His longing for love, especially from Victor, was so painful that it became difficult for me to read. I kept hoping he'd find someone to show him the littlest bit of kindness. His turn to violence is entirely understandable, and Victor's irresponsibility toward his creation is despicable. Victor, who is outwardly handsome but cowardly and cruel, is the story's true monster.

In addition to writing a captivating story, Shelley raises many social issues that are still relevant today, nearly 200 years later, and the book provides a superb argument against *ever* cloning a human being.

(Note: I have the edition with the marvelous woodcut illustrations by Barry Moser and the Joyce Carol Oates afterword - superb!)

I would say this book is probably best for those who are new to writing metric poetry. Experienced writers might find it a little superficial.

I also have the "Poetry Handbook" by the same author, but I think "Rules for the Dance" is better for the same material and more entertaining. Enjoy!

Lionel Bart's wonderful adaptation of the Dickens classic was put to film by Columbia Pictures Corp. with all the spleandor and majesty of a technicolor extraveganza. In the category of Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music and other great musicals, Oliver! touches your soul.

Capturing the essence of the movie, Mary Hastings' story explores a deeper level than the movie is able to express. All that is missing are the musical numbers.

A joy to read if you enjoyed the film. This one's a permanent addition to my collection.

I found The House of the Seven Gables much more enjoyable, a novel more accessible to the casual reader than the Scarlet Letter, but still imposing and impressive and just a bit pompous, as anyone can say of the little Hawthorne they have read. The characterization is marvelous. The adumbration of Hepzibah's insular misery and Clifford's simple minded pariah-hood, and the reforming agent of Phoebe's love and rustic vivacity, as well as multiple other character sketches and glorious descriptive passages, are what carried me through this novel. Unlike in the Scarlet Letter, it seems as though the tedium (what little there is here) is always at some point made up for, as though Hawthorne was attempting to counterbalance certain dry passages with heavenly description and character revelations.

Those who detested the Scarlet Letter will likely find little but soporific tedium here; for those whose initiation into Hawthorne's craft was not overly harrowing, keep this one in mind for a rainy day.

And "American Primitive" does indeed strike me as a unified whole. It consists mostly of poems about American wildlife, with some poems that touch on people in United States history. The poems are often about the cycles of life, including birth, death, and loss. In some poems eating becomes a transcendent act that points to the connectedness of all life.

Oliver writes about mushrooms, blackberries, crows, egrets, deer, snakes, whales, and other living things. She also writes about such natural phenomena as snow and sunlight. Her language is often striking and sensuous. I love the lines from "Spring" where she says "The rain / rubs its shining hands all over me." With her attentiveness to the natural world, Oliver reminded me somewhat of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson, but she really has a voice and vision all her own in "American Primitive."