Cary's Sara Monday has often been compared--quite rightly--to Moll Flanders, another irresistible, irrepressible woman of highly suspect morals. Sara's odd adventures in marriage and love make for a highly entertaining read, but you should also pay close attention to her observations of her society; for a woman of little apparent reflection, there's very little that seems to escape her notice. All three books in the Gulley Jimson triptych are remarkable, but this one has a special poignancy.

I have just reread Cary's three novels, Herself Surprised, To Be a Pilgrim and The Horse's Mouth. It is amzing that books written during the second world war should be so secure in their tone about a vanishing England and its history. Cary uses his three entirely diffeent voices - tricky sensuous woman, nervy religious dirty old man, obsessed manipulative artist- better than anyone else i know uses the limitations of the first person to show what we do and don't know about each other. His descriptions of places and things are delicious. Also I shd like to say what beautiful books the New York Review paperbacks are to handle and read. Most people know The Horse's Mouth, and many know Herself Surprised . I'm not sure To Be A Pilgrim isn't the best and most surprising of the three- which is saying something.

To Be A Pilgrim is the second book in Joyce Cary's first trilogy, and should ideally be read in its proper place with the others (Herself Surprised and The Horse's Mouth). Cary once said that people liked The Horse's Mouth because it was funny. To Be A Pilgrim has less of that uproarious humor, which may be why it is less popular than its two companions. But this middle volume is the most ambitious of the three. It is the story of Tom Wilcher, lawyer and member of the love triangle between housekeeper Sara Monday and modern artist Gully Jimson. Now an old man who is being treated as an incompetent by his young relatives (who are locked in a triangle of their own), Tom tells us his life story, starting from childhood. Filled with the Cary's brilliant characters, this book asks hard questions, especially about sex.

Don't miss it!

I was initially attracted to this book because I HAVE been to Ponape (now known as Pohnpei) and was surprised to find the obscure island a location for a novel. I was further intrigued by the idea of a novel in verse form (although I must admit that this aspect alone might have led me to avoid it). I'm glad I didn't. The verse is musical without being obvious, distracting (or obtuse), and the story is an interesting one--a love story on many levels and one that makes insightful observations about human nature, natural selection, adaption and evolution. Despite the joy it brought me, I did find myself at times wanting more--more detail, more exploration, more connection between the "writer" and his "subject." But that is a minor complaint, for a book that surprised me in so many ways.

Novels in verse are fairly rare: Pushkin's 'Eugene Onegin', Vikram Seth's 'The Golden Gate', and Nobelist Derek Walcott's 'Omeros', come to mind. This novel is composed of ten-line stanzas with a rhyme scheme that mandates each line-end have a rhyme-mate somewhere in the stanza, but these ryhmes occur in irregular places, e.g. ABCCADDEEB, as in this sample verse, chosen at random from page 161:

(Nothing on earth, surely there's nothing on earth,
So hopeful, so suggestive of some gilt, goaled kindness
Or mercy at the heart of Nature than the notion
Of convergent evolution--
This thought that the ranged obstacles to any birth
Are immaterial and can be sidestepped . . .
The eye, for instance--look how Nature kept
Contriving it anew, freshly seeing its way
Out of the darkness--as if, at the end of the day,
The mind were _destined_ to escape from blindness.)

The language used tends to be only slightly elevated in tone, and conversational American English creeps in comfortably. Other reviewers have summarized the plot about the life of a boy prodigy who becomes a lepidopterist, has a terrible fall on a remote Pacific Island that cripples him. The protagonist is a gentle, lovable man whose training in Darwinian concepts leads him to accept the randomness and cruelty of life, but whose Wordsworthian love of Nature is never dimmed. I found the plot to be quite involving (as well as involved) and I had trouble slowing down my reading to savor the poetry.

A book to be treasured and re-read.

What a wonderful combination of left brain and right brain this book is. It communicates in ways that no novel or poem ever could. No poem could have the emotional drive of this story with these characters - and yet the verse does much to heighten that drive in the most dramatic sequences. No novel could match the satisfying, complexly intelligent structure of this verse - but the sweep of this novel allows for intellectual explorations which - for me at least - no poem could ever support. Actually, I've never been a fan of long poems before, but I found the verse here very accessible - it supports the characters and the story, rather than simply calling attention to itself. I really enjoyed this book.

This book is a masterpiece written in beautiful French by a Spanish exile. Unfortunately, however, the English translation loses the purity and clarity of the original. It's time a new translation was published so that a larger English-speaking readership can get to know this touching, poignant and deeply metaphorical love story.

Augustin Gomez Arcos makes several political statements on the appearance of a love story.
At first, everything looks wrong: incestuous love, uncaring parents...
Then the colors appear: red - yellow - red...
Yellow is the color of the church and the military 'dictatura'
Red is the one for Revolution, with defeated freedom dreams.
Augustin plays his colors with a very fine hand. Self-exhiled from Spain, he writes in French as a first statement against Franco. The love story will move you, but still the surface of it may repel the puritan in you. And those two colours will haunt you until you finish this book... But you have to restrain yourself... if you still want some for tomorrow...

My only complain is the translation: the original text is so beautiful and yet it's been translated into slang... Hum, if you understand two words of french, that would be a good twisted training book- and it's not 'out of print' over there!

I read the french original and do not know the translation. Is was given to me by a dear friend, years ago, and was one of the best readings I ever had. I read it so many times I came to know bits by heart.
It is a beautiful love story, even if not a conventional one. It is also a story about freedom, and if you never lived without it, it may help you to understand a bit how it feels. But it is, above all, a great story to teach you that love is always love, always pure, always fine, always noble, always dignifying, always beautiful, and it always involves touching both body and soul of the one you love.
Do read it, it may change the way you look at things. And it will make you dream, that's for sure! It may even get you hunting for that particular brand of soap - but I think it can only be found in Spain (and Portugal too).

The fact that this book remained out of print in English for many years is astonishing. Also amazing is its absence from the many (albeit silly) lists enumerating the best novels of the 20th century. I certainly consider it the best novel I have ever read. Much of the book's appeal comes from its deeply rooted human themes. Laxness is largely credited with bringing the Icelandic myths to the Western literary conciousness. These myths (READ JUNG or J. CAMPBELL) are a founding force behind many of the world's religious texts. Independent People reaches into these myths and draws out a simple story which speaks to the deepest part of human nature. It is this contrast that makes the book so effective. The simplicity of the theme and the lightness of the plot underscore the weight of the human condition and the complexity of the human psyche. This makes Laxness' novel truly epic by definition: it can be read in two ways. On the one hand it is an adventure tale of a hero struggling to overcome the cruel and treeless landscape of Iceland. It is also a journey into our universal mythology, which is the metaphysical genetic code of the human soul.

Independent People is the Nobel Prize (for Literature 1955) winning book written by the "undisputed master of contemporary Icelandic fiction". It is a wonderfully written book, although by no means a happy book. The plot is at times dark, but casts an intriguing look at human nature, relationships and a way of life. Laxness covers a multitude of issues and themes that are relevant even today and it is amazing to think that this book was written in the late 1940s. The story is the life of Bjartur an independent person, his family and his farm, Summerhouses. He is a farmer, raising sheep, facing similar difficulties and harsh realities as farmers face today, but his connection with the animals sets him apart from contemporary farmers. Bjartur's complex relationships with his family and the landed members of society and his straightforward relationship with his animals allows for a twisting plot and surprising turn of events. Although the book was of particular interest to me, having traversed Iceland on horseback recently (the horse that Bjartur owned has the same name as one of the horses I rode), but it does not preclude people who have never been to Iceland to feeling the same way as I did. Laxness somehow manages to engulf the reader, making one want to read on and on. The reader is hooked by him creating an interest, as well as concern or care towards Bjartur and his family. Most of the story is seen through the eyes of Bjartur, but by changing briefly to the point of view of the daughter and son, gives the story a smooth rounded feeling. This allows the reader to understand the complex feelings of the children, as well as conceptualize how they see and feel about their surroundings and life. The writing is fluid and the story and events unfold easily. I would categorize the writing style to be minimalist in areas, as Laxness leaves things unsaid or just uses one word to describe an incident. Allowing the reader to get involved by using their imagination. Because of this strong writing style, it is hard to believe that the book is a translation. It makes one wonder what the Icelandic version must be like. The only disappointment of the book is the introduction by Brad Leithauser. It is frustrating to see that he was unable to write an introduction to the book without divulging some of the key aspects of the plot. Not only is that unnecessary, but very unprofessional. I, therefore, recommend reading the introduction after finishing the book.

This is one of my favorite books, but I have only managed to read it once. This is a book you must brace yourself to read despite the absorption you feel while reading, because of the absolute dourness of the presentation of life in pre-WWII Iceland. I read this book while living in Reykjavik for an Icelandic literature course, and while it remains one of my most satisfying reads ever, it is also one which I am not in a hurry to repeat.

Independant people is a tale of survival and self denial in Iceland, before its modernisation. The absolute brutality of the unforgiving living conditions, and Bjartur's unwillingness to lean on or borrow from other people shapes the life of his family, and their absolute poverty, which was unfortunately quite common in Iceland until WWII, when Iceland was liberated from the Danes, and they got freedom to trade with the rest of the world.

The lyrical beauty of the writing contrasts sharply with the bleak life of Bjartur of Summerhouses, which revolves around sheep. Life in a turf house is explored in all of its depressing detail. The common beliefs in trolls and witches somehow fit into the landscape and lifestyle which most modern Americans would normally never be able to accept. The shaping of the Icelandic landscape, and how that has affected the people who live there is explored in a catalogue of gloom.

Unlike other reviewers I cannot praise this book. It has its moments - passages of writing that let us enter the mind of an artist - but most of it I found tedious. Being just about believable the main character is easily the best of a thin an unconvincing bunch. The novel hasn't aged well and the story line is silly and not very interesting. The humour escaped me. I haven't read the other parts of the trilogy and nothing about this book encourages me do so.

The Horse's Mouth is the concluding volume in Joyce Cary's first trilogy. It is the story of Gully Jimson, a gifted artist but a selfish and erratic man. However, his sense of humor, even at his own misfortunes, make him an interesting character. Although this is the third volume in a trilogy, you need not have read the first two to enjoy this one. When you have read the trilogy, however, you will appreciate Cary's ability to create characters who view the world in distinct ways. As a painter, Jimson has a strong visual sense, and so this book has much more detailed descriptions of what he sees than is provided by the narrators of the first two books in the trilogy.

Jimson is a thoroughly believable artist, who is in many ways a scoundrel but who also possesses a genuine creative gift. He reminds us of the great gap that often exists between the artists who create and the staid academics who later analyze their works. The book is a minor classic, and The New York Review of Books should be congratulated at restoring it to print, as it has with a number of other important, but out of print, novels. If you read this book, you will certainly want to go back and read the others in the trilogy, Herself Surprised and To Be a Pilgrim.

Especially at smug "artists," fatuous critics, and clueless collectors. This book has a strong appeal for the little boy knows who knows there are many kings and queens running around buck naked.

I am 40 years old and just read this book for the first time. I found this story to be a page-turner and very absorbing. Excellent local color and superb character development. You know, I think today's younger generation could take a few lessons from this story - the stocism these people demonstrated throughout their ordeal was fascinating. The simply did what they had to do and only complained periodically (with exception of Rosasharn - who bitched and whined all the time). This is also a great review of a bleak period in American history.

My advice to people who haven't read it is: by all means, read it, learn something about history and the human spirit.

Now for the oddities:

1. Maybe this was symbolic and I just glossed over it, but several times in the book, drivers (including the protagonists) are squashing with their vehicles animals who have the misfortune of using or crossing the road they use. Well, that was kind of strange I thought.

2. Why Connie left Rosasharn is sort of a mystery. She was pregnant for crying out loud. Was her constant carping about her wanting a house and nice things just driving him bug-s---?

3. Noah left and was never heard from again. I suppose you could argue that this was symbolic of a family disintegrating and how they dealt with it.

4. Now the really odd thing. It ended at a weird spot. Not much closure. I had to check to make sure pages weren't torn out of this old paperback. Wonder if other reviewers thought that was kind of dissatisfying....?

Quite simply, The Grapes of Wrath is THE Great American Novel.

This is the powerful story of the Joad family, "Okies" who are forced from their bank-foreclosed farm during the depression.

John Steinbeck's writing is sheer literary art. There is beautiful description, incredibly realistic dialogue, and a compelling story that captures the heart and seeks out the very core of one's conscious. And the beauty of it is that it's thoroughly understandable. The eloquent writing and flawless story can be savored by anyone from a junior high school student to a PhD.

The book is also innovative, intertwining short chapters that capture the plight of the dispossessed with longer chapters that follow the long road traveled by the Joad family to California. This is accomplished without at all disrupting the flow of the story.

No wonder that this book won the Pulitzer Prize and was the key work cited for Mr. Steinbeck's Nobel Prize.

It's a mighty piece of literature.

This book cannot but be considered one of the greatest works of American literature. Its plot is simple, almost literally pedestrian, but it magically conveys the feelings not just of its characters, but of an entire social movement and era.

The device of alternating chapters between the tale of the Joad family and descriptive narratives of the society around them only strengthens things. This is no academic, dusty view of history; this is reality, as people lived and thought and experienced.

The human attachment to the soil, the desire for home and community, the struggle for social justice, the tyranny of property, the myth of the Promised Land, the hope and dreams of a new life - there is something here on every level, the social, the spiritual, and the emotional.

The beginning of the novel is a bit slow, but it slowly picks up momentum as it travels west. By its end, one cannot but be riveted by the Joads and the struggles they endure. And one can feel the grapes of wrath building, the knowledge that some way, somehow, the human will to survive can never be defeated.

But, despite its clear social messages, this is not a political tract. The novel's ending takes one of the most intimate of human actions into a bare, stark necessity. Eroticism, motherhood, generosity, desperation - what is it? We cannot tell for sure, but we know only that it is human. The most horrific of our trials only serve to bring out our humanity. A haunting and unforgettable message.

Good book. Little bit formulaic in structure (beginning and end) but forgivable given the good writing.

Jarrell's lush communication style has always thrilled me. For this rare impact Jarrell's style has on me-- I am content to accept that the process is as important, if not more so than completion in life. This book is not a life-illluminating moment for me, not does it fully renew my favorite Jarrell rhythms. Therefore I am moved simply by the effort to bring Jarrell back to the fray.

It is enough for me to be touched once more by the rare combination of language as electricity unique to Jarrell's voice.

So much of Jarrell's prose is either out-of-print or just so hard to find, that we are lucky to have this book. For those who lament the inclusion of so many pieces on pop culture, they need to remember that some of those pieces made Jarrell both popular but also got him in trouble. To not include them would be to misrepresent Jarrell historically (and deprive us of some very funny writing). Unfortunately, there really were only 2 Jarrell essays on Auden (he never got around to writing the book he planned), and one of those is here. Everything in this book is useful, and this is a good representative collection of Jarrell's prose.

The reader from Zion does have some legitimate points to make--that late essay on Stevens is sorely missed, and perhaps Brad Leithauser has indeed weighted the collection too heavily towards Jarrell's lamentations on contemporary culture. Yet I still can't understand how anybody with an ear for English prose could complain about this delightful, witty, supernaturally wise collection. And the nitpicking about the book's "precious" production values is even nuttier--what did you want, a volume bound in corrugated cardboard? Until the Library of America wises up and devotes a book to Jarrell--and really, between Poetry and the Age, Kipling Auden & Company, and The Third Book of Criticism, there's PLENTY of material--this one will have to do. And it does, handsomely. Can we stop the griping, please?

There's not really a lot to say about this book other than Leithauser comes up with a really intriguing concept and basically does little of interest with it.

Basically, the book's narrator explains that he is seeking to correct the many errors in the brief obituary of the recently deceased Wesley Sultan. That's not a bad concept for a book but unfortunately, the discoveries we make about Wesley are, for the most part, banal and painfully predictable. The narrator's identity is supposed to be something of a mystery so I won't reveal it in this review but I will say that it should be obvious to anyone who makes it beyond the second chapter.

The book's real problem is that it is just painfully dull. Basically, it consists of our narrator interviewing the people from Wes's past. All of these people are written to be very flamboyant but instead just comes across as rather "annoying." Its as if Leithauser used a random, create-an-interesting-character generator and so, he ended up with familiar figures like the young man with a dark secret, the chatty old woman who goes on about sex (yeah, never seen that before), and of course, the grouchy misanthrope who has a secret heart of gold. All stereotypes and all presented to the reader as if Leithauser actually believes he's the first person to ever come up with these stock figures.

Leithauser does have style to burn. He puts his sentences together with undeniable skill. You want metaphors? This guy has got a metaphor for everything. In fact, his writing is so florid and metaphor-driven that it only makes the plot's refusal to be anything other than thoroughly banal all the more annoying. Its like being forced to listen to the bar know-it-all, so in love with his own vocabulary and so convinced that everything he's saying is a gem of great wit, that eventually any sensible person can't help but yell, "WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP!?"

So, in short, I guess I didn't care too much for this book.

Leithauser sure can write; this book is loaded with well-crafted sentences and paragraphs. And lots of fine observations . . . what you'd expect from a poet. Yet the novel is flat, bereft of narrative energy, its characters nuanced but uncompelling. I've read all Leithauser's novels, and my favorite is his quasi-autobiographical book about young Americans in Japan, "Equal Distance." Ever since that book, it seems to me that he's been searching for themes and characters worthy of his talent. Alas, what's missing here, despite his best efforts, is a good story. Instead of being a pleasure, "A Few Corrections" ends up being a chore to finish.

Midway through this exquisite novel the narrator recalls, through an alcoholic mist, that, "the most distant object visible by day--the sun-- lies some eight minutes away at the speed of light. The most distant visible by night--the Great Andromeda Galaxy--lies two million light-years away. In terms of visible boundaries, then, night is some 100 billion times bigger than day." Clearly (or murkily), that leaves much to explore. The primary object of exploration in A Few Corrections, Wesley Sultan, the quintessentially American salesman, has departed for the great darkness beyond life, and the obituary of the man is less than illuminating. The narrator methodically seeks to shed light on this mystery.

While the novel is organized around the attempt to make a few corrections to the memory of this rather ordinary Midwestern life, Brad Leithauser makes more than a few fascinating connections, extending to the extraordinary. Some connections work as metaphor. Of Wesley's sister, the babbling Adelle, he writes, "Her monologue is a wandering creek of so gentle a propulsion, you have to take on faith the notion that you'll eventually get out of the woods and into open waterways." The connections work at the larger structural level of the novel, which will have the careful reader returning to the beginning of chapters and earlier parts of the book to confirm the revelations. For fans of Brad Leithauser, there are even connections to his other works of fiction and poetry. I'm anxious to see where this novel will connect to his future work.

The novel is filled with humorous vignettes and is beautifully written. (It's better when you read it aloud.) Though Wesley Sultan is elusive, the narrator reaches small epiphanies with those who aid him in his quest. Leithauser treats his characters with great warmth and understanding. He also effectively evokes an earlier and lost time. A Few Corrections is fast-paced: it's a good read. At the same time, its richness makes it a good re-read, too.