At 1st of May,2003, in Osaka municipal Museum, Japan, I appreciated the travelling exhibition including this John B. Elliott Collection.
This traced copy scroll of a two-line fragment of a letter by Wang Hsi-chih(ACE303-361) is fine. Atouched Dong Quichang(1555-1636) colophones and large character maximes calligraphy are impressive. Sung dynasty Emperor Hui-Tsong(r. 1101-1125) court mounting and seals seem genuine. The Wang calligraphy itself has enough quality among many his old replicas. The ink colour feels rather later period than 8th century.
Another impressive work is Zhu Yunming(ACE1460-1526)'s small square script
album.
However, this is a private and personal collection catalogue. Reading this, one imagines and looks for passed Mr. Elliott's personality and taste.
It is too heavy burden for this collection to act as a textbook of great chinese calligraphy history.
Indeed there is few museum whose collection is completely genuine, I recommend chinese-calligraphy lovers in USA to appreciate, study and learn masterpieces in National Palace Museum, Taipei, First.
Japanese collections also have masterpieces.

Most major styles are presented in this wonderfully printed book. The articles are informatory and scholarly. This fine collection of calligraphy is intoxicatingly beautiful.

What fascinates me so much about this book, what keeps drawing me to it, is this: the calligraphers of ancient China wrote as they painted, and painted as they wrote. In other words, each character is an "embodied image" which expresses the moods and passions of its creator.

When we Westerners read, we read for content, for meaning only. We do not read and at the same time notice how the characters look. Since Gutenberg and the advent of movable type, and especially now, with digital type, each of our characters must always look the same. When they don't, it is considered an imperfection. In Chinese calligraphy, however, considerable attention is given to how the characters look. It is through their appearance that we can discern the whether the creator was hurried, what angle he wrote at, and what mood he might have been in.

The visual effect of a poem written by a great Chinese calligrapher a thousand years ago, vs. reading the same poem in a standardized font, is quite stark. We have a lot to learn from the Chinese, especially given their likely ascension of global power in the coming years. This book provides an indispensable, detailed, well illustrated reference for an important aspect of how Chinese culture differs so dramatically from our own.

Highly recommended.

Robert B. Parker does an admirable job of capturing Marlowe's character, in this somewhat dissappointing (as expected) attempt to bring him back to life. Marlowe is married to a millionaire in a desert oasis, yet feels compelled to continue to eek out his own nickel, playing the hard boiled detective in LA by day. Predictably, the marriage is put under stress as Marlowe's job makes it difficult to get home for dinner. The mystery is a little strange. Marlowe immerses himself into a pair of murders, going beyond the instructions of his client. In the end, the murderer goes out in a way that I found difficult to believe. Nice try, but there will never be another Chandler.

Poodle Springs is a Philip Marlowe mystery that starts with four chapters Raymond Chandler wrote before his death in 1959. Thirty years later Robert B. Parker finishes the work left by Chandler. Parker is an accomplished mystery author himself and breathes life back into Philip Marlowe so we can follow one more case.

Yet Parker is not Chandler and there are places in the book where I kept feeling that he wasn't getting Marlowe just right. Probably I was looking for these non-Chandleresque moments and they are actually intriguing. Marlowe fans can read the book with this additional level of interest: did Parker capture the essence of Philip Marlowe in this scene or not?

All that aside this is a well-paced and entertaining mystery. There is a side plot as the book opens right after Marlowe's marriage to an heiress. The tension is between the independent and honest detective and his pampered wife who can't understand each other. He gets along better with her house boy, and she can't understand why he won't sit back and let her daddy take care of them.

The main plot is pure Marlowe with a sleazy pornographer/blackmailer leading a double life and mixed up in a murder. Marlowe keeps discovering bodies which puts him in trouble with the cops. Yet he can't quite figure out who is the murderer until it is almost too late.

If you haven't read Raymond Chandler this is not the place to start. Although this is a minor addition to the Marlowe corpus, it will be a welcome addition to those who have read the other works and desire more Marlowe. It reads quickly and never lets you down.

The heirs of Raymond Chandler, one of the most imitated writers of all time, approached Parker, an obvious disciple of the master, to finish an incomplete manuscript the deceased author left behind. This was a tough assignment: The story was begun when Chandler was past his prime, his habitual alcohol abuse having taken it's toll on his creative powers. There was no plot to speak of, just a few initial chapters, with Chandler's writing sounding like a maudlin parody of his earlier work. Still, the talent was there, and the playfulness and wit had not died out completely, in spite of all else. And like Sherlock Holmes, Philip Marlowe is too good to let him fade away just because his initial author has passed on. So Parker had to finish someone else's novel, with someone else's style and someone else's protagonist, in another place and time that wasn't his own. And he did a remarkable job - funny, witty, and as true to the original as the first five chapters that were given him would allow. It's a period piece that re-creates the decadent world of Marlowe's California, with a nod or two to contemporary tastes for violence and sexual content. So once you understand the obstacles, you can appreciate the result even more...a fun novel that stands on it's own as a parody and as a hard-boiled romp through old L.A., and a chance to spend some time with a much-missed thick-skinned soft-hearted galahad of the golden state, after a long goodbye.

If you know have ever read a book by R.B. Parker you will find yourself in a familiar environment in this book. Parker sets himself a brave task in writing a sequel to Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep" and succeeds in pulling it off superbly. Parker is one of the rare modern writers who still believe that characters can have principles, and live by them even in extreme circumstances. Although this is not Parker's best work, I still recommend this book in which, in my opinion, Parker surpasses one of the legends of detective fition, Raymond Chandler.

a little background is in order (as I understand it): the heirs of Chandler approached Parker to finish the Poodle Springs manuscript, and part of the deal was that he had to write one more Marlowe story. 'Dream' is that one more. The job was almost impossible to begin with (Chandler's drinking had taken the edge off his talent by that time, and the Poodle manuscript got off on the wrong foot to boot), the Chandler fans ripped it for not being up to Chandler's prime (which even Chandler himself wasn't, towards the end), the Parker fans ripped it for not being true Spencer, and Parker felt the strain of wearing another man's shoes. So by the time he got to this one, my guess is, his heart wasn't in it. He's said he'll never do another Marlowe book. That said, it's still good to have Marlowe back, cracking wise and cruising the mean streets again. I liked it better than Chandler's "The Pencil", and better than some of the Spencer books! I just wish Parker would reconsider, and do another Marlowe book without the pressures and constraints of a contract. Marlowe, like Sherlock, is a detective who deserves to live on after his progenitor, but the return of L.A.'s hard-boiled prose-poet is, perchance, just a dream.

Robert B. Parker comes the closest to the attitude of Phillip Marlowe. Stuart Kaminsky writes his Toby Peters stories more for laughs. Andrew Bergman (The Big Kiss-Off of 1944) had flashes where he nailed the speech, but was more in keeping with Spillane overall. William Nolan (The Marble Orchard) copies some of the dialogue- and I do mean copies- in his enjoyable Chandlerian mystery. And there are others, myriad others. But none of them get it quite right.

Neither does Parker, but he comes the closest. He matches the world-weariness, the cynicism and the reluctant romanticism, finding the knight in tarnished armor that is Marlowe. Yes, he very nearly matches the attitude. But he falls short with the style.

Chandler nearly ruined literature for me, because everything about every line of his writing'- the dialogue, the descriptions, the societal observations'- is so incredibly entertaining. Nothing can meet its rarified level. So I try to make due with 'close-enoughs.' When I finish a Chandler novel, I am depressed it came to an end; when I closed Parker's Perchance To Dream, it elicited a 'That's all there is?'

In P2D, the narrative is much too straightforward. The villain was clear from the first quarter of the book and there were few mysteries to solve. No convoluted Black Mask motives, no people impersonating other people. Marlowe doesn't even get sapped until distressingly late in the story. There is only one real subplot; then that ties in with the other so they can both be too-neatly wrapped up. It becomes clear what Marlowe must do and he sets out to do it. Then, very abruptly, the novel is over. It is strenuous but not complex. There is no last minute twist because the story followed a Spenser-like plot; it more resembles the structure of the first Lethal Weapon movie than it does that of The Big Sleep.

And as 50 years have passed between the publishing of the original novel and this one, some subtlety has been forsaken. Parker shows welcome restraint given the subject matter, but Carmen's decadence seemed in Chandler's novel somehow exotic and vague. In P2D, as postmodern psychology and sensibilities are applied, it seems cold and open and dirty.

Still, there is a lot that is great in this book. The flashbacks and tips-of-the-hat to the original novel come off better than they might have. We root for Marlowe and hiss the villain, as we should. Parker has penned an abundance of juicy wisecracks and has figured out how to end his chapters in the bittersweet tone much like Chandler accomplished. And the story, despite what I said above, is furiously-paced and viscerally entertaining. It just isn't Chandler.

Perchance To Dream is a good novel; but when someone slaps the words 'Sequel to The Big Sleep' on the cover of anything it had better be blackjack-to-the-head *great*. The fault isn't really Parker's' he came close, and his was a nigh-impossible task. After all, who can be as great as Raymond Chandler?

P.S. Poodle Springs was a more accurate tribute, if a less actionful read.