'On the Shoulders of Giants' (which shall hereafter be referred to as OTSOG) is the quintessential study of the nature of academicism. It is thinly disguised as a dissertation into the origin (and originality) of Newton's famous aphorism 'If I have seen farther, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.' However, once the reader finds himself confronted by what might or might not be an attack on Richard Burton (the one that wrote 'The Anatomy of Melancholy'), suspicions grow, and in short order one begins to understand that a leg or two is being pulled.

Of course, it does not end there. Displaying the kind of dazzling scholarship that most academics can only aspire to, Merton zigzags across the intellectual horizon on a quest for the lighter side of truth. In doing so, he exposes many of the pretensions of scholarly work, plagiarism and specious logic. Leaving no stone unturned, we are as likely to find ourselves in pursuit of Tristram Shandy as we are to be wandering through the transept of Chartres Cathedral. All in a mad search to uncover who really used OTSOG first.

It needs to be said that Merton is, on his own, an extremely respected sociologist, one who often has used the scientific and academic world as the focus of his remarkable eye. OTSOG sets out to make points by mimicking its subjects rather than lecturing about them. Whimsical and witty, it still touches on serious issues while exposing a great deal of fascinating minutia. Certainly it is a one of a kind work that enjoys a large cult following among those who are reluctant to take themselves seriously. Look out for Umberto Eco's foreword and Merton's riposte-face as well.

Every scholar should this wonderful, joyous book

with Sterne. He comes off third best. First, of course, is the master himself. Second, comes Umberto Eco for his witty, catholic and erudite Forward. Nonetheless, Merton treads where no others have dared in his re-creation of the "Shandean" style. For this, alone, he deserves credit (and reading.) Because Merton chose real characters it was inevitable he failed to reach the pinnacle achieved in Sterne's fictional master-creation: Uncle Toby--one of the great characters in all literature. Do read Merton, and Tristram Shandy.

If you're interested in the life of Edward John Trelawny, you'll have to look elsewhere. Suffice it to say that Tre' (as his friends knew him) was a privateer, a scoundrel, a lover of poetry, a freedom-fighter and a loyal friend of the most prolific literary talents of the romantic period. "Records of Shelley, Byron and the Author" is an account, not of Trelawny's extraordinary life & adventures, but of the two men that helped make that life so extraordinary. In his own words, he tells of the secret lives of Byron and the Shelley's, their romp through sunny Italy and the tragic death of Percy in the coast of Spezzia. The tale continues as Tre' follows Byron to the bloody civil war in Greece, where Byron too dies. To his credit, though, it is never "Trelawny's tale", but "Byron and Shelley's tale" as told by Trelawny. This deep, insightful book shows the poets as only a close friend could. Yet throughout, one can not help but love Trelawny himself: the man who supported the impoverished Mary Shelley to her dying day... the man who bought a slave for $10,000 only to set him free... the man who reached into the embers of Shelley's pyre, withdrawing his heart. If you love the poetry of Byron and Shelley & have even a passing interest in the men behind the legends, then Trelawny's memoirs are a must-read.

These wonderful stories mine the whole of American life, but Powers was at his best when he wrote about the very narrow slice of life that confines, constricts and defines the lives of Catholic priests. The comedy inherent in parish and church politics, the worldliness of men who have supposedly dedicated their lives to God, the loneliness of other men who have discovered that God is absent from most of their daily routine---these are Powers' favorite subjects, and in exploring them he produced some of the saddest and funniest stories to be found outside of Joyce's "Dubliners."

This century has seen two comic novels rejected by publishers when they were first written, only to be hailed as masterpieces decades later. These are are 'A Confederacy of Dunces' by Kennedy O'Toole and 'The Third Policeman' by Flann O'Brien. Sadly, rejection led to their author's (respective) suicide and alcoholism, and recognition came only after both writers had died. There isn't room here to explain why I love 'The Third Policeman' so much. It is by far the funniest book I have ever read, yet it is also one of the most chilling, and ultimately one of the most mind-bending. 'Is it about a bicycle?'............ read it and find out!

This is the funniest book I've read in a decade. First of all, it's the sombre yet academical tone of the narrator (the main character has no name for he has forgot his own name) --- who would have expected to find footnotes in a novel? Second, the weird things described in the novel and the way people argued make perfect logical sense although we all know it's all nonsense. Third, the creation of De Selby shows that Flann O'Brien is a story-telling genius, so much so that the first time I read this book I thought that De Selby actually existed!! And only thanks to my university library which boasts a big hoard of books, COPAC, and the British Library, I'm finally convinced that De Selby have never ever lived. Oh how I wish to find a book written by De Selby --- because it'd be great fun to read his books!

BTW, there're even more De Selby in "The Dalkey Archive"!!! And don't read "The Poor Mouth" unless you're ready to read 100-odd pages about the boiled potato diet of an Irish family.

There can be few more chilling discoveries in life than to be rambling around Amazon.com and find that there are 311 reviews of The Celestine Prophecy and only one, ONE!, of Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman.

This book, along with Gravity's Rainbow, The Recognitions, Auto da Fe, The Burn, and a small handful of others, is a masterpiece of the 20th century - a book people will be reading while they pilot their spaceships toward a hard day's work on Venus or some such thing a kajillion years into the future. It is also one of the few satire's that doesn't succeed by denigrating us and one of the few post-modern works that does succeed by making us howl with laughter.

I dare anyone to read the first line and then put this book down. Undoubtedly the best first line in English literature (though Garcia Marquez's first line in 100 Years of Solitude is probably the best first line in all of literature).

I won't go on about plot twists - only urge fans of literature that expands understanding while entertaining to pick up this book by the greatest of Irish writers (you read right, THE greatest).

I agree with all the positive things said about Donne on this page. Also, this book's great strength is its breadth, including poems, letters, sermons, and other writings of Donne. One gets all the poems and most of his available prose. The only difficulty I had is that all of the poems are presented without any effort to modernize the spelling of words. Often, this distracts from a more perfect enjoyment of Donne's wit, sentiment, conceits and emotions. For those who might find antiquated spelling a distraction, I recommend they find another edition.

In John Donne, the artist and man, we have a many-faceted gem. What moves me most about him, who in my view has no superiors among English poets, is that wherever he speaks from, the most sensually playful to the most solemnly prayerful (the two are often inseparable), he is always so openly, deeply engaged. His unsurpassed verbal ability is always so immediately in touch with his perception so that his language moves and lives with the mysterious life of perception itself. Even when he is most elaborately inventive and involved, he is never contrived or remote, he is always fully there. His art is fed and shaped by his perception and his perception is always so fresh and penetrating, so uninhibited by assumption and convention and yet wherever he travels he is somehow always so available to the sincere reader. For me this all bespeaks a sensitive, large, generous soul. It is always so self-aware, but never self-centered, and even when weak and mortally distressed it is still deep and rich, never thin, sour, bitter. A very lovable soul.
Often one finds references to T. S. Eliot when people speak or write about Donne. For me, the references are usually facile and Donne is clearly the greater figure. It says much to me that I love him dearly though I do not share his religious belief. I respect Eliot, but I find it much more difficult to love him and often even to locate him. He is too cold and artificially remote in comparison and I do not accept the validity of his 'impersonal transcendence'. I am not saying that Eliot should have tried to be more in touch with the reader, that is a silly idea and never a real concern for a genuine artist. I am saying that he should have tried to be more in touch with himself. He is in reality no more inwardly complex or many-faced than Donne, and certainly not more profound, but by comparison he seems cold, fragmented and stagnant to me and simply more inclined to wear his sweat on his sleeve. I know that some might say that Eliot had more difficult times and trials to deal with than did Donne, but I think that anyone who familiarizes himself with the wide range of Donne's work, and this volume from The Modern Library makes that possible, will see this is simply not true. Any one who is not familiar with Donne's work is unaware of some of the deepest, richest, vivifying depths that English language art has reached. It has something to do with love of which Donne knew much.

This volume is a wonderful selection of Donne's prose, and is especially useful for the various sermons included. John Donne is a brilliant poet whose skillful use of language and understanding of the paradoxes of Christianity are a delight. To have the entire range of his poetry, pre- and post-conversion, is very useful.

A great reference tool for the student of literature, and a good read (Oxford English dictionary readily accessible, of course).

Jonathan Swift's 18th century satire, Gulliver's Travels, is an extraordinary tale of the adventures of an English ship surgeon. The ship surgeon, Gulliver, by a series of unfortunate events on each of his four voyages at sea, receives the chance to explore the cultures of the countries of Lilliput, Brobdingnag, Laputa, Balnibarbi, Glubbdubdrib, Luggnagg and the land of the Houyhnhnms. Each land is considerably different from the others, and creates quite an entertaining read.

While the story itself is particularly unusual, the satirical element which Swift applied to it adds another level of comprehension. If understood, one could have a nice chuckle at the way Swift mockingly portrays ideas and people through the various cultures which Gulliver encounters. Some similes, however, are intended to get a more serious meaning across. For example, in his first journey of the book, Gulliver finds himself in the country of Lilliput where the people are only six inches tall, save the king who is seven. In this land there are two groups which were distinguished by which side a person breaks their eggs on. One king published an edict commanding all his subjects to break their eggs on the small side, but many would've picked death over breaking their eggs on the 'wrong' side, so many did. By this, Swift meant to throw contempt on the exaggerated importance that people place on their differences, as on which side one breaks an egg is a very trivial thing. The two groups mentioned represent the Catholic and Protestant religions, between which were many wars and massacres during the 1500's when the Protestants first appeared.

Gulliver's Travels takes the reader to many lands, all different and unique ' each adding another perspective on traditional beliefs and ways of thinking. Gulliver changes as much as the scenery around him, and after each voyage he has changed dramatically. At the end he has transformed so much that I feel really sorry for his family ' although it's only love that could allow them to put up with his strange behaviors.

I would recommend this book to anyone with an appetite for literature, as Gulliver's Travels is an excellent satire of the ways of the thinking in the early 1700's. Also, the author does a good job in describing the lands which Gulliver visits in great detail. Although Swift may not have written this book with intense action scenes and steamy romance, it is definitely a work worthy of the people of today.

It's amazing how our perspective changes as we age. What we thought was important as children may now seem completely insignificant, replaced by entirely new priorities, priorities children wouldn't even understand. At the same time, things we used to take for granted, like having dinner on the table, being taken care of when we're ill, or getting toys fixed when they are broken, have become items on adult worry lists.

Your perspective on literature can change, too. Reading a story for a second time can give you a completely different view of it. "Huckleberry Finn" by Mark Twain, which I enjoyed as a sort of an adventure story when I was a kid, now reads as a harsh criticism of society in general and the institution of slavery in particular.

The same thing is true of "Gulliver's Travels" by Jonathan Swift. The first thing I realized upon opening the cover of this book as a college student was that I probably had never really read it before.

I knew the basic plot of Lemuel Gulliver's first two voyages to Lilliput and Brobdingnag, home of the tiny and giant people, respectively, but he had two other voyages of which I was not even aware: to a land of philosophers who are so lost in thought they can't see the simplest practical details, Laputa, and to a land ruled by wise and gentle horses or Houyhnhnms and peopled by wild, beastly human-like creatures called Yahoos.

While this book has become famous and even beloved by children, Jonathan Swift was certainly not trying to write a children's book.

Swift was well known for his sharp, biting wit, and his bitter criticism of 18th century England and all her ills. This is the man who, to point out how ridiculous English prejudices had become, wrote "A Modest Proposal" which suggested that the Irish raise their children as cattle, to be eaten as meat, and thereby solve the problems of poverty and starvation faced in that country. As horrible as that proposal is, it was only an extension of the kinds of solutions being proposed at the time.

So, although "Gulliver's Travels" is entertaining, entertainment was not Swift's primary purpose. Swift used this tale of a guillable traveler exploring strange lands to point out some of the inane and ridiculous elements of his own society.

For example, in describing the government of Lilliput, Swift explains that officials are selected based on how well they can play two games, Rope-Dancing and Leaping and Creeping. These two games required great skill in balance, entertained the watching public, and placed the politicians in rather ridiculous positions, perhaps not so differently from elections of leaders in the 18th century and even in modern times.

Give this book a look again, or for the first time. Even in cases in which the exact object of Swift's satire has been forgotten, his sweeping social commentary still rings true. Sometimes it really does seem that we are all a bunch of Yahoos.

Gulliver's Travels is an excellent book. In it Swift satirizes what he thought were the foibles of his time, in politics, religion, science, and society. In Part One Lemuel Gulliver is shipwrecked on Lilliput where the inhabitants are only 6 inches tall. The rivalry between Britain and France is there satirized. In Part Two he is marooned on the subcontinent of Brobdingnag where the inhabitants are giants. The insignificance of many of mankind's achievements are there satirized. Next in Part Three Gulliver is taken aboard the floating island of Laputa, where Swift takes the opportunity to satirize medicine and science altogether - incredibly Swift did not make up the crazy experiments he describes; all were sponsored at one time or another by the Royal Society. Finally in Part Four Gulliver is marooned by mutineers on the island of the Houyhnhynms, in which Swift takes his parting shot at human society - presenting them in degraded form as the Yahoos. Most people read no further in the book than Brobdingnag - I urge you to read the rest.

How does one choose between Henry James novels? Can one really put the feminine insight of The Portrait of a Lady above the moral conflict of The Wings of the Dove? I loved both those novels, and thought that The Ambassadors was quite good as well. But The Golden Bowl, for me, was another experience altogether.

First of all, I found "Bowl" to be the most difficult of James' novels to read. Actually, it was one of the most difficult books I have ever read, period. One must reread many passages to make sure they have the right meaning because the prose is so austere and almost impenetrable. But, once you get to the conclusion, it's more than worth it. You have to stick with this novel right to the end in order to fully appreciate its brilliance. The characters are realized with an intelligence that is rare to find in literature today, and they are written about in such a wonderfully restrained and subtle way. Don't miss this literary triumph, and please don't shy away from it because it is considered a "classic" or because of your possible misconceptions of Henry James.

Also, I read that it is being developed for an upcoming film version by Merchant Ivory. If that's true, then moviegoers are in for a treat!

Sandwiched in American literary time between The Scarlet Letter and The Great Gatsby, The Golden Bowl is plainly influenced by the former and an influence on the latter. In all three books, the plot hinges on an act of adultery. More importantly, in all three books, the act of adultery is never explicitly narrated to us. We learn somehow that the infidelity has occurred, and judge the subsequent behavior of characters in light of the infidelity.

There is a tendency in book reviews and literature classes to "boil down" complex works of art into manageable chunks. Suffice it here to say that The Golden Bowl resists reduction marvelously. It's Henry James at his finest, refusing to sugarcoat "love" as an innocent pastime and blessing us with brilliant characters who fully analyze their sophisticated insecurities. Book one (of two) opens with its protagonist, Amerigo, in deep reflection about his imminent marriage to the wealthy Maggie Verver. Why exactly does a rich American beauty who could have whatever man she wants purport to love a penniless, defrocked Italian "Prince?"

Make no mistake: The Golden Bowl is not light reading, and any reader who treats it as such will find him or herself backing up and rereading each sentence to capture what was lost. You can't speed through the book, looking for what "happens." You won't find it. Or at least, Henry James won't tell you straight out. James challenges the reader with the onus of judgment. Is your husband having an affair? Chances are that, rather than ask him straight out, you'll beat around the bush and judge whether he is or not by his behavior. No one conveys such tacit social jousting quite like Henry James, and in The Golden Bowl the old master is in peak form.

Divided into two books, The Golden Bowl provides a neatly segmented picture of life for a romantic couple both before (Book 1) and after (Book 2) an adultery takes place. Now the book's narrator never actually reveals that Maggie Verver, the second book's protagonist, is "on" to her husband's faithless behavior. Instead, it's something the reader must gather through subtle, nuanced shifts in the comportment and dialogue of the involved characters. One can even make a cogent argument -- based strictly on textual evidence -- that no affair has taken place.

The canonical beauty of the book is as much in its narrative style -- one of implicit revelation rather than an omniscient chronicling of events -- as it is in the actual storyline. Where Henry James has evolved from his "Portrait of a Lady" days is in the delivery of the tale. It is as though he is saying, here in his final novel (1905), "Any author worth a grain of salt can give you a straightforward, nineteenth century plot. Here is a different, more elevated manner of story-telling that departs dramatically from anything I've done before."

What we get is a work that straddles artistic boundaries, anticipating the oblique narratives of American modernism while subverting the 'and then...' style typical of the previous century's bildungsromans. On top of that, The Golden Bowl is a character-driven masterpiece, whose six characters possess distinguished Shakespearean personalites -- they are hilariously eloquent and fiercely intelligent. But that's de rigeur for a James opus. The whole book, in form and content, shines with what Harold Bloom calls James' "aesthetic eminence" -- stunning turns of phrase that you wish were yours, along with a deft narrative cadence that seamlessly unites scene upon scene into a layered and cohesive whole. The crown jewel in James' vaunted career, The Golden Bowl is a journey in American letters that no accomplished reader should fail to make.

It is certainly true that Henry James is a notoriously difficult writer. That's because he gives you very little to hold onto -- no clear statements of purpose, no overtly articulated themes, no ideas. Rather, he presents the very textures of his characters' minds as they try to make sense of what is happening to them. For James, such an act is the very essence of being human.

These difficulties are especially apparent in "The Golden Bowl," where virtually nothing happens. Yet in this dark masterpiece, James gives us a remarkably clear guide to what he is up to, namely, the golden bowl itself. On the one hand, it stands for all that is beautiful. But on the other, it suggests the fundamental brokenness of the characters in the novel, who view each other as mere objects to be collected, moved around, and manipulated. Maggie, Prince Amerigo, Adam, and, to a lesser extent, Charolotte, all suffer from this affliction.

The level of maninpulation by these characters is extraordinary. And the greatest manipulator of all is the novel's apparent victim, Maggie, who through insinuation persuades her father to return to America with Charlotte so Maggie can have Prince Amerigo to herself. This shatters all of their lives to pieces, just as the golden bowl is smashed to bits near the end of the novel.