David Lodge states in his introduction, "This is a book for people who prefer to take their Lit. Crit. in small doses," and this, indeed, is an accurate categorization for Lodge's, The Art of Fiction. This is a collection of articles on various topics of writing that he wrote during a stint with the Washington Post. While more experienced writers may find his fifty topics of writing, ranging from quite literally "Beginning[s]" to "Ending[s]" and some "Metafiction" or "Sense of Place" in between, somewhat elementary in their discussion, a beginning writer may find his book more useful.

Lodge is a fan of the classics. This is apparent in his choice to begin each chapter with an excerpt from authors such as Henry James, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce, though more contemporary authors like Martin Amis and Anthony Burgess are slipped in every so often. And arguably, it was a wise choice of Lodge's to use classics as his examples if the beginning writer is his target audience so as to transmit a sense of what is conventional before launching off into magic realism. But be forewarned-Lodge terms his topics "doses" in the introduction as though implying his discussion will provide some sort of cure to the ailing writer-when, in fact, we all know the writing process does not have solutions or cures that suddenly make it easy to sit down and type away for two hours. Roughly three to four pages are devoted to each topic which give the book, as a whole, the feel of "Learning to Write in Twenty-Four Hours." In Lodge's defense, however, he does provide a quick, concise discussion that will serve as both a quick introduction to the beginner and a quick refresher to the more advanced writer.

"Skaz is a rather appealing Russian word used to designate a type of first person narration that has the characteristics of the spoken rather than the written word. In this kind of novel or story, the narrator is a character who refers to himself (or herself) as "I," and addresses the reader as "you." This is the first paragraph after an excerpt from J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, and quintessential of Lodge's process throughout the book. He defines the topic to his reader straight and immediately which gives the collection its quick feel. As long as the reader keeps in mind that his definitions are not the be all and end all of the writing topic at hand, this collection of definitions (with a human voice infiltrating the definition) can be useful.

This book offers a highly digestible introduction to how fiction works and tempts the reader with some great exerpts from (modern) classics. It's also a nice opportunity to look at literature through the eyes of a professional, both at studying and practicing writing.

I discovered this book 3 or 4 years ago and have read it at least three times -- parts of it more often than that. I use it as one of several texts in creative writing workshops. Lodge's essays are witty, engaging and smart, and the brief excerpts at the beginning of each chapter are wonderful for "mirroring" exercises. My students enjoy the book as much as I do, and all seem to learn quite a bit from it.

Having picked up this title at a used bookstore I forgot about it for quite some time, but now I found it and finnished it in what? three days. It was quite the read for a convert to the catholic faith...
The author's style is light, and his story and characters full of insight. However, I found myself getting frustrated and annoyed at some of the "truths" delivered by a cynical and disillusioned narrator.
For example: The doctor, Edward has come across a theory stating that maybe the "safe" method (i e only having marital relations on infertile days) may be the cause of birth defects. The author tells this at some length, but later when all the catholic couples "come to their senses" and go on the pill - there are no complications whatsoever mentioned, and there should have been, considering the pill back in the 60s and 70s had quite high levels of hormones. But that's just details...
What I miss is the genuinely religious person who actually lives and believes, even though the rest don't. But in the world of David Lodge, this doesn't seem to be the case. Faith is just another ornament, but catholicism heavier than most, pulling the catholics down with guilt and hypocracy. And this is not the faith I know, nor the church I live in.
But still, I recommend this novel to anyone who wants to understand, maybe not the catholic mind and catholics of the 50s, 60s and 70s but how they are viewed by someone who was probably there when it was all happening. This is not a complete picture of catholics in England...or anywhere.

Astoundingly good book, follows the progress of a handful of young Catholics as they age, marry, have children, go through the 60's and 70's, etc etc etc. Exceedingly funny, masterful use of metafictional techniques, with a serious pulse beating 'neath the outer skin of whimsy.

Published in the US as _Souls and Bodies_.

This is Lodge's second book and it's far different from his later work. It's the story of the National Service experiences (in the mid-1950s) of Jonathan Browne, narrated by himself: His introduction to Basic Training, the friends and enemies he makes, the appalling stupidity and mental waste of the army, his final acceptance of it, and his marginal success through the two years until he's mustered out. It's also the story of Michael Brady, a casual friend from college who becomes Jonathan's near obsession, an Irish Catholic whose personal morality will not permit him to bend to the will of the army he so loathes. While this is not in any way a major work, it certainly shows an early promise that Lodge subsequently developed brilliantly.

This is a compelling book; not the relatively lighthearted Lodge of later books and certainly not the funny Lodge. But the terrific use of language and the sharp observation are all there, perhaps not so sharpened as later. And Lodge is obsessed with slightly illicit romance, as in almost all his later books.

The picture of conscript life is heartfelt and believable, the involved plot less so.

But there's only one David Lodge, so go ahead and spend the hours it takes to read this one. Should probably not be your first taste of Lodge, though.

Fans of post war, "angry young man" fiction (Amis, Sillitoe et al) will enjoy this realistic account of compulsory military service in the Britain of the mid-fifties. Quite atmospheric, cynical and accurate.

Henry James, The Spoils of Poynton (Dell, 1897)

The Spoils of Ponyton is the first novel James wrote in his "later style," in other words, drawing-room satire that isn't really about much of anything at all. For some odd reason, later-era James is what's universally praised in lit classes around the globe, while the early stuff, which is actually worth reading, is largely ignored.

To be fair, James did get better at satire as time went on, but The Spoils of Ponyton has all the hallmarks of being a first attempt at a stylistic change. The novel centers on two characters who are utterly incapable of action, which wouldn't be so bad if the characters who were doing the acting were more involved. Such is, sadly, not the case. Owen and Fleda just sort of drift and react; as the book is told from Fleda's point of view, we end up with page after page of something that, in the hands of a better author (even a later James, had he re-written it) would have come off as uber-Tevye; weighing the various merits of various courses of action, not being able to decide on a course, and letting fate take her where it will. In Fiddler on the Roof, it works (largely because Tevye's monologues are brief and to the point); in Poynton, it blithers on endlessly, with all the fascination for the reader of watching cheese spoil.

If you're new to James, by all means do yourself a favor and start with something he wrote earlier in his career. Leave Poynton until after you've developed enough of a taste for James to pick up later-era works, and then read the major ones before diving into this. *

I give this three stars in an internal world where 5 is James at his best. In comparison to most fiction the rating would be higher, but as a DEVOUT fan, I live in my own internal world. In that world, James who was more critical than any of us, would understand that in comparison to other later era work and even middle period work, Spoils does not live up to his best. It is fun and light, another reviewer mentioned obvious signs of a stylistic shift perhaps being too obvious here. That feels on the money to me. That said, if you've read almost everything, it is a light turn with the Master and that has something delicious in it no matter what.

I read this one a few years ago, and I have to rank it at the bottom of the list (along with "The Europeans").

Though Fleda Vetch can be fascinating in a Hamlet-esque way (through her infuriating inability to act), this novel is far from a must-read as far as James goes.

Many excellent books have been adapted into good plays, but it often doesn't work quite so well when it's reversed. "Home Truths," originally a play penned by the same author, is not amazing but it is amusing and occasionally thought-provoking.

Adrian Ludlow and Sam Sharp were best friends in the sixties, but now are merely "old friends." Adrian published one much-loved book and some mediocre ones before going into semi-retirement with his wife Eleanor; Sam, on the other hand, is a rising screenplay writer in Hollywood. But when the acid-tongued Fanny Tarrant writes a humiliating article about Sam, he entreats his old pals to help him.

Adrian tries to dig some dirt on Fanny, while revealing personal details about himself -- that he and Sam both slept with Eleanor in the sixties, when everyone was experimenting with relationships. Eleanor is enraged when she learns of this, and Sam isn't too pleased either. Will Fanny publish the embarrassing story?

It's not a huge or deep story, but it makes a sort of witty commentary on the media and how they affect and are affected by the people they report on. The rather exaggerated media article and the material on Princess Di (a woman whose death was partly attributable to the bullheaded press) add to the feeling.

The writing is very spare, as if Lodge merely wrote down the basic movements like stomping out, pulling down a piece of clothing, opening a door and so on. The dialogue -- unsurprising for a play-turned-novella -- is the main force in this story. The characters aren't perfect, and become rather annoying at times -- Adrian is stuffy, Sam is a bit self-absorbed, and I felt that if Eleanor wasn't happy, she should have said so outright rather than drifting around in a sort of identityless cloud.

It reads more like a play with action inserted and "he said" instead of the character's name. But "Home Truths" is a fairly amusing and well-plotted little story.

David Lodge is justly revered as both one of the best comic novelists of recent decades and as a writer who explores serious moral themes through his satire.
Folks then were somewhat disappointed when this novella was published, because it's not quite up to the standards of his novels. Perhaps they're being a tad
fanatical.

As Mr. Lodge acknowledges up front, Home Truths began life as a play and for purposes of this novelization he did not make major alterations. This leaves it
with all the unnaturalness of theater--a single setting, just four characters, and a reliance on dialogue--despite the new format. You can either accept the
limitations this imposes and be grateful for a chance to read an awkward but worthwhile piece that wasn't coming to a theater near you anytime soon, or you
can dwell on the matter and not enjoy the book.

Adrian Ludlow is a somewhat accomplished but now mostly silent author who's "retired" to an isolated English cottage with his wife, Eleanor. Over
breakfast one morning they agonize over, and thrill to, a newspaper interview their old friend, screenwriter Sam Sharp, gave to an up and coming journalist, Fanny Tarrant, who's made her reputation
by eviscerating the self-absorbed celebrity subjects of her profiles. A representative sample from the story on Sam reads:

The first thing you notice about Samuel Sharp's study is that it's plastered with trophies, certificates and citations for prizes and awards, and framed press photographs of Samuel Sharp,
like the interior of an Italian restaurant. The second thing you notice is the full-length mirror on one wall. "It's to give the room a feeling of space," the writer explained, but you can't help
thinking there's another reason. His eyes keep sliding sideways, drawn irresistibly by this mirror even while he's speaking to you. I went to see Samuel Sharp wondering why he had
been so unlucky in matrimony. I left thinking I knew the answer: the man's insufferable vanity.

It gets worse. But the truth is even these old friends are enjoying seeing him get his comeuppance, because he is just as vain as he's made out to be in the article.

However, Sam soon arrives at the cottage and enlists Adrian's help in a scheme to get back at Ms Tarrant. Adrian will submit to an interview too, but even as he's being profiled he'll secretly profile
her and sell the resulting hatchet job to a rival paper. The middle portion of the book--Act II, if you will--consists of the counter interviews. Ms Tarrant turns out to be not only quite attractive and a
decent enough sort but also an unabashed fan of Adrian's best known novel. Adrian remains guarded as he digs into her life and eventually convinces her to try his sauna. Eleanor, who'd not wished to
be a party to the charade, arrives home at a guilty-looking moment and, when Adrian is out of the room, simply unloads on him to the eager journalist. In particular, she's devastating in regards to the
difficulty that his inability to duplicate the success of that early novel had on their home lives. She tells a number of painful pent up truths, but tells them to someone who may now share them with the
whole world.

In the final act, Sam and Eleanor and Adrian,, who's stopped speaking to his wife entirely, anxiously await the arrival of the paper that will have the dreaded profile. But as they wait Ms Tarrant shows
up unexpectedly. Unbeknownst to the cottagers it's just been announced that Diana was killed in a car accident while trying to escape the paparazzi, so no one's likely to read or remember a profile of
forgotten novelist Adrian Ludlow. Unfortunately though, Ms Tarrant just happens to have a second piece in that morning's paper, one that's particularly harsh towards the suddenly martyred Princess.

Mr. Lodge brings forward a series of interesting points here. There's the strange nature of our celebrity culture, which sees oceans of ink and film devoted to people who are rarely worth knowing
about and who, more often than not, have done nothing of real value. As Fanny Tarrant says:

I perform a valuable cultural function. [...]

There's such a lot of hype nowadays, people confuse success with real achievement. I remind them of the difference.

But there's also a strange symbiosis between the celebrity and the journalist such that there's truly no such thing as bad publicity and the supposed exposer of the ugly truths about the rich and famous
ends up being just another celebrant. And what surprises all of them, people who should be wise to the rules of the game if anyone should, is how much they are affected by news of Di's death:

As the sound of the TV news coverage became audible, Adrian sat down on the chaise lounge to watch with the other two [Eleanor and Sam]. "I don't know," he said. "A death can
make a difference. Even the death of someone you never knew, if it's sufficiently..."

"Poetic?" said Sam.

"Yes, actually," said Adrian. "Arousing pity and fear, whereby to provide an outlet for such emotions."

"Good old Aristotle!" said Sam. "What would we do without him?"

"We pity the victim and fear for ourselves. It can have a powerful effect," said Adrian.

"Be quiet, for heaven's sake," said Eleanor, who was sitting between them. "I can't hear what they're saying." A representative of some relief agency was discussing the Princess's
work for victims of landmines with the anchorman.

"You think we're in for a national catharsis, then?" Sam said to Adrian, leaning back and speaking behind Eleanor's back.

"Conceivably," said Adrian.

And when the papers finally come, with a story about their own lives, they stay glued to the TV instead.

A full novel would have given Mr. Lodge an opportunity to spin out his own ideas about the strange vicarious lives we lead--where a modern nation can become obsessed by the murder trial of a
former football star or by the death of an oft scorned royal--but he at least presents some questions for us to ponder. And, like all his work, it's very amusing. If you approach the book with a
willingness to accept it for what it is, you'll certainly enjoy it.

David Lodge is English, a former professor, who writes with a sharp eye about the vanities of English academic and light intellectual (television, news columnists) life. He surely has a fine, if basic comic flair. One can't help but feel that much of the great body of work he has written in the past thirty of so years is very autobiographical, but even that charge he attempts to address in this recent work, a reflection on the elusiveness of success defined in one's own terms.

This is a ninety-minute reading, built around the play on which it is based. It does "read" like a play, but that is not a hindrance. Lodge makes his points quickly and adroitly. The four characters expose themselves with ease, although there is less sex than there is history. After all, the main characters are now near fifty. Life has had some sad turns. The young interloper provides the basis for opening old wounds.

For aging boomers, who once felt that their lives and careers held great promise, this will offer some reflection.

George Eliot's Scenes of Clerical Life consists of three tales involving three separate clergymen in England in the early 1800s. "The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton" is about the financially strapped curate of Shepperton who lacks tact, charm, and learning. Although he is initially unpopular with his parishioners, he earns their affection through his personal misfortune. The second tale, "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story," is about a parson at Shepperton (prior to the time of Amos Barton) who falls in love with Caterina, the daughter of an Italian singer, who, in turn, falls for someone else. When that someone else chooses another woman to be his wife, Mr. Gilfil deals courageously with the devastated Caterina, who is now at "the point of lunacy" because of the rejection. The third tale, "Janet's Repentance," has Reverend Edgar Tryan trying to stir up interest about the Evangelical Church in the religion-indifferent industrial town of Milby. The townfolk vigorously oppose Tryan's efforts in some very dramatic scenes. Janet, a female alcoholic who is frequently beaten by her husband, is at first resistant to Reverend Tryan, but later sees him as a fellow sufferer. She then seeks his guidance for personal problems, with positive results. All three tales are unabashedly sentimental and melodramatic. As this was Eliot's first attempt at fiction, one can see she had a ways to go before she developed the literary perfection that resonates in her later novels like Middlemarch. The tale about Amos Barton is my favorite because Eliot succeeded in making a drab character the hero of a story. The "sad fortunes of" should have been kept out of the title, though, because it suggests only the depressing side of the tale instead of the triumph of character it really is. The way Caterina in the Gilfil tale continues to find her singing the only way to "lift the pain from her heart" points out how a person may deal with grief by relying on an innate talent. The way Janet in the repentance tale goes from a kicked-about drunk to self-actualization is inspiring. Eliot's minor characters, such as the old women, the doctors, and the servants are well drawn, using the speech patterns and vernacular consistent with their respective class or degree of education. Overall, I recommend Scenes of Clerical Life as a fine introduction to George Eliot. However, I feel it is important to read Adam Bede immediately afterwards so one can see how quickly Eliot's ability to write fiction evolved into an art.