If you've read THE IMMORTAL DINNER by Penelope Hughes Hallet, than you absolutely have to read A SULTRY MONTH by Alethea Hayter. If you have any interest in 19th century British literature and history, or just enjoy well written history with narrative sweep, you must read A SULTRY MONTH.

The month of the title begins 18 June 1846 and ends some 4 weeks later in July, during a record heat wave in London. During this month, the Corn Laws are repealed, Prime Minister John Peel loses his job, Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning plot their elopement, Dickens is setting to work on Dombey and Son, the Carlyles quarrel almost to the point of divorce, Wordsworth still insists on physical activity despite ageing joints, there are dinner and breakfast parties hosting a number of writers and other artists, and then, early in the month, painter Benjamin Robert Haydon, who had given the "immortal dinner" in 1819 in flusher days, commits suicide. This being a time when people kept claptrap journals and wrote detailed letters daily, and, importantly, they preserved these documents, Hayter had reams of material from which she could sketch immediate and personal scenes across the month. In the end we have an extraordinary collage that imparts the sensibility of early Victorian England and the preoccupations of its intellectuals.

Thomas De Quincey was a contemporary of Wordsworth and more importantly in terms of comparison, Coleridge. He writes that Coleridge and he met several times and in one instance they perused some Parnesi prints together. Whether on not they were both high at the time, De Quincey doesn't reveal. However, given the tenor of the tangent upon which De Quincey expounds, it is certain that at least he was using, and given Coleridge's history, he probably was a well. Why do I cite this incident? Because it is one of the few points in the narrative that is memorable. As someone interested in literary figures, the image of two 19th century literary hop-heads grooving-out whilst staring at Parnesi prints (you should look up Parnesi on the web - a definite precursor to M.C. Escher)is just plain marvelous.

Unfortunately, that, and a few paragraphs depicting some truly macabre nightmares are the only noteworthy incidents in this book. Too often, De Quicey's labarynthine riffs doen't really lead anywhere. His writing style in some ways can be compared to another of his more illustrious contemporaries, Thomas Carlyle's. Both go in for elongated Latinate constructions, with modifier upon modifier and dependent and independent clauses ad infinitum. Carlyle, however, can pull it off. His great wit and energy of mind holds the center of the thought together, even as the rest of his sentence veers off into Baroque space. De Quincey is not an adept enough magician to perform this trick.

De Quincey's subject is himself. His mode of writing in this instance is primarily that of a diarist. This leads to comparisons with some other English diarists of note. Two that come immediately to mind are Defoe (A Journal of the Plague Year) and Pepys (the most famous of all). De Quincey doesn't hold up well in comparision. Defoe's journal is interesting because his subject matter is compelling, he's a great journalist (conveying to our mind's eye the events he depicts), and he gets to the point. Pepys is wonderful because he provides us a full panorama of life in London in the latter half of the 17th century. De Quincey is so absorbed in his solipsistic self-examination, that we as readers aren't even allowed to come up for air, much less see anything around us. That would even be permissable if the narrator were like Proust's Swann, who is at least likeable and self-effacing. Not so De Quincey. He interupts his own narrative on countless occasions to tell us what a splendid scholar he is and (to borrow a phrase from Ophelia) "what a great mind is here o'erthrown." He peppers the text with words like "heautontimoroumenos" to indicate that he is learned in Greek. Throughout the narrative, he is in way to big a hurry to impress these points upon the reader, instead of allowing the reader to judge for him/herself.

If you want to know what it's like to be a junkie, read Burroughs. If you want to read some painfully constructed English prose, give this one a go.
BK

De Quincey is an exceptionally honest writer. Yet, while remaining honest, he manages to express his thoughts and emotions in beautiful words. While reading this book, one feels as if they're having a personal conversation with De Quincey(no doubt, a one-way conversation), and it becomes easy to develop a love and admiration for the guy. Moreover, it is interesting to hear a first hand account of what life was like in the early 19th century. It is not hard to see why this book is a classic. Read it, its short.

Thomas De Quincey wrote this account of his life and his struggle with drug addiction to both educate on the evils of opium and also to share the dream trances that he experienced while in the throes of addiction. This version by Penguin presents De Quincey's original version from 1821 and then his revision notes from 1856. There is also a short section of comments that De Quincey made concerning his Confessions from 1821-1855. The introduction by Alethea Hayter is one of the best I've seen in a Penguin book, and it really helps in understanding Thomas De Quincey and his writing style.

The Confessions, in a nutshell, begin by recounting De Quincey's early life and the events that led him to begin taking opium. The rest of the tale deals with his problems with opium and his dreams that came from taking the drug. The original version isn't that long of a read, but his revision notes add considerable length, and for the most part weren't as interesting as the 1821 original.

De Quincey's prose is absolutely amazing. He is one of the most gifted writers I've had the pleasure to read (up to this date). Many times I felt as though I was lifted up by his words and carried directly into his world. I've yet to have as profound an experience with any other author. De Quincey can also be difficult. His grasp of the English language will leave many modern readers scratching their heads. Footnotes and notes by the editor help, but a dictionary will find heavy use during the reading of this book. So those with short attention spans, be forewarned. You won't survive this book. Also, De Quincey received a classical education. He makes heavy use of Greek names, places and other classical references. He even uses Greek words in the text (although notes provide translations). I can read Greek and have studied classical history, so I got most of his references and in jokes. This is one of the things that impressed me about De Quincey. He mentioned early on that he could speak classical Greek fluently. Anyone who has studied Greek realizes how difficult this is to do. Even Romans had trouble speaking Greek fluently, so much so that it is mentioned in various historical works when an emperor could do so. The fact that De Quincey can do this is a sign of his deep intellectual abilities. I can only imagine how prolific he might have been if he had not been saddled with an opiate addiction.

An amazing book and one I highly recommend to those who are prepared to read and understand it. For those looking for a justification for drug use, look elsewhere!

Hayter's book, written in the sixties, opens up a new field of criticism, a new non-prudery about the material conditions of artistic production. It is extremely well-researched, finely balanced, carefully experimental, and, overall, a disciplined and well-written book. Important for anyone interested in Romantic studies; essential for anyone who still believes in the old trope of "creative drug use".