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Now I know where she got the impetus for such poetry - Lord Byron! All of that generation's worst excesses of bad poetry come from Byron, I think. Embarrassingly forced rhymes, self-conscious commentary that frustratingly impedes the flow of the narrative, arch cuteness that threatens one's sanity - all there!! And he couldn't even finish it off properly.
Truly, a work only an academic could love - or find any value in. If you are attracted to this book, protect yourself: Try reading it aloud and making a stop at the end of every line (sing-song-like) so you can at least get the sense of the rhymes. I found the Penguin edition serviceable (as Penguins usually are). And don't bother with the footnotes, just let it flow. Now stop being so hard on the older generation.

WARNING: This poem is intended to be funny! Byron delighted in using the jangly sounds of feminine rhymes in the most outlandish fashion possible, and his digressions are what truly make this poem enjoyable; that voice is the center of the poem, not Don Juan's actions. As for the lack of a finish, I think I'll excuse any poet who dies mid-composition while training troops in the war for Greek independence.
I'm sorry to say it, but if you're looking for this poem to be a serious narrative in the traditional epic manner, you're bound to miss the boat. This poem is *designed* to be hilarious, and as far as that is concerned, it succeeds.


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I have neglected giving the book five stars for 2 reasons: firstly because I do not think Marchand said nearly enough about the greatness and sheer poetic beauty of Byron's first great work - Childe Harold's Pilgrimage; and secondly because the middle chapters dealing with Byron's years of fame (i.e 1812-1816) deteriorate into an absolute bore when discussing Byron's courtship of various women (Marchand goes into excrutiating details via the use of letters) - so much so that it, in fact, becomes a relief to the reader when Byron departs England never to return.
Having said that, it is still the best introduction to Byron for the new Byron fan, and Marchand is by far the most reliable authority. Byron's life reads like a highly intricate novel - proving that sometimes the truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

In an age when academic types write books to show off theoretical knowledge or a large vocabulary, it is refreshing to see a book that relies more on actual knowledge rather than theory; indeed, the writing style is neither pedantic nor alienating. Readers who are not formal students of literature will feel more than comfortable with this book, while those who are engaged in formal scholarship will find this an enlightening example of pure and true scholarship.

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But in the process of reading I have come across one problem with the editing of Wolfson and Manning - a problem of notes. All they provide in that way is a short introduction-like essay to each poem in the back of the book, that discusses the history of the poem a little, its reception, and some of its themes. But there are no notes to individual passages, as there are in the other Penguin Classics volume of "Don Juan." Where this becomes a big problem is when Byron quotes a foreign language such as Italian, as he does fairly often - although the editors provide translations for the foreign language epigraphs to the poems, they have none for any foreign language quotations that occur in his notes. Thus the point Byron is trying to make is sometimes lost on a modern reader who doesn't know Greek, or Italian, or whatever.
The poems included in this volume are [long poems in capitals, short poems in quotation marks]: "A Fragment," "To Woman," "The Cornelian," "To Caroline," ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS, "Lines to Mr. Hodgson," "Maid of Athens, ere we part," "Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos," "To Thyrza," CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE: Cantos 1-4, "An Ode to the Framers of the Liberty Bill," "Lines to a Lady Weeping," THE WALTZ, "Remember Thee! Remember Thee," THE GIAOUR, THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS, THE CORSAIR, "Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte," "Stanzas for Music," "She walks in beauty," LARA, "The Destruction of Sennacherib," "Napoleon's Farewell," "From the French," THE SIEGE OF CORINTH, "When we two parted," "Fare thee well," "Prometheus," THE PRISONER OF CHILLON, "Darkness," "Epistle to Augusta," "Lines," MANFRED, "So, we'll go no more a roving," "Epistle from Mr. Murray to Dr. Polidori," BEPPO, "Epistle to Mr. Murray," MAZEPPA, "Stanzas to the Po," "The Isles of Greece," "Francesca of Rimini," "Stanzas," SARDANAPALUS, "Who kill'd John Keats?," THE BLUES, THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT, and "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year."





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The book is written in this precious, cozy, semi-academese which drains the blood from the writing. There is no evaluation of the poet in the context in the particular developmental stage of English poetry at the time. And Shelley, in particular, gets a particularly curt dismissal.---But the real problem with this biography is not that Eisler is dismissive of other (in Shelley's case, better) poets or that her book is simply a rehashing of previously known circumstances. The problem is her plodding, lifeless, cutesy writing style. By the end of the book, one feels that Ms. Eisler has appropriated Byron into her cozy world of popularized, made-for-giant-publishing-houses beach-read bios. Has anyone else noticed that all the chapters are almost the exact number of pages in length? Such precise compartmentalization does not for the reflection of a life make, in particular Byron's!
The one merit this book indisbutably does have is to make you want to read or reread Byron's poetry. Eisler's citations of neatly culled snippets are the only lively thing in the book! So, after you've read all about the minutiae of the poet's life and feel drained and off-put at the end:
Close thy Eisler! Open thy Byron!


So if you are seventeen or eighteen, don't overlook the romantics who are the necessary guides to our enlightenment at that impressionable age. I in no manner mean this disparigingly, as I now consider myself at least semi-enlightened, if only in the strictest, literary sense. Follow Keats, Shelley, Byron, Blake, Wordsworth, Goethe, Schiller, Carlyle, Melville, and Emerson to the ends of the earth. They shall take you there and beyond.