The first volume of this three volume set is exceptional. The breadth of this work is substantial. In fact there is so much ground covered in this work that many truly momentous events are covered in what seems a very short number of pages. Most of us think that the history of the US goes something like "The pilgrims wrote the Mayflower Compact, jumped off the boat, ate thanksgiving turkey, hung some witches, dumped some tea and declared independence." Morison does a fabulous job of filling in the spaces. Morison's style is very engaging as well. It is interesting to note that this volume was published in the 60's so there are frequent mention's of communists themes and when the author mentions native Americans he means people that were born in this country even if they had ancestors from England or other European countries. Highly recommended.

The first volume of this three volume set is exceptional. The breadth of this work is substantial. In fact there is so much ground covered in this work that many truly momentous events are covered in what seems a very short number of pages. Most of us think that the history of the US goes something like "The pilgrims wrote the Mayflower Compact, jumped off the boat, ate thanksgiving turkey, hung some witches, dumped some tea and declared independence." Morison does a fabulous job of filling in the spaces. Morison's style is very engaging as well. It is interesting to note that this volume was published in the 60's so there are frequent mention's of communists themes and when the author mentions native Americans he means people that were born in this country even if they had ancestors from England or other European countries. Highly recommended.

Another great book from Samuel Morison. His "Growth of the American Republic" series is magnificent as well.

read one of the short pieces in this anthology. They are also incredibly uplifting too. A brilliant bedside companion for any dog lover.

Although each of the pieces in this book was inspired by the loss of a much beloved dog, this is really a book about vibrant, fully-alive dogs: family pets, fellow hunters, soul mates, and best friends. And while none of the dogs remembered so fondly here still lives, Old Dogs affirms the remarkably special place in the heart we reserve for our dogs. My own dog is sturdy in her middle-age, but reading the eulogies and odes in this moving anthology has made me appreciate more all the quirky habits I take for granted, like how she can't resist running off with one of my Reeboks when I'm shoeing up for our evening walk--the little prance she performs when I tell her, "Bring the shoe back!" Not a sad read but a celebratory one, required for every dog owner!

This is a remarkable anthology of stories and poems by outstanding authors of the past, as well as more recent times. Although these moving remembrances are only of beloved dogs, the lovers of any species of pet will find identical sentiments for their own losses. Whatever kind of companion animal you had, you will find your own bereavement and healing tears reflected here, as well.

Care was taken to avoid over-sentimentality, in this assortment of loving reflections of dogs, celebrated here. These accounts are full of love, and are sometimes even funny - and we are thrust into the realization that perhaps that is the most wonderful kind of living memorials we can have for a beloved pet. Too often, we lose this perspective, while trying to keep from drowning in our own bereavement and sorrows.

Rather than being a collection of sad literary memorials Old Dogs Remembered is a joyful celebration of life with pets. This inspires healthy new points of view and adjustments to moving on into our new lives, without them.

Here we are treated to many different outlooks on how they permanently enriched the lives of their owners. Reading these heartwarming pages will broaden the understanding of each reader, concerning his/her own personal bereavement. Here, we are offered the collective wisdom of others, who reminisce on their honored pets. There is much to be shared and learned here, as well as enjoyed.

With so many different authors, one must appreciate that references and styles have changed drastically, through the ages. As an example of this, some might find the essay by the dramatist John Galsworthy to be interesting, but a bit troublesome to read. And, as with any anthology, there may be some accounts not everyone would appreciate. But all pet lovers will readily identify with the overall shared remembrances, here. This is a heartwarming collection, which can be enjoyed comfortably, in several installments.

There will be many an uplifting tear shed in its reading, and we suggest it for your reading pleasure.

This beautiful little book contains just a few of Borges' best works from his 1944 work Ficciones (also widely available in the 1964 collection of English translations entitled Labyrinths).

It also includes important later works of Borges, Nightmares and Blindness (transcriptions of two lectures from 1977).

His own worst nightmare involves discovering the King of Norway, with his sword and his dog, sitting at the foot of Borges' bed. "Retold, my dream is nothing; dreamt, it was terrible." Such is the power of describing, of reading this father of modern literature.

In Blindness, he examines his own loss of sight in the context of examining poetry itself. In a story right out of, well, Borges, he discusses his appointment as Director of a library at the very time he has lost his reading sight. (Two other Directors are also blind.)

"No one should read self-pity or reproach
into this statement of the majesty
of God; who with such splendid irony
granted me books and blindness at one touch."

This lecture is a moving (and brief, just 15 pages) ode to poetry . If one wants ironic context, just consider that these lectures on Nightmares and Blindness were delivered in Buenos Aires at the height of the State of Siege of the Argentine Generals.

...

It seems alternately true and false that Jorge Luis Borges lives inside each of his writings in a completely symbiotic or photosynthetic way, feeding off his own product until the man and his work are indistinguishable; the man never seemed to be able to detach himself from his story and simply write, and yet at times his expected voicing disappears and one might believe another author has usurped Borges' pen to complete another metaphysic tale. Borges wore many masks, and that fact is acknowledged by the man himself here, in the tiny, fascinating "Borges and I," in which Stevenson is both invoked and mentioned, crafting a Jekyll-and-Hydean bit of self-awareness with the unmistakable tango twist of Borges' playful Argentinian idiom. Everything and Nothing is a sampler of Borges' finest work from his fiction and nonfiction batteries, which are almost indistinguishable. They overflow with Borges' fascination with logic, labyrinths, language, and the relation between the three (for a fine nonfiction work in this vein, read Poundstone's Labyrinth of Reason) and how they figure in philosophy and metaphysics. For a more whole view of Borges, try the new large collections of his work, but for a tiny glance at the genius of this literary superstar, Everything and Nothing is perfect.

The indefinability of the self and the multiplicity of personal identity are the main lines of thought connecting these 11 pieces of excellent literature, among the finest of Borges's. An author of short fiction stories, essayist and poet -though perhaps too much of a thinker for poetry-, Borges is, without hesitation, one of the greatest writers of all time. This careful, well-thought selection gives a brilliant account of one of Borges's conspicuous, recurrent themes: the difficulty of defining self-identity, since a man's distinctive features, whether mental, physical or even metaphysical, are not unique to him. As in some of the most noted masterpieces of literature, the philosophical substrate provides the background for fascinating and intriguing stories, frequently trespassing the fantastic or the bizarre. So, we witness the struggle of an early 20th Century French novelist to write The Quixote -not a contemporary version of Cervantes's renowned work, but the original -- and succeeding! We have the occasion to come to terms with the strange world of Tlön and its uncanny understanding of reality, as shown by its diverse, odd languages. The Lottery of Babylon gives every man the opportunity to become rich, powerful and exultant...or appallingly miserable and abject -by chance? The Garden of Forking Paths is a legacy of innumerable futures -which, however, does not include all of them. Death and the Compass displays the confrontation of a detective with his murderer, whom he is chasing, in a labyrinth of clues spread throughout space and time. The brief historical and literary essays concerning the elusive and somewhat contradictory character of the Emperor of China, builder of the Great Wall and destructor of books, and the precursors of Kafka, paving the way for something they ignore and being later re-created, explore the indefinability of man's essence, in much the same way as the previous fiction stories, since one never knows quite what are the limits between fiction and fact, both inside and out of Borges's work. Borges and I and Everything and Nothing -the latter is the original title by the author in English, though the work was written, as the rest of the compilation, in Spanish- express succinctly the core argument of the book, raising an uneasy metaphysical question: Whereas man may not know exactly who he is, does God know? Finally, two conferences given by Borges close the volume, turning to episodes from Borges's own life, in order to resume somehow the book's contents by invoking the fantastic worlds of dreams -rather, of nightmares- and of blindness, that suggest a vaster and more weird reality with perhaps blurrier limits than we can possibly understand. However, there is space for man if we are able to accept what we cannot understand, as a starting point for creating our own-made life.

I bought this book when it came out in 1995. It is a critique of interpretative criticism from Eliot to Derrida, finding unlikely parallels in the academic response to the two writers' work.

I found it a very clear and biting analysis of the current position of 'theory' in lit crit and academia. It is very clearly written, lively in its argument, and helpful if you are looking for a reasoned attack on all the irritating bogies of 'theory'.

(It is worth making the point, however, that Derrida is mainly a philosophical critic, and cannot necessarily be held responsible for much of the nonsense written by the poorer advocates of 'theory'; and so anyone looking for a fuller critique should probably stick to Christopher Norris's 'Derrida'. Or even read Derrida himself - 'Aporias' demonstrates his approach.)

But this author can write. As his argument involves a major criticism of the motives of European and American academics and their 'careers', it probably helps that he teaches in Australia!

I have read all Jane Austens books. They are funny and colourless. Most of all I liked the book: Pride and Prejudice.But Emma is funnier. I have seen the movie:Emma,and the movie: Pride and Prejudice.They were very funny!

This is a thorough, well-organized compendium of all aspects of George Eliot's works, their reception, publishing history, etc. If you are reading Felix Holt, you'll find everything you need to know about the Reform Bill of 1832. Other entries, such as "Moral Values" and "Romanticism" are brief but well-written and can deepen the perspective as you read. Each of the novels has a dedicated entry describing the plot with interpretive aids. A very valuable resource.

Here are six essays by John Ashbery about six of his favourite minor poets, ranging from John Clare, born in 1790s England, to David Schubert, born 1913 in New York. John Brooks Wheelwright and Laura Riding are included, from the early 20th century, as is Raymond Roussel (a French precursor to anti-novelists, a specialist in parenthetical labyrinths, and endlessly detailed descriptions of bottle-labels). We have, too, the doomed author of "Death's Jest Book," the 19th-century poet Thomas Lovell Beddoes.

These essays are engaging and readable, informed and informative without being pedantic. There are anecdotes, too (about Riding, most notably, who is aptly diagnosed by Ashbery as "a control freak"). We notice that half of the authors are homosexual or possibly so, most either committed suicide or had a parent who did so, three were affected by mental problems, and the majority were ardent leftists (Riding being an exception).

To this reader, the two Johns, Clare and Wheelwright, are the most immediately endearing, and David Schubert's disjunctive colloquial tone does fascinate. Some of the comments about the gang of six do shed some light into Ashbery's curious methods: Clare's mucky down-to-earthiness and Beddoes' elegant, enamelled "fleurs-du-mal" idiom both being "necessary" components of poetry, in Ashbery's view. Some of Wheelwright's elastic sonnets have a Saturday Evening Post-type folksiness that is often found in Ashbery's own poetic inventions; Schubert's poems (in Rachel Hadas's words) "seem(ing) to consist of slivers gracefully or haphazardly fitted together." An aside: Look at the first two lines of Schubert's "Happy Traveller." Couldn't that be John Ashbery? About Raymond Roussel, whose detractors accuse him of saying nothing, Ashbery mounts an impatient defence that reads like a self-defence: "If 'nothing' means a labyrinth of brilliant stories told only for themselves, then perhaps Roussel has nothing to say. Does he say it badly? Well, he writes like a mathematician."

We learn that Ashbery is not fond of E E Cummings, and he is unconvincingly semi-penitent of this "blind spot": Cummings, with his Herrick-like lucidity, his straightforward heterosexuality, and his resolute nonleftism, would not appear to fit nicely into Ashbery's pantheon. Ashbery even takes a few mischievous swipes at John Keats -- rather, he quotes George Moore doing so. Ashbery will doubtless forgive his readers if our enthusiasm for the poetry of Keats and Cummings remains undiminished.

There is much in the poetry explored by "Other Traditions" that is dark and bothersome; but there are felicities. These lectures form a fascinating kind of ars-poetica-in-prose by one of America's cleverest and most vexing of poets.

Every once in a while, I come across a book that opens up new doors for me. They introduce to me to areas of life that I otherwise might never have encountered. Other Traditions by John Ashbery is just such a book.

I have always had a love for, but limited knowledge of, Poetry. It was Edward Hirsch's great book How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry that first introduced me to Ashbery's work. He is, in my opinion, one of the greatest living poets. Therefore, I jumped at the opportunity to read Other Traditions.

Other Traditions is the book form of a series of lectures given by Ashbery on other poets. Ashbery writes about six of the lesser-known artists who have had an impact on his own life and work. All of them are fascinating. They are:

-John Clare, a master at describing nature who spent the last 27 years of his life in an Asylum.

-Thomas Lovell Beddoes, a rather death obsessed author (he ended up taking his own life) whose greatest poetry consists of fragments that must often be culled from the pages of his lengthy dramas.

-Raymond Roussel, a French author whose magnum opus is actually a book-length sentence.

-John Wheelwright, a politically engaged genius whose ultra-dense poetry even Ashbery has a hard time describing or comprehending.

-Laura Riding, a poet of great talent and intellect who chose to forsake poetry (check out the copyright page).

-David Schubert, an obscure poet who Ashbery feels is one of the greatest of the Twentieth Century.

The two that I was most pleasantly surprised by are Clare and Riding.

Clare has become (since I picked up a couple of his books) one of my favorite poets. He is a master at describing rural life. I know of no one quite like him. Ashbery's true greatness as a critic comes out when he depicts Clare as "making his rounds."

Riding, on the other hand, represents the extreme version of every author's desire for the public to read their work in a precise way--the way the author intends it to be read. Her intense combativeness and sensitivity to criticism is as endearing as it is humorous.

Other Traditions has given me a key to a whole new world of books. For that I am most grateful.

I give this book my full recommendation.

This book is much smaller than I thought it would be, but this only enhances its gem-like charm; from its rich cover to its finely homespun interior. I thought at first I had heard it all before from Ashbery, in his short Schubert and Roussel essays, and in comments dropped in Reported Sightings; but even when covering the same ground he subtly brings forth new worlds. It's refreshing to hear him talk of these beloved poets, like a tour through the comfortable rooms of his mind, which of course also offers countless insights into Ashbery's own career of poetic journeys. I recommend this book to both literary scavengers of the past and arcane poets of the future, but especially to the intriguing combination of both living a dream right now.

While Middlemarch is a thoroughly Victorian novel, Daniel Deronda looks forward to the modern period in its focus on the individual. The text primarily focuses on two individuals--Daniel Deronda and Gwendolyn Harleth. Their lives are entertwined from the first chapter in which Daniel observes, with a certain amount of disdain, a serpentine Gwendolyn gambling. By the end of the text, both characters have been transformed from the characters you meet at the beginning through self-discovery. Daniel discovers the secret of his birth while Gwendolyn is tragically disillusioned by her unfortunate marriage. The novel foreshadows the modern period's treatment of the individual searching for his identity and his place in an intolerant society.

Daniel Deronda is a moving account of the parallel yet different personal sagas experienced by two extraordinary characters: Daniel Deronda (the perfect "sensitive" man, way before his time) and the superb and brilliantly realized Gwendolyn Harleth. They are both insiders - one a well-bred but recently impoverished beautiful girl, the other a dazzlingly handsome and intelligent man whose birth is shrouded in mystery. As with numerous George Eliot novels, the hero and heroine would seem destined to marry, but don't. Yet they both achieve something greater: a realization of the inner state of unconditional love that Eliot considered the highest ideal of humanity.

George Eliot's last novel is nothing less than extraordinary. The most obvious thing is that most of it is a thumpingly good read, especially the first third - witty,lively and devoid of Eliot's sometimes irritating commentaries (Eliot has an amazing mind, and her comments can both fascinate and slow the speed of the narrative). We seem to be in a decaying world of Jane Austen, with a descendant of her Emma Wodehouse - silly, headstrong, egotistical yet alluring Gwendolen Harleth.

The tension heightens when Gwendolen finally marries Grandcourt, and both she and the reader realise she has made the most ghastly mistake. Brilliantly, Eliot portrays in disturbing detail the psychological twists and turns of the relationship, as the 'powerful' Gwendolen finds herself trapped by a silent sado-masochist. Grandcourt is actually shown to do very little out of place - which is the achievement - and we are left to imagine what Gwendolen must be going through in the bedroom. We become enmeshed in her consciousness - not always a pleasant experience. It is a brave novel for its time.

The rest of the novel concerns the eponymous Daniel, his discovery of his identity as a Jew, and his final mission to devote himself to his race. It is thought-provoking, and interesting, and much has been said about how the way the novel is really two stories. The problem really is that the Gwendolen part is so well done that a reader feels disappointed to leave her and join the less enthralling Daniel.

The ending doesn't quite thrill as other moments of the book do, and there is an over-long section relating the conversation of a philosophy society, but, thanks to Gwendolen and Grandcourt, it stands out as one of the most memorable pieces of literature in English. Take away the 'Daniel' part and it is Eliot's masterpiece - and great material for the cinema. Maybe it's because she played the aforementioned Emma, but Gwyneth Paltrow could do a fantastic job as Gwendolen - just imagine her playing the great scene where the melodramatic diamonds arrive on her wedding night, and she goes beserk and throws them around!

It's easy to see why Middlemarch is a classic. The theme of reality not living up to one's ideals is a thread that runs through the lives of most of the major characters, and is instantly recognizable and relevant nearly a century and a half after the book was written.

Idealism is most evident in Dorothea Brooke. She wants to lead a learned life of service to others, but Casaubon is not interested in teaching her much, and the great work she initially believes he is writing is an irrelevant, disorganized bunch of notes. Tertius Lydate is also an idealist whose ambition is to make contributions to the medical field. Before he marries Rosamund Vincy, he sees her as the feminine ideal, a woman who will provide unquestioning support and an emotional haven. Instead, she turns out to be a self-centered spendthrift who ennervates him. He ends up with no money or energy for his research, and must concentrate on making enough money to support his wife's extravagance. Interestingly, the characters who end up the happiest, Mary Garth and Fred Vincy, lack such lofty ideals.

One of Eliot's strengths is her sympathy and compassion for her characters, despite their faults. However, she is no stylist, and I found her prose to be awkward and stilted. The reader needs to be patient with this book, because Eliot's style makes it somewhat difficult to get through.

I am in awe of George Eliot. She has constructed a narrative that is uncommonly perceptive and literate about both the subtle and quirky level of individual motivation and the larger forces of society which form the arena in which human lives play themselves out. Middlemarch is a provincial English town during Victorian times and Eliot selects a broad range of characters from every level of society to illustrate her themes. Prominent among these themes are the way in which the ambitions of potentially extraordinary achievers can be constrained by a poor choice of affiliation, most notably bad marraiges. She also addresses the role of women, the way that wealthy landowners determine the quality of life for the poor, and presents insightful portraits of a number of personality types. It is often a very funny book as well, as she exposes the foibles of the pompous and self-deluded which subtle and unerring accuracy.

This is not a light read. This is a long, dense novel, but I found something fascinating on nearly every page.

I was extremely hesitant about reviewing George Eliot'sMiddlemarch, as it's been ten years or so since I've read it, but inthe end I couldn't resist adding my comments to those of others. Quite simply, it is the greatest novel yet written by an English author: Middlemarch is the fullest realisation of George Eliot's ideas on social philosophy combined with her utterly convincing characterisation and remarkable moral insight.

The novel's 'heroine' is Dorothea Brooke, a young woman of excellent virtue who is passionately idealistic about the good that can be achieved in life. The provincial setting of Middlemarch is the environment in which Dorothea's struggle to fulfil her ideals takes place, and the novel's central theme is how the petty politics of provincial 19th century England are largely accountable for her failure. In parallel with Dorothea's story is the story of Lydgate, an intelligent and ambitious doctor who also runs up against the obstructive forces of provincial life and finds them severely restrictive of his goals.

Eliot is supremely compassionate, yet never blind to the faults of her characters. Dorothea's ideas of social reform are naive, while her high opinion of Casaubon's work proves to be a major mistake. But Eliot is never cynical when the motives of her characters are pure, and does not censure them for failure. What she is critical of is the narrow minded self-seeking attitude which forces Dorothea and Lydgate to come to terms with the fact that often good does not win out over circumstance. The subtext to this is the fact that the high ideals and sense of responsibility intrinsic in both Dorothea and Lydgate means that there is no question of them ever finding love together. In essence, Middlemarch is simply about life and how things don't always work out, despite our best intentions, but are often the product of negative forces. In other novels Eliot's didacticism can sometimes jar, but it is impossible to ignore the depth of her wisdom in Middlemarch.

Middlemarch is the best novel of our greatest novelist - of the major Victorian writers only Tolstoy can really compare with her - and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

It has been said that most great men are bad men. Samuel Eliot Morison's superb biography of John Paul Jones supports, if not proves, that proposition. Jones's greatness is undeniable: Although he was the son of an obscure Scottish gardener, he virtually founded the United States Navy, he won one of the most important sea battles of the Revolutionary War when he was only 32, and he later commanded ships in the service of France and Russia. But Jones also was extremely temperamental, excessively vain (after receiving an honor from France, he liked to be addressed as "Chevalier Paul Jones"), and he had mistresses in practically every port. Morison, a longtime professor at Harvard and the author of the authoritative, Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of Christopher Columbus, as well as a massive, multi-volume history of the U.S. Navy during World War II, reports all of this in a matter-of-fact fashion. Morison's Jones is a great sailor and a man of the world in every respect.

According to Morison, Young Jones was highly ambitious and went to sea at age 13 "as a road to distinction." During the next 15 years, he learned well his trade and he also became an American patriot. At the beginning of the Revolutionary War, Morison writes that the American navy was "only a haphazard collection of converted merchant ships," and the Royal Navy was probably the most powerful in history. But General George Washington, according to Morison, "had a keen appreciation of the value and capabilities of sea power," and, in October 1775, Congress appointed a Naval Committee of Seven to manage the colonies' maritime affairs. In December 1775, seven months before the American colonies declared their independence from Great Britain, Jones accepted a commission as a lieutenant in the continental navy.

Although Morison is primarily interested in Jones's activities during the Revolutionary War, he makes a number of more generally cogent observations. For instance, the United States government was in a state of nearly constant impecuniousness and was able to afford to build only one of the largest class of naval vessels, a ship of the line, during the conflict. In Morison's view, this was the status of the war at the time of the battle off Flamborough Head in September 1779, which secured Jones's fame: "The War of Independence had reached a strategic deadlock, a situation that recurred in both World Wars of the twentieth century. Each party, unable to reach a decision by fleet action or pitched land battles, resorts to raids and haphazard, desultory operations which have no military effect." That deadlock continued, according to Morison, until 1781. Morison also writes that Britain took the position "since the United States were not a recognized government but a group of rebellious provinces,...American armed ships were no better than pirates."

Morison appears to be deeply impressed by Jones's technical competence: "One of Paul Jones's praiseworthy traits was his constant desire to improve his professional knowledge." That passion for self-improvement reached fruition September 1779 off the Yorkshire coast of east-central England when a squadron which Jones commanded from the Bonhomme Richard defeated the H.M.S. Serapis in a three and one-half hour battle during which those ships were locked in what Morison describes as a "deadly embrace." (Bonhomme Richard sank during the aftermath of the fierce fighting.) It was during this battle that Jones defiantly refused to surrender with the immortal phrase: "I have not yet begun to fight." According to Morison, "[c]asualties were heavy for an eighteenth-century naval battle. Jones estimated his loss at 150 killed and wounded out of a total of 322." Morison writes that Jones was at his "pinnacle of fame" in late 1779, and, when he visited France, which was allied with the U.S. during the Revolutionary War, in April 1780: He became the lion of Paris, honored by everyone from the King down." When Jones returned to the United States in 1781, however, he was unable to obtain what Morison describes as a "suitable command," and he never fought again under the American flag. In 1788 and 1789, as "Kontradmiral Pavel Ivanovich Jones" he swerved in the navy of Catherine II, "the Great," Empress of Russia. When he died in 1792, he was buried in France, but, in 1905, his body was returned to the United States and now rests in the chapel of the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland.

Jones's nasty temper is frequently on display. Morison remarks on various occasions that his crews were "disobedient," "sullen," and "surly." Which was cause and which was effect is difficult to ascertain. Jones clearly was an overbearing commander, which may explain, though does not excuse, his crews' bad attitudes. On one occasion Jones had one of his officers "placed under arrest for insubordination [giving the officer] a chance to clear it up, and Jones was unwilling to admit his error." It is not prudent to compare events during war in the late 18th century to the peace and prosperity of our own time, but no reader of this book will be impressed by Jones's interpersonal skills.

Morison makes numerous references to "prize money," the curious, but apparently then-universal, practice of rewarding captains and their crews in cash for capturing enemy ships. The fact that Jones pursued prize money with vigor may raise additional doubts about his character, but I would guess Morison believed that Jones simply followed a custom which probably motivated many successful naval captains of his time.

Morison held the rank of admiral in the U.S. Navy during World War II. Although the degree of detail in his narrative is fascinating, I found some passages too technical, and I suspect some other lay readers may be baffled as well. (The book's charts and diagrams were, however, very helpful.) But that is a small price to pay for a wonderful biography of one of the most intriguing figures of the American Revolution.

A hero of my youth, this book appears to tell the full story. This is a scolarly work which reads easily. I only wish I would have read this book in my twenties. There are some wonderful life lessons in this biography. If you read it you will learn his flaws, his good and fine attributes, and some mysteries. This is first-rate biography and detective work by the author. I recommend it.

As someone who had recently seen the "John Paul Jones" movie that was made in 1959 with Robert Stack, I was curious to learn more about the man who put the U.S. Navy on the map. Of course, most know him as the one who coined the immortal, defiant phrase "I have not yet begun to fight!" This book delves beyond that, as Morison shows Jones as he really was, a human being born in obscurity in Scotland who developed a love for the sea at an early age. He was simultaneously a shrewd combatant with a quick temper (in many ways the American equivalent of the great English admiral Nelson,) and a gentleman who enjoyed the company of numerous lovely ladies ashore. Morison leaves no stone unturned as he takes the reader on a detailed, captivating journey (from page one, the reader is hooked.) He sailed the waters that bore witness to Jones's battles and drew extensively upon the naval archives of the four primary countries that figured in Jones's life. To give you some idea, the engagement with H.M.S. Serapis is fleshed out in such marvelous detail that one can almost smell the gunpowder, but Morison goes beyond that, explaining what happened before, during, and after, most of which one would not learn in history class. In fact, I would make book that at least ninety percent of what one will read in this book would not be learned in history class. Morison has included pictures, charts, diagrams, excerpts from letters (some of which are in French with English translations), and has deftly blended them and the text into a perfect biography. For anyone who wants to learn more about Jones, this is required reading.