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During the 1960s Nathaniel Branden, who at that time was a brilliant thinker, formed a lecture organization to help spread Ayn Rand's ideas. I was one of the students who attended his courses on philosophy and psychology. No one suspected it at the time, and there was no independent confirmation of it until years after Miss Rand's death in 1982, but she and Nathaniel Branden had an affair. All relationship between them came to an end in 1968, when Miss Rand discovered that Branden was not practicing what he preached.
This is Nathaniel Branden's version of their relationship-or rather, one of his versions, for he's changed his story several times. Branden has never heard the adage "a gentleman never tells." Or perhaps he doesn't mind not being considered a gentleman.
This is a long book; but the reader should not lose sight of an essential fact. Branden confesses, on page after page, that he lied to Miss Rand and to others-not once, but repeatedly, for a number of years. His excuse-"she made me do it"-rings hollow, coming from a man who lectured on the virtues of honesty, integrity, and independence.
After confessing his prevarications and being so "candid," Branden expects us to believe what he's saying now. Instead, I suggest we ask the question: "How do we know you aren't still lying, given that you've had so much practice?"
Still, would those who laugh at Branden and Rand's romantic difficulties been cheered if it had all worked out? No, they would have been denouncing Rand and her menage a cinq as a threat to dull marriages everywhere, that's for sure.
What went wrong? I am reminded of the Spanish saying--repeated in the Dorsai series--that who annoys a philosopher annoys the lion in the den. The lioness got annoyed, particularly given her regimen of medicine that made her quite irritable.
Branden tells the tale better than expected of people who handled living a fantasy or perhaps a dream better than most. And anyone who has been torn by divided loves, and yet tried to make things work, will be with him. The rest was rotten luck and tuesday night quarterbacking.
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The actual writing in not very good, but the research is impeccable; you will get the unvarnished Marx gems that American Intelligentsia has laundered.
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The book is very readable-- none of Hawthorne's tortured circumlocutions or heavy-handed doubt. The scenery and setting descriptions are remarkable, painting perfectly clear word pictures. The characters, especially Pearl, are interesting and worth getting to know.
But they're not Hawthorne's. If you just read this book for its own sake, it works fine, although it would help A LOT if you were previously to read the prequel [both to this book and to The Scarlet Letter], 'Hester,' by the same author. But to read it as a sequel to Hawthorne's masterpiece is to invite massive disappointment.
This 'Pearl' simply won't work as Hester's daughter. First of all, she doesn't leave Boston till she's twenty, whereas in The Scarlet Letter both she and her mother leave when Pearl is just seven. Secondly, she leaves her mother behind, whereas in SL it's stated very clearly that they left together. I have no idea why Bigsby decided to impose this alteration on the story, but it doesn't work-- it effectively prevents us from 'buying' the notion that this is a sequel.
But that's just the beginning of the problem. There's also the fact that this Pearl has insights that no young woman of the 1600s could possibly have-- insights that are appropriate to the 20th or 21st centuries, but not to Hawthorne's time in the mid 1800s, let alone the time of the story. The author tries very hard to 'explain' this inconsistency, but it just won't wash.
The biggest problem, though, is something else entirely. It was to do with organization and structure. The author is so in love with his own ability to draw humorous caricatures of minor characters [think Dickens to the 8th degree] that he spends massive numbers of pages indulging himself in this exercise-- so much so that by the time we are halfway through the book, we've just begun to encounter the central plot. And then the central plot itself could be summed up in about twelve words, which I won't because I'm opposed to spoilers. Suffice it to say that it isn't very profound, and is entirely predictable once all the characters are in place.
In short, Hawthorne is probably bored to death in his grave.
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a day of vitamin C (preferably buffered calcium ascorbate), along with some magnesium may completely inhibit mild asthma, and should significantly help moderate to severe asthma, with no known drug interactions (except perhaps with Theophylline, which inhibits the same phosphodiesterase enzyme that vitamin C does). This information is referenced in the Allergies/Asthma chapter of my book "The Failures of American Medicine", available here at Amazon.com ...