Conundrum is a classic of the small but powerful field of transgender writing. What places this book at the top of the list are the fame of the author, the stellar prose, the non-sensational style of the telling, the humor, and the many layers and levels of love that carry Morris' passage from man to woman through to completion.
A tour de force in every way.

On many levels, this is one of the most revealing books I have ever read. Regarding transsexualism, it reveals that as different we may be as people, much of the journey that we share is not unique. Some may be put off a bit by the command of the English language that Miss Morris exhibits, but I found this to be a profound statement about the poor quality of education that we recieve today. Having attended private schools through High School, and having attended varioius colleges, I still found myself referring to the dictionary on numerous occasions. I do not attribute this to an attempt at showmanship on the part of Miss Morris, but to a decline in the past decades of real education. Regarding the concept of femininity and womanhood described in this book, I would think that modern women of any sort may be offended. I remind the readers to remember the time, culture, and place in which Miss Morris comes of age. She experienced life in a culture which for the most part, no longer exists. Thank you, Miss Morris, for paving the way, and opening my eyes.

I just read this book and had no idea who Jan Morris was until today! This book is not only about transexuality, it is about becoming one with oneself, becoming what one truly is, in body and in spirit. THANK YOU, Miss Morris!

This is an excellent and clear-headed book about Turkey before the dynamic capitalism of the 1980's really set in. As such, it is somewhat anachronistic as all books about Turkey quickly tend to become. On the other hand, the general portrait and the beautiful writing make this the best and truest introduction to Turkey yet written. Read it to understand this unique country, a veritable mosaic of ethnicities, customs and histories; spawning a bridge between the East and the West. For people who see the world through narrow eyes, Turkey might be a paradox: the most secular country in the world, with a solidly modern orientation and a predominantly Muslim (but secular!) population. Not a paradox for Settle who has an open mind.

Recall also that Turkey is a country that suffers an unjustly bad image, mainly because of fanatic Greek-Orthodox fundamentalists (e.g. see the one or two silly reviews below by Greek-Americans with no idea of Balkan history!). Mary Lee Settle has done more than anyone else to rectify the balance. She is uniquely qualified to do so because she clearly has no political agenda to settle with the past or with the future...

One can only hope that Mary Lee Settle writes another book covering the breathtaking changes in Turkey in the last 20 years or so with the same clear vision.

This is an excellent and clear-headed book about Turkey before the dynamic capitalism of the 1980's really set in. As such, it is somewhat anachronistic as all books about Turkey quickly tend to become. On the other hand, the general portrait and the beautiful writing make this the best and truest introduction to Turkey yet written. Read it to understand this unique country, a veritable mosaic of ethnicities, customs and histories; spawning a bridge between the East and the West. For people who see the world through narrow eyes, Turkey might be a paradox: the most secular country in the world, with a solidly modern orientation and a predominantly Muslim (but secular!) population. Not a paradox for Settle who has an open mind.

Recall also that Turkey is a country that suffers an unjustly bad image, mainly because of fanatic Greek-Orthodox fundamentalists (e.g. see the one or two silly reviews below by Greek-Americans with no idea of Balkan history!). Mary Lee Settle has done more than anyone else to rectify the balance. She is uniquely qualified to do so because she clearly has no political agenda to settle with the past or with the future...

One can only hope that Mary Lee Settle writes another book covering the breathtaking changes in Turkey in the last 20 years or so with the same clear vision.

This book reflects personal experiences and insights of the author, which is done very sincerely and poetically. It is not a history textbook nor carries a political agenda. I do not know if the reader had read the whole book but pages 66-67 contain references to Armenian genocide. I can also tell that this reader's knowledge of modern Turkey and Turkish people and their relationships with Armenians, Greeks and Kurds are limited to few subjective publications. If he/she ever lived in Turkey and observed how those people from diverse backgrounds live, go schools and work together, become best friends and marry each other, he/she would not believe every opinion so naively. Every country has its own unique disparities and ways to deal with them. Turkey regionally and politically has a very strategic position (historically much diverse compared to many countries in the world); hence, it experienced and continues to experience many uproars for claims of land. This situation is not unique to Turkey and I strongly believe that most countries would do the same to defend the integrity of their land.

Surprisingly disappointing.

Not so much a companion item, rather a merchandising add-on to cash in on the success of the television series.

The book adds nothing new to the tv series, and at times reads as an after thought than a diary of events.

I found this a terrific companion to the series. It accounts for the journey day-by-day and fills in the gaps left from video editing and government restrictions (there were many areas the camera crew was either not allowed to film or weren't allowed to enter). It also gives a little of the behind-the-scenes to the series, which I always appreciate. Along with all this information, the journal is written much as you'd expect from Michael Palin and is, in itself, an enjoyable travel book.

One of the best travel books I've ever read. Former Python recreates Around the World in 80 Days, over a hundred years later, but without the help of air travel. It doesn't hurt that Palin seems quite the modest, charming traveler. Watching the trip from his eyes is truly a pleasant experience, highly recommended.

If a certain city is one of your favorite places, it presumably means that you feel something about it that -- if you are a writer -- you wish to convey to others. That passion is missing from this book, which is an oddly muted tribute to a city I've always wished to visit. In addition, Jan Morris claims this will be her last book. Why should a good writer like her want to go out with such a whimper?

TRIESTE AND THE MEANING OF NOWHERE is, to be sure, a competently written work. All the major themes are present, but the guts just aren't there. What about Sir Richard F. Burton squirming through his last years far from the scenes of his triumphs? What about James Joyce creating great literature while trying to earn beer money teaching? Then there is the withering irony of Hungary's leader Admiral Horthy, at a time when his country had had no port for decades, yielding his country to the Nazis out of craven fear. There is material here for a book that yet remains to be written.

Trieste still sits there at the head of the Adriatic waiting for THE book to be written about it. Until such time, this is an adequate book, well written, but even below the author's standard.

Trieste is a city I knew nothing about, but always had a vague impression of. That impression, of faded grandeur, old-Europe cosmopolitanism gone to seed, and melancholy, is largely confirmed in this, the first of Morris' books I've read. The fishing village at the top of the Adriatic was a sleepy burg until the Austro-Hungarian empire transformed it into it's only seaport and HQ for its imperial navy in the early 1700s. It rapidly became one of the leading seaports of the world, and an international center of commerce. Following the defeat and dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian empire, Trieste was handed over to Italy, which already had plenty of ports, and thus it quickly reverted to sleepy backwater. Over the last century it was occupied by the Nazis, Allied forces, was a UN free territory, and eventually reverted to Italian rule. Nowadays, as Morris writes, "It offers no unforgettable landmark, no universally familiar melody, no unmistakable cuisine, hardly a single native name that anyone knows."

And while Morris ably rambles through the city's history (which she first visited in 1946), the book is a bit of a metaphor for human aging and memory. She has vowed this is her final book in a prolific career, and the melancholy tone echoes the melancholy of a city whose glory days lie a century in the past. She writes, "Trieste makes one ask sad questions of oneself. What am I here for? Where am I going?" That's not to say the book is depressing or sad, because her love for the city is evident throughout, as she grapples with its place in her own psyche. While she clearly enjoys recreating in her mind's eye the hustle and bustle of the imperial era, she also finds, "For me, Trieste is an allegory of limbo, in the secular sense of an indefinable hiatus." So while the narrative is studded snippets of history, amusing and telling anecdotes from her own visits, and evocations of past residents such as Richard Burton and James Joyce, it's also rich in introspection. Above all, Morris' meandering prose is beautiful and has inspired me to delve into her past work. I do wish the publishers had included a few historical maps, some photos, and a bibliography of other works on Trieste.

Morris describes Trieste as a city of melancholy, not so much that it is depressing, but that it allows one to be sad in a way that other more agressive towns might not. One ruminates on the meaning of nowhere there and a learns that nowhere is really a little bit of everywhere.

Nor does it hurt to run into Sir Richard Burton's widow burning his pornographic translations from the Arabic, or James Joyce writing poems while visiting prostitutes. Also there are many well-fed cats, dining outside the mayor's favorite restaurant, or in the desert of the surrounding area, the rocky stony Karst, licking up scraps of fish heads and spaghetti brought to them by the local residents.

It is no longer one of the world's greatest ports as it was under the Hapsburgs. It is only the fifth largest port in the Mediterranean.

This book is not only looks into the hoaxes by the psyche of the hoaxsters. Why would they do it? What were their motivations? What do they have in common. Equally interesting is the individual who actually accomplished his exploration but was accused of pulling a hoax. He had all the evidence to prove his claim but would not use it! Why? His psyche had common ground with hoaxsters. To find out more you will have to read the book. It is an interesting read.

The problem with Dave Roberts is that he has established himself in a particular genre - i.e. intense, concise and slightly acerbic adventure writing. As a result, you tend to expect that approach from all his writing, which isn't really fair, but there you have it.

In Great Exploration Hoaxes, Roberts steps outside his usual format to do some research. I'm not really surprised. Comments in the introductions to his previous collections make it clear he is intrigued by the workings of the human psyche as well as the thrill of high risk adventure. However, this book is definitely a departure, and reads like a series of well-written research papers - which I guess, in essence, they are.

There is nothing wrong with Great Exploration Hoaxes. It is a good read and I recommend it, especially if you are interested in what history says versus what actually happened. The problem lies with Robets tackling historical data. It is hard to bring the dead back to life, especially when their writing is not available for comment. For example, Roberts does a fine job of getting the reader interested in John Cabot, but must rely on the work of Cabot's contemporaries and other researchers to substantiate his theories.

Roberts is at his best when he is relating the story and not supporting his hypothesis with data. But since he is trying to debunk some old myths, he naturally has to support his statements. It is an uneasy alliance that works, but is not the usual Roberts fare.

I recommend the book, but will be looking forward to Roberts' next tale of his own wanderings and resulting insights.

The author presents an interesting collection of well documented essays (and a few historical photographs) that intrigue and educate the reader about some of the greatest adventurer and discovery hoaxes over the centuries. His most interesting inquiry is saved for the reader to ponder. "How many claimed discoveries and adventures that we unquestionably and faithfully accept as true were also mere fantasy?" Did Hannibal really cross the Alps? Was it Tenzig Norgay first to summit on Everest or was it Hillary? If Neil Armstrong was the first man on the moon, who took the famous picture of him descending from the space capsule planting a foot firmly onto Moon soil? This book can get you thinking.

Jan Morris is a prolific writer, whose books provide the reader with a window on the world. Half English, half Welsh, she has adopted the latter culture as a focus for her sense of belonging.

The Wales she writes about is a an enigma. It is barely understood internationally. Most outsiders to Britain have some concept of an area of England where people work in dreary coalmines and sing in male voice choirs. The fact that Wales has never been part of England would surprise many (even if it is tied to its umbilical cord by way of Henry the VIII's undemocractic Act of Union in 1536).

To be Welsh is to stand up for what you are for, not so much of what you are against. This requires a particular level of emotion and national passion that Morris describes exquisitely in her book. Her story of Wales is one of celtic dreams and folklore that blends in seaminglessly with a modern Wales, partly anglicized and yet distinct despite 500 years of English domination.

Owain Glyndwr, a Welsh hero, features prominently, as do other Welsh figures of the past. Some Welsh traditions are exposed as 'fakes' (however much loved today) whilst facets of Welsh history, unknown to many in Wales themselves, are uncovered.

Morris could be criticised for being too much a romantic. However her writing defies criticism, it being both deep and sincere as well as adroit and precise. A highly recommended book for those with a curosity for Wales.

Jan Morris leads the kind of life anyone could envy: she does what she loves for a living and is successful at it, lives in the house she always wanted (a cottage in Wales) and is close to her friends and family. This series of essays meanders amiably over a number of topics: cats, her house, various cities, and aspects of her life. Some are more successful than others, but this book is a great companion, and so would Morris be, one feels.

To find this book of photographs by Ormerod - already several years old - at a bargain price was a happy event. The book is roughly evenly divided between colour and black and white work. The hair-sharp colour prints, like most colour photos, you feel you've seen before (Ormerod is somewhere between Eggleston and Misrach), but a handful of the black and whites stand out for their quiet interest in a world that is clearly foreign to the English-born photographer. Here is the photographer I would like to be - direct but unobtrusive. However, both critical essays included with the works in the book feel compelled to explain its relative lack of human figures (the cover image is uncharacteristic of most in this collection), as though this is an embarrassing oversight of the photographer: a weakness about which one must be exceedingly respectful and polite. One of the two writers actually atones for the missing persons by talking about 'the implied presence' of human beings in the pictures. Why can't people bear to contemplate photos in which some fragment of their own compulsive sociality is not reflected? There is a superb floating quality in these Ormerods that is completely deferential to the need of the viewer to travel into the picture and experience parts unknown without interference. Despite the tendency of all photographers to minimise distances and to destroy exoticism because they are always in reality debt and must go, like Muhammad, to the mountain, Ormerod's pictures tell me something exquisite about the largeness of the world, like graffiti on a public statue whose authors are utterly removed from oneself. Whole country towns seen from a hilly rise: you will never know them, never see them except through him. An intense, dreamy abstract romanticism operates here that neither critic seems to see at all; no, he is just a social commentator like the rest, that dull worthy animal. Whereas Ormerod tells his viewers clearly that people as such, people as characters, are of no interest to him at all, the critics respond in an absurdly tenacious way that Ormerod must be making oblique 'allusions' to political contingency, poverty, social unrest, a nation's failed dreams, and so on - idiotically personalising his lonely, lovely car wrecks with a broken radiator-grimace. You may of course agree with the critics that this collection is depressingly devoid of signs of human life. What is the basic difference between the critics and me? Why do we see Ormerod's collection so differently? Desire and isolation, exception, endless roaming are all the one thing to me. The 'implied presence' is always erotic to me. To others, eroticism inheres in people, in overflowing gatherings and exchanged glances; to me it inheres in people's deliciously frustrating absence, their reticence and refusals. If you have always viewed photographs as opportunities to travel while imagining the forms of human life that go on elsewhere, this collection will hold great appeal. Photographic representations of absence will make the average critic think there is something polemical in the artist's intentions (rusting ploughshares in superannuated fields lead to pieties of the 'throwaway society' sort). Lonely places make them think of the great, dry political themes - hardly a turn-on. They judge accordingly. I urge you to see for yourself whether these rather restricted criteria do Michael Ormerod justice.

Thank heaven for Wales. More than Scotland, perhaps even more than Ireland, Wales evokes the bittersweet longing for a mythic past, with its warriors, language, courage and sovereignity. For people seduced by the pathos of the underdog, Cymru signifies the biggest fish of all, and it is no wonder that even Shakespeare, bigot though he could be, had his Henry V declare a willingness to wear the leek on St. David's Day, "For I am Welsh, you know, good my countryman!"

The delightful Jan Morris ("Oxford", "The Oxford Book of Oxford")seems to float over the twilit southern valleys and stern northern crags in this very enjoyable book. All the names, events, and movements are here, richly retold: Owen Glyndower, the Chartists, Methodism. And although the book is 15 years old, Morris managed to catch the beginnings of the great Welsh revival of the last ten years or so...the groundswell of a new acceptance of Welsh culture (culminating today in today's Britpop bands, literature, etc.) and the avid interest youth are now showing in the revival of the Welsh language. A very good overview of one of the most romantic, mythic--and tragic--places on earth.