This book is short, easy to read, yet it gives the reader a simple but clear picture of the solid state. It was used as a reference book for the introductory solid state physics course which I took in my first year of graduate study at Harvard. I enjoyed the book a lot.

A small and easy to understand text, not too much math

Whenever I want to get inspired to take some portraits, I usually reach for this book. I like the layout of Portraits and I like the photos themselves. He shoots a wide variety of people and brings great style to each photo. Buy this book. This is Richard working in his element and at the height of his career. It is a must for any portrait photographer.

Having read "Crime and Punishment" fifteen years ago, I was prepared for Dostoevsky's commentary on the social and materialistic qualities of the Russian middle class of the 19th Century. "The Idiot" has a slower pace but a surprise ending which makes reading it well worth the effort.

The novel begins with three strangers in a train en route to Petersburg. A young man named Prince Myshkin is returning from a Swiss sanatorium where he has been treated for the past few years for some malady similar to epilepsy. He meets a roguish young man named Rogozhin, who has an unhealthy obsession with a beautiful young woman named Nastasya Filippovna, and a nosy government official named Lebedyev, who figures prominently throughout the novel.

Upon arriving in Petersburg, Myshkin acquaints himself with many of the citizens and eventually meets, and is infatuated by, Nastasya. She is pushy, fickle, and impetuous, and bounces from fiance to fiance like a fortune hunter. Her irresistibility and psychological stronghold on the men in her life leads to her downfall.

The basis of the novel is that Myshkin is not bright, has not had much education, and traverses society with a mentality of simplistic innocence. When speaking his opinion, he struggles to articulate himself with Charlie Brown-like stammering and wishy-washiness. For this reason, people consider him an idiot, but he is a good, honest, sympathetic, and gracious person. When he comes into a large inheritance, he is blackmailed by a man who claims to be the illegitimate son of Myshkin's benefactor; but when the man's story is debunked, Myshkin befriends rather than chastises the culprit and his accomplices. Myshkin also falls in love with and becomes betrothed to a giddy girl named Aglaia, who uses his ingenuousness as a foil for her jokes and sarcasm, despite his undying devotion to her.

The novel seems to say that a saintly man, making his way in a society that is concerned with materialism and cutthroat avarice, will be considered a childish idiot for valuing honesty, kindness, and the simple things in life. Like I said, the ending is a shocker and sends a plaintive message, that in a crazy world, a sanatorium is the only place for a saint.

The Idiot is often unfairly compared to Dostoyevsky's other masterpieces and, even though The Idiot usually comes out on the short end of any comparison, it is certainly my favorite. Although the narrative of The Idiot may ramble more than do some of Dostoyevsky's other books, I feel it is ultimately more profound.

At its core, The Idiot is a character/society study although it also encompasses many religious and political aspects as well. The central character, Prince Myshkin, provides the contrast for all the other characters and is definitely a "Christ-like" figure, a man who embodies most perfectly the Christian ideals of selflessness and love.

Prince Myshkin is a man who has suffered from mental illness since childhood. This illness has the curious effect of causing him to respond from his heart rather than from his head. In addition, Myshkin also suffers from a form of epilepsy that causes him to launch into tirades regarding the social ills of the day. As a Christ-like figure, Myshkin is in direct contrast to the other characters in the book who are all worldly and sophisticated, though somewhat cynical, aristocrats. Myshkin's extreme goodness also causes him to become entangled in various political and personal intrigues.

Although completely good, Prince Myshkin in a fully realized character. One of the marvels of this novel is that Dostoyevsky managed to present Myshkin as a serious, rather than a comic, character. His goodness is not something we want to laugh at. There are many comic moments in the book, however, and most of them are provided through various financial and romantic entanglements.

Although Prince Myshkin is the thread that links all the characters and aspects in the novel, he is not the only fully realized character; the others are also extremely well drawn. Dostoyevsky was fond of using real life incidents in his books and his notes tells us this is something he did in creating the characters that populate this book.

Ultimately, The Idiot is a tragic book. Politically, it ridicules the shallow ideals of the Russian aristocracy, and, while Prince Myshkin's ramblings may seem comic, they are actually harsh criticism.

Prince Myshkin was more than "a positively good man." He was a man who could see into the future and know what lay in store. Dostoyevsky's deep insight into the character of man makes The Idiot one of literature's most profound and timeless works.

Fyodor Dostoevsky's "The Idiot" is a compelling mixture of extremely well-drawn characterizations as well as an adept representation of the author's persistently over-arching world view concerning the "perennial questions" of human existence. The novel's main subject, Prince Myshkin, is a sublime and unforgettable character. I certainly wouldn't dispute Myshkin's centrality in "The Idiot" but here Dostoevsky has fleshed out many more distinctive personalities ( Aglaya, Rogozhin, Lebedev, Ippolit ) than ( if my memory serves me correctly ) in his "Crime and Punishment" ( another masterwork ), which focused pretty much on Raskolnikov's decaying interior world ( an extension of his "underground man" from the famous "Notes" of 1864 ).

To speak of the plot would be irresponsible ( I do recommend reading the main text PRIOR to reading the scholarly introduction by the translator ) but you can be assured that if you have enjoyed the novels of Thomas Mann ( "Magic Mountain" in particular ), Joseph Conrad or Nikos Kazantzakis, you will appreciate "The Idiot". Also, it seems fairly obvious that a person who has already read several of Dostoevsky's other works will be interested in this particular novel.

I admit that at first, not having read a 19th century novel for quite a while ( in fact, since "Crime & Punishment" about 10 years ago ), I had to get used to the "salon culture" ( for want of a better term ) and the ( seemingly ) melodramatic exchanges between the characters in their frequent soirees, which appeared, initially, to be somewhat strained. However, it was instructive for me to meditate on the fact that this was an era ( c.1868 ) without the "benefit" ( ?!? ) of our advanced technological distractions ( radio, television, internet ) and so, if one was NOT to participate in such gatherings, one would be resigned to a life of solitude ( with a capital "S" ). Therefore, such "melodramatic" exchanges seemed less unrealistic than at first I thought. And, as an aside, Dostoevsky was in his early adulthood a frequenter of all sorts of literary gatherings ( this aspect of his life is superbly revealed in Joseph Frank's multi-volume biography ). Undoubtedly he drew upon his memories of such social circles when writing "The Idiot". In any case, whether it was by bearing these historical points in mind or by naturally adjusting to the author's emotional landscape, I did eventually adjust and felt the dialogue to transform into a compellingly realistic vision, at turns exhilarating and sorrowful ( inevitably, the latter mood prevails ).

My choice of translation was the Alan Myers/OXFORD PRESS version. I noticed that the PENGUIN translation was about 60-70 pages shorter. I didn't find that either mentioned "abridged" ( or "unabridged" ) but ended up basing my purchase on the OXFORD's ( apparently ) longer version. Also, the Myers/OXFORD version has a black and white map of St Petersburg and some helpful notes explaining various obscure references. However, having read the novel only once, I'm obviously not in the position to call this version definitive. I imagine the old Constance Garnett translation has some merit ( she's been in print for some 70 years now and that must say something of her abilities ) and perhaps the acclaimed team of Richard Pevear and Larissa Volakhonsky, who've already translated "C&P", "Demons", "Karamazov" as well as "Notes from the Underground", will be tackling "The Idiot" in the near future.

Harold Bloom's 'The Book of J' caused quite a stir when it first was published. The book contains both introductory essays on authorship, a discussion of the theory of different texts being used to make up the books of the Bible (the Documentary Hypothesis), some historical context, and translation notes.

The bulk of the book consists of David Rosenberg's new translation of the J text, that text having been separated and isolated from the other source texts of the Torah (first five books of the Bible).

The concluding section contains essays by Bloom on different characters and themes in the text, as well as some modern theoretical analysis of the text, isolated as it is in this volume from the greater mass of material in the Bible.

There is a brief appendix by Rosenberg with notes specifically geared toward translation issues and difficulties, as well as source materials.

First, for a little background: since the 1800's, much of Biblical textual scholarship and analysis has subscribed to the theory that most books were not first written as integrated wholes, but rather, consist of a library of amalgamated texts, largely put together by a person who goes by the title Redactor, or R, for short. This was (in terms of Hebrew Bible timelines) a relatively late occurrence. Prior to this, there were various sources, including the J (J for Jehovah, or Yahweh, which is what God is called in these texts), but also E (Elohist, which is what God is called in these texts), P (Priestly, which largely comprises Leviticus), and D (Deuteronomist). The separation of these strands is controversial, and will probably never cease to be. But with literary and linguistic analysis, certain traits can be discerned of each of the particular strands.

The most controversial conclusion which Bloom advances in this volume is that J is a woman, who lived in the courtly community of King David, and that her stories are not only a retelling of the ancient stories which would have been known commonly, but is also a satire and indictment of courtly life as she finds it.

'J was no theologian, and rather deliberately not a historian.... There is always another side of J: uncanny, tricky, sublime, ironic, a visionary of incommensurates, and so the direct ancestor of Kafka, and of any writer, Jewish or Gentile, condemned to work in Kafka's mode.'

Bloom's assertion that J is a woman consists of several 'telling' ideas, not least of which that the J text seems to have no heroes, only heroines.

'Sarai and Rachel are wholly admirable, and Tamar, in proportion to the narrative space she occupies, is very much the most vivid portrait in J. But Abram, Jacob, and Moses receive a remarkably mixed treatment from J.'

Also, on the basis of sensitivity to subject and social vision, Bloom argues for a female J. Of course, women in positions of authority (as any courtly author or historian would have to be) were very rare in ancient Middle Eastern culture, but not unheard of; of course, literacy rates for women were incredibly low, and there has always been the unspoken assumption that, naturally, the authors of all ancient texts are men.

Whether or not you subscribe to this (and I must confess, I am less than convinced, clever and interesting and thought-provoking as Bloom's essay may be), both on the person of the author of J, as well as many of his other equally unorthodox views, this text still provides much food for thought, and an interesting side text with which to read the accounts in Genesis and Exodus.

Reading Rosenberg's translation is, likewise, an interesting exercise. I would wish for footnote or some key to be able to follow along in the Bible, but Rosenberg's purpose was to let J stand as its own text, on its own merits, and thus, without interruption, he has done that here. A refreshing look at familiar texts, Rosenberg's new translation will give things to think and argue about for some time.

Now, I don't pretend to be a scholar, let alone a biblicalscholar. And I can not say that I am particularly religious, but Ihave found "The Book of J" to be particularly fresh and intriguing.

I have read Tanakh, the Jewish Publication Society's 1985 translation of the Torah, and have dipped into both its earlier 1917 version and the King James version. I have fought my way through Jonathon Kirsch's "Moses, A Life" and have delighted in reading and rereading Thomas Cahill's "The Gifts of the Jews"; and while I have enjoyed them, I've never really thought about the authors of the Old Testament. But David Rosenberg's translation of J's work, and Harold Bloom's wonderful commentary have brought a new sense of wonder towards my reading of these sacred works and has made them fresh and new to me.

I look forward to furthering my own study into my religion and my spirituality and would recommend highly to anybody who is interested in reviving their interest in the Torah to read "The Book of J" and take a new look at an old text.

Irreverent, profound, and deeply disturbing, this (putative) Book of J will change one's view of the Tanakh and the Old Testament for good; For that alone David Rosenberg is to be commended, given how hard it is to approach the Bible afresh-- the weight of history, in the form of the King James Version (and others)has other ideas. Rosenberg's J is deeply ironic, and inclined to view YHWH and reader alike with bemusement: a symmetry that seems to me to be the source of much of the text's charisma. Bloom is, as always, a powerful(if perhaps overly-rhapsodic) commentator, and this is Yale's Grand Old Man at his rhetorical best (before the repetitive bug bit him in the Western Canon and Shakespeare: Invention of the Human). Some have complained about the wildly speculative nature of his theory: I can only conclude that they have missed the point; whether or not "J" really was Bathsheba (a hypothesis Bloom adopted subsequent to the book's publication) the flight of fancy whereby one identifies the two (or indeed even "reconstructs" the Book of J itself) is the best way to honor the imagined "Yahwist" author.