I love Hawkes' writing. His An Irish Eye and the Blood Oranges are very good as well. Somehow he infuses a vbrant life into even his darker, stranger stories so that everything seems alive and full of light even while twisting in agony. Describing his writing is difficult as his style is unique. He was one of the top American writers of all time.

Whistlejacket is a fun read just for some of the short descriptive scenes and the subtelty with which Hawkes laces the interactions between his characters.

Oh, if you dislike horses, this book is not for you.

Man he's good. A friend of mine, or rather an acquaintence at this point, had Hawkes for a lecturer in school. And he was described to me as this geeky college prof and nothing out of the ordinary. I read a few of his earlier books (The 'Blood Oranges', 'Second Skin', and 'The Lime Twig') and it amazed me that this dude could make my skin crawl like that. I picked up 'Whistlejacket' and thought 'well this guys aged some I bet he's mellowed a little bit'. At first I thought I was right but it's more like Nolan Ryan's later years on the mound. Hawkes still delivers. He's just learned all the tricks and lures the the reader into an unwarranted sense of security. Later that old sick stomach comes back to haunt you.

This novel is first rate. Written in a prose-poetry rhythym sans the boundaries of harsh realities, the dream is contained barely in the covers. Causes the re-examination of the age-old dream or reality questions; photographs of the subconcious. Remarkably danceable.

AS a feminist, I found the story of the white male teacher at the girl's school shocking and revolting, but it is an interesting depiction of the typical male fear of Woman's power. Also of note is where Hawkes whines about how a "Marxist critic" (actually the courageous and brilliant guerilla theorist Richard Feldstein) challenged him in public. Oh, poor Mr. Hawkes! The rest of the book is padded with snipped excerpts from his books, which, if you like that sort of thing, I imagine you would like this book.

This is one of the best introductory books to ideology. Hawkes deftely succeeds in providing a review of the history of the term and in the process the evolution of modern philosophy and thought. I recommend to my students all the time especially those still grappling with the intricate concept of ideology.

In the novel you will have mixed feelings. Either your sad, mad, or happy or just plain hilarious you will most likely love this book. A Miraculous Novel, definently a must read and owe!

I have just finished reading the Chinese Version of the story (which I would rate as 5 stars), and thought, although the English Version is pretty accurate, it somehow lacks the fluency the story should have. Because of the difficulty for foreign people to imagine the situation, readers are not involved in the story as much and is therefore less effective than some books like the Wild Swan. The translation has definitely lost some tastes from the Chinese version. However if you are a foreigner who wants to explore Chinese culture, or a person who does not understand written Chinese very well (like me), this is still the book to read,for this is a book that can endure repeated reading such that one can inevitably find more and more traces of Cao Xueqin's ingenuity.

This is the first volume of a 5 volume series, and does not stand alone. If you read it, and enjoy it, be prepared to read the other four volumes. The story is difficult to begin with, not for lack of interest, but because of the complexity of Chinese names for the western reader. The book is provided with a useful list of characters for each volume, and after referring to this during the first half of the first volume, all becomes clearer for the remainder of the book.

The story itself is a fascinating picture of life in 18th century China, and portrays the development of a young boy who has otherworldly origins. The western reader needs to view dispassionately the Buddhist theme which pervades the novel, but when read with an open mind, the philosophy underlying the novel is both charming and practical (in its own way).

I found the book addictive, though it has to be said that others of my acquaintance found it too difficult to cope with, and abandoned the story before the end of the first volume. If you persevere, it forms a wonderful introduction to classical Chinese literature, and those similarly addicted will find it leads into many other books of Chinese prose and poetry.

Written in 1750, The Story of the Stone is an impressive and fascinating tale that incorporates otherworldly magic and mysticism with the saga of wealthy Jia family. The five-volume story chronicles the family's high-living glory days through their bitter decline, all the while immersing the reader in rich details of daily life in 18th century China. I completely agree with the following quote from the Times Higher Educational Supplement: "an astonishing book. It recreates a world that would otherwise be utterly lost." Anyone even mildly interested in Chinese history and culture will be enthralled by this glimpse into the privileged world of wealthy 18th century Chinese.

Author Cao Xueqin was truly a creative genius - Story of the Stone is multi-faceted, multi-dimensional, and superbly crafted. While reading the first chapter of the first book (Dream of the Red Chamber), I was struck with how utterly clever and imaginative the story is. You will instantly be aware that you are reading something that has endured almost three hundred years for a very good reason. The story is populated with dozens of wonderfully three-dimensional characters - many of whom are woven in and out of the story making for a most interesting read. Most notable is the spoiled and curiously effeminate protagonist Jia Bao-yu, who possesses a special, magical item that I won't reveal here (don't want to spoil your enjoyment of the book!).

All of the elements that make traditional Chinese literature such a joy to read are embodied in Story of the Stone. Elaborate settings, delicate verse, and traditional symbolism (with a healthy dose of humor and bawdiness) create a beautiful and riveting story that will keep you wanting more. I highly recommend reading the entire 5-book series. It is impressive that a work can stand the test of time as well as Story of the Stone has. David Hawkes' fine translation is excellent. Although some have criticized him for using too much "slang," I feel that his translation is effective in expressing the character's true sentiments, and it is tremendously easy to read. Story of the Stone is an unforgettable and awesome read that I highly recommend.

Woe to the world: looks like postmodernism is here to stay. Travesty is just a transcript of a driver talking to his passengers before crashing the car in an "arranged accident." Along the way, he pontificates about love and betrayal, a collection of cliches and bad epigrams. Nothing really happens in this book, just this guy rambling on and on. I'm glad this book is out of print: it will save the world a lot of time. If for some reason you like this book, you might also like Donald Antrim's A Hundred Brothers.

Wonderfully written, brutal, crisp, not shrinking from cruelty, perversion, tender twists of psyche. An awful delight - read if not fragile.

"We are travelling as if inside a clock the shape of a bullet, seated as if stationary among tight springs and brilliant gems. And we have a full tank of gas, and tires half a month old. Do not ask me to slow down. It is impossible." -JH
Hawkes book is a brilliant, chilling, and hypnotic look into the urgency of life itself. In creating a situation of imminent death he deftly manuevers the reader into an assessment of our own reasons for living. A truly beautiful narrative, and probably the most easily accessible of Hawkes works.

I did not expect a po-mo Black Beauty. I did love the prose. Poetic, indulgent, everything a reader longs for. However you feel about this book, the prose is quite lucious and mouthwatering, but the story bogs down, too quickly, like the scene where the horse is mired, this reader feels the author has let the Don Quixote/Sancho Panza charactors of Master and Ralph run away with him, not unlike the protagonist in the earlier part of the book. What is lost is more than the 20 years abreviated when William jumps from race horse to "for hire" horse. In fact a lot of this is lost to the weediness of the final stop at Master's house. I think that there could have been a period of time where he is retrained, sent to show jumping, sent to a riding school (briefly, and unimaginably dramatic scene which is rather short.) then to the final devolvement to the ranch. What a missed opportunity!!! The problematic life of not-so-successful showjumpers, as they travel down the ranks, 'bute, polling, electric shock...such a missed chance to make the reader see what happens in that realm. Then the school horse, for in fact, an Off Track thoroughbred, esp. with his temper would not be working as a rental horse, not without some serious retraining. By the time a horse gets there he is broken down from other work. No matter how fiery or docile. Nope, the hacking around rings day in and out in a schooling arena, would be one way. So by the time we meet Master and Ralph the plot is forshortened and the author becomes self indulgent, even at the expense of the protagonist. Does he return, in the end, to any sort of sentiment? Of course. It is mixed, memory always is a punishing weak thing. I suggest that this book has merit, but the lowness of Ralph and the naivety of the Master are too artless. Sweet William's father fixation is also without a doubt liberty with the horses mind that was an embarassment to read. Worse the way he wrote about women, mysogynistic and not very insightful about either the horses mind or the woman's. Clearly an outsider looking in. Whether he wants it to show or not. I think perhaps "perfect prose" becomes a ticket to not really understanding your subject. ... As someone who has trained horses and riders, this book does a disservice to horses. And it did not take to task the people who are out there training and riding. It did of course, make a few buffoons and ogres but the lack of understanding of training came through. And that's a disservice to the reader.

I have to say this is my favorite book of all time. I opened the book at a local bookstore and after the first paragraph I knew I had to buy it. Oldhorse is a vivid character and you will never forget him. Read this one 4 or 5 times! NEIGH!!

This is "Black Beauty" for adults (rated "R" for violence and sexuality)! It captures eloquently the life of a thoroughbred horse from birth through his struggle to find life after the racetrack. Although it is written from the horse's point of view, it isn't at all corny or juvenile. The author has drawn an accurate picture not only of horses in general, but of that unquenchable spirit that is only found in the thoroughbred breed. "Horsiness" aside, the book does superb characterizations of all players, from the women who influenced the horse's life as a baby to the wonderful old man who owns him in his old age. You DON'T have to be a horse lover to enjoy the story. It has everything from rage and violence to deep sensuality to simple pleasures to a poignant description of old age and dying.

John Hawkes, The Lime Twig (New Directions, 1960)

A friend of mine once said of the film Eraserhead that it was as close as cinema came to capturing a nightmare onscreen. (I disagree, but the parallel is useful.) The Lime Twig, in that sense, is the rough literary equivalent of Eraserhead; it's a Dick Francis novel edited by Jean-Paul Sartre with finishing touches added by Aime Cesaire. The whole contains a marked nightmarish quality; for once, I was actually grateful for the blurb writer at New Directions explaining some of the basics to me as I went along.

The story revolves around one of the oldest plots in horse racing; a team of small-time crooks buy an old racehorse to enter in a stakes race, the Golden Bowl at Aldington Race Course (being a Neanderthal American, I've no idea whether there actually is an Aldington Race Course in England). The horse in question won the race a number of time previously, but in the days before lifetime past performances, few bettors had memories stretching back five and six years. The crooks alone are enough to make the nameless rabble in Reservoir Dogs look like competent professionals, but things get worse when a big-time operation decides it wants in on the deal. (This is the part where the blurb on the back saved me; I figured out that others were getting in on the action, but they seem just as disorganized as the first lot, only more savage about it.)

Everything is presented as a kind of pointillist painting; pieces float in and out, some disappearing altogether, some being tied up at the end. Hawkes relies on the reader perhaps more than any other mystery writer here to fill in some blanks. This is in no way a bad thing; when has an author been criticized for OVERestimating the intelligence of his audience? However, readers of more mainstream mystery novelists may feel as if pieces are still missing by the end. (Jessica Fletcher Mr. Hawkes is not. There are no neat pages of explanation at the end.) A couple of re-reads of the most relevant passages will suffice to tie things up, and unlike most mystery authors, Hawkes does very little in the way of stopping the reader from recognizing the major foreshadowing or clue-dropping as it happens. And yes, despite all that, the book still reads as if the reader has taken a rather large dose of laudanum before sitting down.

As with most New Directions books, there is a core of critics who feel John Hawkes is the best thing for the mystery genre since, and perhaps before, sliced bread. This may well be the case. There's no denying the effectiveness of Hawkes' literary style and his ability to keep the reader turning pages despite it. However, it's one of those cases where it almost seems too much of a good thing. To draw another film parallel, Alejandro Jodorowsky, who holds much the same core-of-critics role in film as Hawkes does in letters, created a few masterpieces of exactly this sort. His most famous film, El Topo, just goes way over the edge, and its style eclipses its substance too far. I got that feeling more than once while reading The Lime Twig, and while I'd certainly recommend it for fans of the ubiquitous British Horse Racing Mystery™, it should probably come with a "warning: literary writing ahead" sticker. *** ½

Each week on a Monday I go to the library and read plots. This is a way that I get ideas for my own writing. One day I ran across one of the most interesting and imaginative plots I had ever seen and of course I had to get the book. John Hawkes, a Gothic novelist, must be the least read novelist of substantial merit that I know. His story is quite like the consciousness we live but which is not often recorded in books - untidy, half-focused, disarrayed and incoherent. And yet, and yet, he keeps our interest because his story is real. And so Sidney Slyter says go read The Lime Twig and see if you don't agree that it is one of the most perfect novels of our time.

This is a complicated and mysterious book by a writer with an amazing command of his prose. The tragic story is doled out in tiny slivers along with a vivid description of the imagined Mediteraenan location where the events unfold. The narrator is a self-proclaimed "love singer" who is desperately proud of his marriage and of the many, many women he has loved during his marriage. It's hard at least for this reader to be sure how ironically we are to view the protagonists advocacy of totally free love. The narrator clearly blames the stories tragic outcome on the small-mindedness of his rival in love--I at least am left wondering whether the author means us to blame the victim or the protagonist. The story can be oppressive at times with its pervasive melancholy--but it certainly makes you think. Hawkes is a terrific writer and this is a challenging, difficult and definitely uncomfortable work of genius.

Hawkes' sensuality at its most accessible, a work whose difficultly may be off-putting to some readers, but whose rewards run deep. Sex and death repose in contented embrace from beginning to end; from fetid canals to crab-strewn plates.

John Hawkes has created some of the most beautiful prose ever penned; the word surface in this book is as memorable and enjoyable as any I've read, at turns surprising, sensual, poetic, and often all of this and more. As an extended flight of the imagination 'The Blood Oranges' explores regions of desire, fidelity, and repression that many have gestured towards or illuminated in passing, but that few have mapped extensively. For me, it stands as tremendously courageous writing, and writing elevated by a pervasive and exciting humour. It's very funny, in the way that Beckett's or Kafka's prose can be - and Hawkes' deserves to be considered as a writer of their stature. I only wish I'd been exposed to his writing sooner. He's a genius.