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doctor studying the foot and ankle. By far, one
of the most thorough out there. Do not hesitate
because of price... well worth it.
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One of the odder aspects of the book to me was Russell's "idealism." On one page, he speaks of a mystical experience in which gave him a universal compassion for all mankind: on the very next page, he relates how he "fell out of love" with his wife, and then, how he ditched her. Passing from the same Bodhissattva-like musings elsewhere, he relates, on the next page or so, how he tried to strangle a friend in a rage. He can be sympathetic and even kind, but for a would-be Boddhisattva and fighter for the rights of women, he seems to have hurt a lot of ladies, in particular, rather badly. Yet his friendships in general, with both sexes, seem warm and affectionate.
I docked the book a star because the version I bought (Bantom) seemed dishonest in its packaging. The front and back covers show an old man, though this version only covers the period to 1914. On the back cover, it promises "more exciting episodes than most novels, details more intimate than most exposes, and more intensity of emotion than most fiction writers would dare ascribe to a single hero." Largely hype. This is not Dumas, or Augustine. It's a different kind of story.
Someone else on the back cover calls Russell "a Genius-Saint." Genius, maybe, but the second accolade implies very low standards for sainthood. The book did make me think Russell a more balanced figure than I thought. But part of that balance appears to have been something like madness, and something like cruelty. Intellectually, Russell was a brilliant man. Emotionally, he often strikes me as a lonely and bewildered child, angry at being abandoned, not sure where to look for love, and not sure how to give it.
author, Jesus and the Religions of Man
Apart from stating the obvious, that Bertrand Russell needs or should need little introduction, it is as well to say that his long life was spent, as far as it was public, in defending or promoting causes. Having gone to prison at a young age because he could not stomach the Kaiser's war (at least not quietly), he later returned, if only briefly, way off in the 1960s, defending the cause of CND in Trafalgar Square. That's quite a bit of history to cover, all from the same angle. It seems he never regretted the stand he took, nor altered his views substantially over the decades. He either had to condemn war openly and publicly, or condemn man privately, which meant taking his own life, something he says he thought about very seriously and decided against. For all his faults, whatever they were, it's quite hard to fault him!
The autobiography allows us to accompany him through the bulk of the twentieth century and see the development of various movements worldwide, in which he was always involved, at least at the level of the heart, but often actively. He uses letters a good deal in this text, and these throw light on that outer world which was so often pulling in an almost opposite direction. Yet he had his friends and in the bad years when he was a political outcast, a pariah of sorts in his own college (Trinity College, Cambridge) there were always those who could see his point of view and respect it. He was a stubborn man and his stubbornness allowed him to hang on for much longer than most people would have bothered. In fact, it seems that he remained true to himself right to the end, and in the end, that is what gave him life. An interesting book about a lively intelligence, sometimes brilliantly displayed.
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Althought many parts of this deal with specific issues of Paine's time (especially Rights of Man), even after two centuries, the writings of Thomas Paine are able to stoke the fires of liberty in the soul of the reader with their passion, their fierce logic and their unexpected humor.
Rights of Man comprises two long volumes written by Paine in response to English criticism of the French revolution. Although much that he says is ironic in light of events that occured after he penned these volumes, you can see the hope that the Revolution produced. He breaks government down to basic principles, pointing out the needs that government fulfills and the method by which they should be constructed. It is thought-provoking, even in the modern day and will make you look on politics of our own time with a new light. Rights of Man does drag a bit when Paine begins repeating himself, but it remains interesting and though-provoking.
But Common Sense is the real treat. The pamplet that set a continent on fire is -- this was a surprise -- a thrill to read. I found myself actually laughing at Paine's sarcasm and satire -- his way of taking monarchy and absolutism and exposing them for the ridiculuous constructions that they are.
Any student of history should read these volumes for their portrayal of late 18th century geopolitics. But you will find them to be unexpectedly entertaining.
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This, however, was a pleasant surprise. Although written in the early 1700s, the story itself was fairly easy to follow. Even towards the end, I began to see the underlying theme of the satire that Swift has been praised for in this work.
Being someone who reads primarily science fiction and fantasy novels, I thought this might be an opportunity to culture myself while also enjoying a good story. I was correct in my thinking. Even if you can't pick up on the satire, there is still a good classic fantasy story.
Essentially, the book details the travels of Lemuel Gulliver, who by several misfortunes, visits remote and unheard of lands. In each, Gulliver spends enough time to understand the language and culture of each of these land's inhabitants. He also details the difference in culture of his native England to the highest rulers of the visted nations. In his writing of these differences, he is able to show his dislike with the system of government of England. He does this by simply stating how things are in England and then uses the reaction of the strangers as outsiders looking in, showing their lack of respect for what Gulliver describes.
I found it very interesting to see that even as early as the 1700s there was a general dislike of government as well as lawyers.
I would recommend this book to anyone who reads the fantasy genre. Obviously, it's not an epic saga like so many most fantasy readers enjoy, but it's a nice break. I would also recommend this to high school students who are asked to pick a classic piece for a book report. It reads relatively quick and isn't as difficult to read as some of the others that I've tried to read.
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.
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The entry for 'New Criticism' is an efficient example of the book's shortcomings. For one thing, there's a laundry list of authors, dates, and books but very little is said of the IDEAS that characterize New Criticism. The entries are generally hamstringed by a focus on the sociopolitical and historical aspects of writers and works. The effort is laudable but inappropriate and uneconomical for a reference work. In its most extreme form, the historical emphasis goes into bizarre detail about an author's upbringing -- is it really necessary that we know where an author went to grade school and when? Entries love to entertain tales of writers' deaths and and of their insignificant travellings. I often felt as though I were reading minibiographies.
One will also notice, in the case of 'New Criticism', the absence of any mention of the 'organic'. This is ridiculous and indicative of the book's lack of attention to concepts as such. There is a non-cross-referenced mention of 'organic' under Coleridge, yet even there it is only mentioned as one of his ideas, not in terms of what the theory tried to say. I would compare it to someone's asking, 'What does X mean?' This book's reply: 'X was one of so-and-so's ideas'. Too often, the response ends there. Literary theory entries are usually on the thin side, though the deconstruction essay is solid. However, even in the longest lit theory essays there is more of an emphasis on people and movements -- far less on ideas.
Along with the lack of depth (or conceptual emphasis), there's little sense of the overall significance of ideas, works or characters (ironic given the attempts at a social-historical approach): Caliban is mentioned in the Tempest entry, and even gets his own paragraph elsewhere, but there's nothing about his character as it's been re-elaborated and re-invented by a long tradition of English writers (Auden, Browning, Joyce, and Wilde for starters). There's nothing about Caliban's portrayal in that tradition, nor mention of Caliban's mirror, etc. Under 'hubris' (which is found, in turn, under a terse account of 'the Poetics'), there's nothing about Icarus, nor is there anything about hubris as a specific theme in so many works.
Speaking of hubris, it's baffling to me that Drabble's entry is longer than either Hill's or Heaney's. The general editor would have been better off focusing more of her energy on other writers: that expansive babbling space could have been put to stronger use had a more thorough background been given on either of those poets, among others.
Readers seeking to understand why an author alludes in his work to a character or poet will be little helped by nebulous terms like 'icily poised' or 'sensuously textured', which are more suggestive of gastronomic, rather than literary, criticism. To my mind a reference's primary function should be to offer a quick source of the 'essentials' of a book or of a writer's ideas, an understanding of which would illuminate one's reading of the alluding work. While I appreciate that entries shy away from 'this or that' critiques or strict (canonical) interpretations, giving lists of facts does an injustice to the works themselves and to the way these works have been interpreted by others. (Believe it or not, people CAN come to their own conclusions even after being introduced to an opinion.)
The book's scope is appropriate to literature, as literature tends to allude to so many disparate disciplines. But if one were truly trying to give an encyclopedic account of literature, the book would have to be much bigger. In this case, specialization suffers. I would have preferred a much more focused account of 'literature' as such; I'd then supplement this with other references focused, for example, on English history. One gets the sense that too many entries end up attenuated in this book.
On the positive side the plot summaries are strong and more nuanced, though many entries are badly written (full of odd, obscuring, convoluted syntax). Again, good editorship would have recognized this.
The book primarily succeeds as an enervated survey. Nevertheless, readers will occasionally happen upon some interesting, well-summarized topics.
I'm going to check out the Cambridgean counterpart to the Oxford Companion, and I'm hoping it will give a more in-depth account of ideas and themes. The other Oxford Companions are, however, truly amazing works and deserve a close look.
A must-have for anyone who considers themself a reader.