This old time thriller is so intensely melodramatic that one overlooks the impossible events related. This story moves one to tears, as its author designed it should. This book came out in 1867. Despite its old-fashioned melodrama if you give this book a chance I think you will be glad you read it. It is an outstanding type of its genre.

Wow! I was amazed, especially how Sutherland revised his essays on Wuthering Heights and Mill on the Floss. What marvelous insights? What does Lady Dedlock die of? Why doesn't Laura tell her own story in the Woman in White? Read this marvelous book to find out.

Reading Jack London's "John Barleycorn" is like attending an AA meeting almost 50 years before they were instituted. London herein gives his story of life with alcohol, and it is much like those you hear in the rooms. Beginning with denial, then the drinking becomes a morning thing, then on the sly, the progression is classic alcoholism. Along the way, London includes enough autobiographical information that this is more than just a booze tale. Interestingly, London -- a devout socialist -- constantly harps on the need for prohibition in this country as a way to end the danger of alcoholism. And we all know how that worked out. I'm, an alcoholic, so I appreciated the book on one level. London is my favorite author, and this is one of his good efforts. It's not a depressing tale but one that is uplifting. I recommend it.(Review by Tom Bruce)

I really enjoyed this book. It is an intelligent and humorous view of a drinkers experiences, and we all know how entertaining Jack London's experiences were. This book is basically an autobiography of Jack London with an emphasis on his "drinking career". A classic that shouldn't be over looked.

John Barleycorn is a tremondous book. One of the first things that will impress you about this book is London's life. London was a literal 'super-man' in the Carlyle sense. This book details how London raised himself from incredible child hood poverty and lower class surroundings while still a teen, engaging in rugged, manly adverntures that were simply amazing. This book also relates how London's love of books changed his life, and it will amaze you that his knowledge is so broad (throughout the book London dazzles us with philosophical qoutes and insights).

Most of all though, this book is about alcoholism. As one reviewer correctly notes, London had a strong liking for intoxication. However, one would be wrong to think of this book as pro-drinking, London is fairly fanatical in his dislike of alcohol and what it eventually did to him and other young men of his age. However, the brilliance of these 'alcoholic memoirs' is that he successfully illuminates the thought processes of most intelligent persons that have drinking problems. You will come away from this book understanding why many people, even an almost super-human person like Jack London, can fall prey to this vice. An absorbing read, and the book has a much more reader friendly and 'modern' style than many of London's fiction.

There is a lot to like about this book. It has the usual host of colorful and varied characters that one finds in Trollope's novels. There are strong and complex women, sturdy and weak-willed men, and some wonderful set-pieces. It's a bit of a let-down after _Phineas Finn_, though, which to my mind is the greatest political novel in the English language. The previous two 'Palliser' novels having been clearly both for and about Liberals, I think that Trollope was struggling in this novel to write in a way that would both reflect and appeal to more Conservative sensibilities. So we get a lot of domestic gossip, a little mild anti-semitism, and endless lectures about the Proper way for a Gentleman to Behave to a Lady. Still, the protagonist, Lizzie Eustace, is a gem.

Lucy Morris is a bore. If you like Jane Austen you will like this novel! It has all the necessary ingredients to keep you turning the pages. It's fun and charming to read just like its heroine Lizzie Eustace. Trollope argues that she is no heroine at all but it is when she appears that your interest is held the longest and that you laugh the loudest. She is wicked and selfish and vain and yet childike spoiled and that's what makes her great. Lucy Morris in comparison bores you with her goodness and her morality and her prim and proper attitude which although greatly admired in 19th century women leaves her nonetheless dull and insipid in comparison to charmingly wicked Lizzie.

I have only read one Anthony Trollope novel, and I had the very good fortune of having chosen "The Eustace Diamonds." This superbly constructed novel begins with what is probably my favorite opening sentence of a novel--it's right up there with the opening sentence to Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice":

"It was admitted by all her friends, and also by her enemies--who were in truth the more numerous and active body of the two--that Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself." The second sentence further clarifies Lizzie's character when it goes on with, "We will tell the story of Lizzie Greystock from the beginning, but we will not dwell over it at great length, as we might do if we loved her."

Lizzie Greystock--eventually to become Lady Eustace--is a fascinating combination of cunning and foolishness, of avarice and pitiable character, of steely backbone and whimpering fits. She reminds me so very much of both Emma Bovary and Scarlett O'Hara. Her determination to keep the Eustace family diamonds entirely for herself is what sets the novel in motion, and with this rather simple device, Trollope goes on to spin out a tale which encompasses morality, greed, Victorian social mores, the corrupting influence of money, and the blindness it can cause to everything else of value.

Lizzie is contrasted, with every shade under the sun, with the sweet and constant Lucy Morris. Picture the contrast as one very much like that of Scarlett O'Hara and Melanie Wilkes. "The Eustace Diamonds" is a deliciously satisfying book, and a classic for a very good reason: despite having been written in the 19th century, what it has to say reverberates as soundly now as when Trollope first published it. I can't recommend it highly enough.

In this curious autobiiography, Anthony Trollope sketches in the outlines of his life. He relates the misery of his childhood, the heroism of his mother, the tragedy and ultimate failure of his father. If not banal, at least typical material for an autobiography, and makes for good reading. The second two-thirds of the book summarizes his writings, and relate his ideas on everything from literary criticism to suggestions for young writers. Perhaps most interesting are his assessments of his own work, praising or condemning them with little emotion. Of course there is the famous analysis of his working methods, where he counts words and disciplines himself to an astonishingly regular routine of writing. He produced 47 novels, edited and wrote for magazines, all the while working full time for the post office. One distressing feature of this work is the almost complete lack of intormation about his wife and family....It is clear that he lived with and loved his fictional characters more than his corporeal family. Also, the grammar and punctuation are often awkward but this is still a highly readable and fascinating book.

If one has read a number of Trollope's novels, one would expect that Trollope would have written precisely this sort of autobiography. In fact, it is almost impossible to imagine it having taken any other form.

Trollope writes not so much of his life (though he does touch upon the major events), as of his occupation. Although employed most of his adult life by the postal service, Trollope decided to engage in a second and parallel career as a writer. He is forthright about his motives: the satisfaction of writing, but also fame, financial reward, and social standing. Looking back on his career, Trollope is proud of a job well done. The oddity is that he seems quite as happy telling us about how much he sold each work for, and the financial dealings with his publishers, as he does about his books and characters. In fact, near the end of the book he gives a complete list of his novels and how much he managed to sell each one for (with very few exceptions, he preferred to sell the rights to a novel, rather than getting a percentage of sales). What emerges is a portrait of the novelist not as an artist so much as a dedicated, disciplined craftsman. He explicitly denigrates the value of genius and creativity in a novelist in favor of hard work and keeping to a schedule of writing.

The early sections of the book dealing with his childhood are fascinating. By all measures, Trollope had a bad childhood. His discussions of his father are full of pathos and sadness. What is especially shocking is the lack of credit he gives to his mother, who, in early middle age, realizing that her husband was a perpetual financial failure, decided to salvage the family's fortunes by becoming a novelist. He notes that while nursing several children dying from consumption, she wrote a huge succession of books, enabling the family to live a greatly improved mode of existence. Her achievement must strike an outside observer as an incredibly heroic undertaking. Trollope seems scarcely impressed.

Some of the more interesting parts of the book are his evaluation of the work of many of his contemporaries. History has not agreed completely with all of his assessments. For instance, he rates Thackery as the greatest novelist of his generation, and HENRY ESMOND as the greatest novel in the language. HENRY ESMOND is still somewhat read, but it hardly receives the kind of regard that Trollope heaped on it, and it is certainly not as highly regarded as VANITY FAIR. Trollope's remarks on George Eliot are, however, far closer to general opinion. His remarks concerning Dickens, are, however, bizarre. It is obvious that Trollope really dislikes him, even while grudgingly offering some compliments. Quite perceptively, Trollope remarks that Dickens's famous characters are not lifelike or human (anticipating E. M. Forster's assessment that Dickens's characters are "flat" rather than "round" like those of Tolstoy or Austen) and that Dickens's famous pathos is artificial and inhuman (anticipating Oscar Wilde's wonderful witticism that "It would take a man with a heart of stone to cry at the death of Little Nell"). Even the most avid fan of Dickens would admit that his characters, while enormously vivid and well drawn, are nonetheless a bit cartoonish, and that much of the pathos is a tad over the top. But Trollope goes on to attack Dickens's prose: "Of Dickens's style it is impossible to speak in praise. It is jerky, ungrammatical, and created by himself in defiance of rules . . . . To readers who have taught themselves to regard language, it must therefore be unpleasant." If one had not read Dickens, after reading Trollope on Dickens, one would wonder why anyone bothered to read him at all. One wonders if some of Trollope's problems with Dickens was professional jealousy. For whatever reason, he clearly believes that Dickens receives far more than his due.

Favorite moment: Trollope recounts being in a club working on the novel that turned into THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET, when he overheard two clergymen discussing his novels, unaware that he was sitting near them. One of them complained of the continual reappearance of several characters in the Barsetshire series, in particular Mrs. Proudie. Trollope then introduces himself, apologizes for the reappearing Mrs. Proudie, and promises, "I will go home and kill her before the week is over." Which, he says, he proceeded to do.

you should consider reading this too! Trollope writes candidly about his education (and about being a poor, mostly overlooked student), his lack of professional ambition (and how he finally got around to witing his first novel),and the ups and downs of his literary career (and his early rejections). He does all of this in the same conversational tone employed in his novels, making this autobiography feel more like a chat with an older, experienced friend than a learned, classic autobiography

Most people know of only one book by Thackeray: his witty and savage masterpiece VANITY FAIR. PENDENNIS, perhaps his second-best book, is certainly no slouch itself: a funny, rollicking Bildungsroman, PENDENNIS chronicles the adventures of a loveable young man who almost always manages to get himself into trouble, and his tribulations with the several attractive women in his life (including his young mother). There are some definite slow patches to the work, but for the most part it moves almnost at a rip-roaring pace, and it has none of the overseriousness that mars Thackeray's later works (such as the fascinating, but slowpaced THE NEWCOMES). This is Victorian reading at its most pleasurable, if not its most intellectually challenging.

This is without a doubt one of the funniest and enjoyable novels I have ever read! Do not let the length of the book scare you, Thackeray's brilliant and unique style makes it an easy joy to read. I admit there are some lulls but overall PENDENNIS will earn an honored place on any bookshelf.

Laura Fairly is the innocent, the young, sheltered, Victorian maiden who abides by her departed father's wishes. On his deathbed, he bids her to marry Sir Percival Glyde. Enter villainy. The grasping, frightened, short-tempered Sir Percival insists on a speedy wedding. He handily dispatches any obstacles thrown up in his path; he is damned and determined to wed Laura--and her fortune. But Laura has a sister, Marian, a strong-willed, independent, fiercely loyal sister who at first champions the marriage and then recoils once she realizes the true nature of Sir Percival. The man is a monster. And Marian will do anything to protect her sister. Heroism, and then some. There is also another, a drawing master named Walter Hartright, commissioned to teach Laura and Marian the fine art of watercolors. He falls in love with Laura, and she with him--before her marriage to Sir Percival. The drama should be obvious.

But what of the title? Who is the Woman in White? Her chance meeting with Walter Hartright on the road to London provides the catalyst upon which the entire narrative turns. She is at once and both the key and the puzzle. She is a victim. She is a harbinger. She scares Sir Percival out of his wits.

This book offers vivid portrayals of Victorian England, its mannerisms, its wardrobe, its inhibitions, its attitude. This book eerily reflects our own time, our own angst, in the 21st century. Once you read it, you'll know what I mean. Deception has no age.

P.S. Whatever you do, don't turn your back on Count Fosco!

Laura Fairly is the innocent, the young, sheltered, Victorian maiden who abides by her departed father's wishes. On his deathbed, he bids her to marry Sir Percival Glyde. Enter villainy. The grasping, frightened, short-tempered Sir Percival insists on a speedy wedding. He handily dispatches any obstacles thrown up in his path; he is damned and determined to wed Laura--and her fortune. But Laura has a sister, Marian, a strong-willed, independent, fiercely loyal sister who at first champions the marriage and then recoils once she realizes the true nature of Sir Percival. The man is a monster. And Marian will do anything to protect her sister. Heroism, and then some. There is also another, a drawing master named Walter Hartright, commissioned to teach Laura and Marian the fine art of watercolors. He falls in love with Laura, and she with him--before her marriage to Sir Percival. The drama should be obvious.

But what of the title? Who is the Woman in White? Her chance meeting with Walter Hartright on the road to London provides the catalyst upon which the entire narrative turns. She is at once and both the key and the puzzle. She is a victim. She is a harbinger. She scares Sir Percival out of his wits.

This book offers vivid portrayals of Victorian England, its mannerisms, its wardrobe, its inhibitions, its attitude. This book eerily reflects our own time, our own angst, in the 21st century. Once you read it, you'll know what I mean. Deception has no age.

P.S. Whatever you do, don't turn your back on Count Fosco!

Laura Fairly is the innocent, the young, sheltered, Victorian maiden who abides by her departed father's wishes. On his deathbed, he bids her to marry Sir Percival Glyde. Enter villainy. The grasping, frightened, short-tempered Sir Percival insists on a speedy wedding. He handily dispatches any obstacles thrown up in his path; he is damned and determined to wed Laura--and her fortune. But Laura has a sister, Marian, a strong-willed, independent, fiercely loyal sister who at first champions the marriage and then recoils once she realizes the true nature of Sir Percival. The man is a monster. And Marian will do anything to protect her sister. Heroism, and then some. There is also another, a drawing master named Walter Hartright, commissioned to teach Laura and Marian the fine art of watercolors. He falls in love with Laura, and she with him--before her marriage to Sir Percival. The drama should be obvious.

But what of the title? Who is the Woman in White? Her chance meeting with Walter Hartright on the road to London provides the catalyst upon which the entire narrative turns. She is at once and both the key and the puzzle. She is a victim. She is a harbinger. She scares Sir Percival out of his wits.

This book offers vivid portrayals of Victorian England, its mannerisms, its wardrobe, its inhibitions, its attitude. This book eerily reflects our own time, our own angst, in the 21st century. Once you read it, you'll know what I mean. Deception has no age.

P.S. Whatever you do, don't turn your back on Count Fosco!

I once read that "Vanity Fair" had been classified as one of the "most boring classics" by a group of English professors, who hopefully have all been fired, as they can NOT have had any appreciation for the incisive use of the English language, the witty skewering of Victorian society, the rollicking plot, or the unforgettable characters. Becky Sharpe isn't likeable -- but in the end, you have to admire her insatiability and efficiency. Amelia and Dobbin live out the stereotypical storybook romance -- but Thackeray dares to show how the story usually ends. This is one of the few books that had me consistently laughing aloud; virtually every page has a stinging comment or revealing moment that catches the attention. Although it's a "classic" (think leather-bound dusty volumes with edifying quotes from the latin), this is as vital, insightful, and "modern" a novel as you could hope to read. (And for the record, I think comparing Thackeray and Austen is like comparing Stephen King and Alice Walker -- they're writing at the same time, but the similarities end there!)

William Makepeace Thackeray subtitled "Vanity Fair", his masterful comic novel, "A Novel Without a Hero". But while this big, baggy eight-hundred page monstrosity of comic characters and situations may lack a hero, it has two of the most memorable characters in English literature: Amelia Sedley and Becky Sharp. The contrapuntal, shifting fortunes of these two women drive the narrative of this big book, painting, along the way, a brilliant satirical portrait of English and European society at the time of the Napoleonic wars. We first meet Amelia and Becky in the opening pages of the novel, leaving Miss Pinkerton's School for the wider world of fortune, love and marriage. Amelia Sedley, the naive, sheltered daughter of a rich London merchant whose fortunes will dramatically change over the course of her life, "was a dear little creature; and a great mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (the latter especially) abound in villains of the most sombre sort, that we are to have for a constant companion so guileless and good-natured a person." In contrast, Becky Sharp, the impoverished orphan of an artist and a French opera singer of dubious repute, was a calculating, amoral social climber. "Miss Rebecca was not, then, in the least kind or placable . . . but she had the dismal precocity of poverty." From the opening pages, Thackeray captures the reader's interest in these two characters and carries the reader through marriages, births, deaths, poverty, misfortune, social climbing . . . even the Battle of Waterloo! While Amelia and Becky wind like a long, contrasting thread from the beginning to the end of this story, there are also plots and subplots, intrigues and authorial asides, and one character after another, all of this literary invention keeping the reader incessantly preoccupied and enthralled. Reading "Vanity Fair" is the furthest thing from "killing time" (as the dusty, misguided literary critic F. R. Leavis once said); it is, rather, the epitome of the nineteenth century English comic novel, a masterpiece in every sense of the word.

William Makepeace Thackeray subtitled "Vanity Fair", his masterful comic novel, "A Novel Without a Hero". But while this big, baggy eight-hundred page monstrosity of comic characters and situations may lack a hero, it has two of the most memorable characters in English literature: Amelia Sedley and Becky Sharp. The contrapuntal, shifting fortunes of these two women drive the narrative of this big book, painting, along the way, a brilliant satirical portrait of English and European society at the time of the Napoleonic wars.

We first meet Amelia and Becky in the opening pages of the novel, leaving Miss Pinkerton's School for the wider world of fortune, love and marriage. Amelia Sedley, the naive, sheltered daughter of a rich London merchant whose fortunes will dramatically change over the course of her life, "was a dear little creature; and a great mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (the latter especially) abound in villains of the most sombre sort, that we are to have for a constant companion so guileless and good-natured a person." In contrast, Becky Sharp, the impoverished orphan of an artist and a French opera singer of dubious repute, was a calculating, amoral social climber. "Miss Rebecca was not, then, in the least kind or placable . . . but she had the dismal precocity of poverty."

From the opening pages, Thackeray captures the reader's interest in these two characters and carries the reader through marriages, births, deaths, poverty, misfortune, social climbing . . . even the Battle of Waterloo! While Amelia and Becky wind like a long, contrasting thread from the beginning to the end of this story, there are also plots and subplots, intrigues and authorial asides, and one character after another, all of this literary invention keeping the reader incessantly preoccupied and enthralled. Reading "Vanity Fair" is the furthest thing from "killing time" (as the dusty, misguided literary critic F. R. Leavis once said); it is, rather, the epitome of the nineteenth century English comic novel, a masterpiece in every sense of the word.

... Too many plots, characters not given enough space to breathe, and way too much wrap-up yields a less than satisfying experience. But Trollope is a great writer, and when he's on top, as he is often throughout this book, he is untouchable. The Beargarden is astonishing, and has anyone ever written about so many different wastrels and made them all unique? Georgina and her brother Dolly could make a novel themselves. Poor Marie....desperate to be loved. Very touching stuff.

But the main story gets lost under so much weight that the overall novel loses its focus and just stunbles to a number of unconvincing conclusions. My favorite book is He Knew He Was Right. The sub-plots there enhance the story, and the characters are more vivid and less simplistic.

If you're here after the PBS series, note please...that series is adapted from this novel. There is a lot missing and a lot changed (all to the worse, I would argue). If you are new to Trollope, I would suggest The Palliser series or HKHWR. This is much less worth the time, though still a sparkling read with brilliant flashes.

Anti-Semitism? People are too touchy. The characters are certainly narrow-minded bigots, but Trollope himself is clear and potent. The "old, fat Jew" is among the most noble, most intelligent, and touching characters in Trollope. A gentleman, a sincere man, and one touched by the ugliness of his world but rising majestically above it.

The Enron collapse shows that, as long as we continue to enjoy the benefits of capitalism in the West, Trollope's most famous novel will continue to be timely. This has often been called Trollope's best novel: while it does not contain his best writing (which would be found in individual chapters of PHINEAS FINN and THE LAST CHRONICLER OF BARSET), nor is it his funniest (BARCHESTER TOWERS), it is his most consistently engaging in its details of a railway bubble in mid-Victorian London. The great financier at the center of it, Augustus Melmotte, rises from obscurity to be asked to host a dinner for the visiting emperor of China (which forms a splendid setpiece for the novel) on the eve of his financial ruin. The novel is very exciting and enjoyable, and shows Trollope straining the hardest to meet the standards set by his admitted hero, Thackeray; although this certainly doesn't meet the level of VANITY FAIR, it's still pretty good. There is a bit of a trouble that Trollope has too many subplots going and winds up spending hundreds of pages at the end (long after the work's main action is over) having to resolve them. One of the very best of these ongoing stories, the desperate attempts of the contemptibly snobbish (but still oddly sympathetic) Georgiana Longstaffe to find a husband, is as a result resolved much too suddenly and unsatisfactorily. I would still recommend THE WAY WE LIVE NOW as a fine read--and as a very splendid introduction to Trollope.

It is most when reading (or re-reading) Trollope that I realize how much recent novels suck. Trollope, who regarded novel-writing as a learned trade, shows wider understanding of human nature than twentieth-century, breadloaf-fed artistes. Trollope was the master of personal character. He knew what motivated people, and what faults kept them from behavior they knew was correct

The Way We Live Now is an examination, from a skilled, intelligent early Victorian, of the beginning of capital as worth. Melmotte might be any of current unscrupulous speculators you can name (if you even think speculating is ungentlemanly). I do not personally agree with Trollope as he seems to believe in birth and blood, but I can easily agree that those who buy notice are never worth notice.

Wilkie Collins, even in his less accomplished works, never fails to entertain. Armadale is a case in point. It doesn't have all the endless plot-twists of The Woman in White, nor does it have the 'herione is also a demon" intrigue of No Name. But it still has all of Collins's rich writing, and it does contain one very curious and incredibly evil woman: Miss Gwilt. For those Wilkie Collins fans who enjoy really nasty, scheming people (ala Count Fosco of The Woman in White) will adore Miss Gwilt.

Like most of Wilkie Collins's larger novels, it is hard to summarize the story of Armadale. It is a complex tale of confused identities, folks wanting to inherit fortunes, and gentlemen falling in love with "Ms. Wrong"s. The complicated story does take a while to get rolling (..it takes some two hundred pages before we are introduced to the chief protaganist Miss Gwilt), but it does collect momentum quickly to a satisfying conclusion.

So Armadale is best read after first enjoying The Woman in White or No Name. It is a worthy member to everyone's Wilkie Collins collection.

This book by Collins was an unexpected masterpiece. It was better than The Moonstone. I recommend that everyone who is interested in Collins or Victorian sensational novels this is a good read.

Collins' efforts with his justly famed "The Moonstone" and "The Woman in White" have perhaps overshadowed his very fine work as seen in "Armadale." Lydia Gwilt (don't you love the last name?) is one of the great unsung characters in English (or any western) literature. Collins seems to delight in making her as full-bodied, as attractive to men, and as dangerous as he can without ever losing his grip and falling over the slippery precipice into satire. Given the tenor and social conventions of the time, her quest for revenge on the despicable Alan Armadale seems perfectly in keeping. Lydia Gwilt is like an early, English Scarlett O'Hara without the redeeming humor Scarlett was known to exhibit. All in all, an extraordinarily well-written and three-dimensional character study.