chapter to follow. My recommendation is to use Zar as your primary "go to" reference on biostatistics.

I found that Steel et al. covered a broad range of methodology needed for biological research, and that the scope of this text is comparable to any statistical manual available. It is very functional as a reference material for troubleshooting any design or analysis problems. As a professor of research methodology, I highly recommend consulting this text for improving the statistical analysis of biological research.

I gave up after reading a hundred pages or so. I'm a huge fan of James Dickey. I'd waited for so long for a second book from him and was so disappointed by this. The plot was vague and boring, and it didn't have that wonderful prose which Dickey used in Deliverance.

The one positive I could say about this book is his idea of portraying the blind and sighted versions simultaneously. It didn't work in this. But the 'idea' is to be admired. He always seems to find some way to push the established boundaries of writing.

(He pushes the boundaries again in the last of his novels, 'To The White Sea'. He has no dialogue at all for ninety odd percent of the book. Very successfully, too.)

This was probably the worst book I have ever read. I thought something would "happen", but other than philosophical meanderings of the war and the meaning of life, it was a complete waste of time and energy.

I'm aware that "Alnilam" didn't fare well on the popular market, and that three previous ..... reviewers have given this Dickey novel low ratings. But this novel engrossed me, and it has stayed with me for fourteen years now.
A dear English professor under whom I studied used the metaphor of a pebble in a pond to illustrate how interpreting the "meaning" of a fine literary work is essentially a subjective matter. The author drops a pebble into the center of a pond, as it were, and the ripples which it produces, which radiate out to the edges of the pond, are the meanings which we readers ascribe to his creation.
Thus with "Alnilam," I believe. Dickey's powerful prose and deep symbolisms allow a vast range of responses and interpretations. Mine include a lot of religious themes, although I'm aware that Dickey was a bomber pilot in WWII and thus the aviation references, not only explicit but implicit, may be more concretely referential than I've chosen to interpret them. I'm not particularly religious, but I don't know whether the spiritual metaphors I find in "Alnilam" are my own particular "ripple in the pond" or anything Dickey intended when he dropped his "pebble."
At any rate, this reader found "Alnilam" not only brilliantly written but profoundly moving. I'd give it five stars but for the fact that I can't claim to fully understand this novel on an intellectual or objective level, despite enjoying it and being deeply moved by it. But is intellectual grasp a necessary criterion of good literature? Particularly of the work of a brilliant poet? Being uncertain, I give it four stars.