This is a reference book only. You have to call the publisher to order the dictation. Without the dictation a medical transcription 'course' is rather useless.

Great book for advanced training. Get the tapes for sure!

I bought the book based on reviews and the fact that I wish to go to India next year. While the book itself is a true account of one man's travels, it falls short of a journal and is more akin to a matter-of-fact digest of the places and people encountered.

It is unfortunately lacking in prose, dialogue and structure. There are wonderful brief spurts of Newby's humour in writing which encourages the reader to continue, but these are few and far between.

Certainly not for travellers.

Unlike his grounded colleague, the river traveller can indulge his bent for distraction only so far. His route is more or less fixed; certainly his destination is final. And so it is to Eric Newby's credit for eliciting from this journey 300 pages worth of erudite and witty observances, for it is essentially a procession of waterborne shuttles, one ghat to the next, punctuated only by the occasional onshore foray, the function of which mostly being to secure boat and crew for the succeeding leg. I suspect, though, that Newby could glean 300 pages from a dinghy ride in a swimming pool, and that that too would be immensely readable.

The archetypical harrassed traveller, at every turn events conspire to defeat or, at the least, humiliate Newby. The atmosphere of the journey is established during preparations which smack of the comical: "I had even bought an immense bamboo pole from the specialist shop in the bazaar as a defence against dacoits whose supposed whereabouts were indicated on some rather depressing maps which G. [their sometime native companion] had annotated with this and similar information, in the same way mediaeval cartographers had inscribed 'Here be dragons' on the blank expanses of their productions." In any case, these maps proved unserviceable. Because of hostilities with China, Indian Defence Regulations of the time (1963) were so stringent that it was impossible to buy large-scale maps of India of any kind. (At any rate, many maps of the Ganges are unashamedly indecisive of its course owing to the shifting alluvial bed.)

Typically, arrangements that had been made in advance proved to be anything but arranged. The vessel intended to provide passage through the upper reaches of the Ganges was discovered to be in such a state of disrepair that use of it in a bathtub would have endangered lives. Attempts to procure another led Newby on an endeavour which he describes thus: "What we were doing in this instance was the equivalent in Britain of waking a fairly senior officer of the Metropolitan Water Board at a quarter to seven on a Winter's morning, in order to ask him to wake a yet more senior official and request the loan of a boat from one of the reservoirs in order to go down to Southend." Of course, the acquisition of another vessel appeased their troubles only momentarily.

The journey proper was fraught from the outset: "It is difficult to describe the emotions that one feels when one is aground on a twleve-hundred-mile boat journey within hailing distance of one's point of departure." When not stranded upon a shoal Newby is confounded by the various tributaries shooting off this way and that. About this he consults the only man in India worse off than he: "There was only one person to ask the way from, an old man sitting alone on the shingle, but he was not very helpful. 'I don't know where I am,' he said."

When defeated by such circumstances Newby must, to advance his journey, venture ashore and seek out assistance. This demands the infiltration of the interminable mores of Indian society, a kind of mystic bureaucracy under which the populace shuns reason in favour of the myriad allegorical incarnations of the pantheon of mythic figures. He says of making even the most innocent inquiry: "But I knew that this was not the kind of question that can be asked in India - it was too logical and would therefore cause grave offence." He shortly arrives at the conclusion: "In India it is possible to win every battle but the last one."

During such battles Newby often retreats to his arsenal of introductions, formal letters written by state officials and the like, the ace up the sleeve of the traveller at tether's end. Not surprisingly these missives of officialdom are met by the Indian everyman with bemusement or else total indifference. His choicest letter, that from the Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, is singled for particularly devastating apathy.

Newby's travelling companion, his wife, the long-suffering Wanda, is rendered something of an enigma in SLOWLY DOWN THE GANGES. Apart from delivering Newby from the dire gastric consequences of provincial Indian foods ("Wanda had produced [white radishes] artfully from a mysterious-looking bag.") her reason for being appears mostly to be for materialising at inopportune moments, usually the apex of some maddening asperity, in order to scorch the occasion with some withering remark. This surely had Newby tearing at his hair, but the narrative is infused with a rich vein of self-deprecating humour because of it. (Their courtship, which was borne of hardships much graver, is recounted in another of Newby's titles, 'LOVE AND WAR IN THE APINNENES')

Newby's own wit is deliciously dry. Unlike many contemporary travel writers he does not over-reach for a laugh or rely on out-and-out ridicule. However, his capacity for a descriptive turn of phrase is tested here. Certainly there are scapes that would arrest the senses of even the most impassive observer - shores lined with crazed sadhus and puja-devoted villagers, a river strewn with the pungent remnants of funerary pyres - but there is little variation on this theme for 1200 miles. And if the scenery is unchanging, then the characters - those folk along the way who lend a travel narrative its colour - are positively inanimate. Newby does admirably though, adroitly drawing from the cultural abyss the idiosyncrasies and personality interplay of guides and boatmen.

And so, his route may be fixed and his destination final, but Newby never fails to appreciate the telling advantage he holds over his grounded colleague: "The only consolation about being lost on a river is that if you go on downstream you are bound to arrive somewhere different, unlike being lost in a forest, where you are quite likely to end up where you started at the beginning of the day."

****1/2 stars.

(Contrary to what you may read, this book is anything but "insipid". Nor is it "lacking in prose, dialogue and structure." It, in fact, revels in them.)

Lance had sailed the seas and won the wenches ever since he was a lad, and no woman had ever resisted his masculine magnatism -- no one but the luscious, jet-haired Elise. He vowed to possess her for he was bewitched by THE CAPTAIN'S VIXEN.

I collect Grable memorabilia which is why I bought this book. A rather depressing book of poetry - can't say I would recommend buying the book.

Fancy knew Nicholas for a charming devil with a reputation for breaking hearts. Though he knew she was an innocent child unspoiled by desire or ambition, her soft yielding body urged him toward passion's flame, and he vowed to forever possess . . . ECSTASY'S FANCY

Nothing could match Andrea's rage when Gil thoroughly kissed her full trembling lips. She was of his enemy's family, but they were forever enslaved by their precious GOLDEN ECSTASY.

When Dominique consented to be the hostess for the high stakes poker game she didn't know that her lush body would be the prize -- or that the winner would be the impossibly handsome Jared Barlow whose fortune was to forever crave the GOLDEN GYPSY.

I was looking for a thoughtful guidebook on migrating back to small town life--but this wasn't it. The authors spend too much time smugly congratulating themselves just for having done what many do daily without trumpeting it about (returning home to help aging parents), and not enough on the issues the title would lead the reader to believe would be covered. In addition, I was surprised at the strong negative reaction I had to the authors themselves.

Move to a small town and help turn it into the place you moved from! Yes! Yet another book that seeks out unique places to live, encourages people to move there, which in turn helps to destroy what made them special in the first place. What happens when every place like this has been ruined?

The authors are a couple who lived in Los Angeles and moved to a town in North Carolina that has a population of around 7,000. They are both career writers, but also bought an apple orchard. They discuss issues like: Are you right for small-town life? Scouting a new location; calculating the costs; making the move; recasting your career; and making a place for yourself in your new community.

MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN has been a godsend for my husband and me, as we are planning on moving from Santa Barbara, California, in the next year. (We'd like to buy a home, and it's not going to happen here!) For people who have lived in medium to large cities their whole lives, this book gives a serious introduction to what's different in small towns, like decreased anonymity and increased expectations for community involvement. We learned some helpful ideas for choosing where to live and some new ways to think about making a living. Much of this information can be used by someone thinking of moving to a larger city, as well--one still has to scout locations, think about work, and move. This book is a must for anyone thinking about relocating.

(and now that we finally have moved to a town of 8,500 -- a town very unlike Southern California towns, thank goodness! -- we love it even more than expected)

Kimberly Borrowdale - Under the Covers Book Reviews

This booklet is nothing more than someone who lacks the insight to really understand the cultural, political, and spiritual aspects of black hair and hairlocking. HAIRLOCKING IS NOT A FAD! We have to explore why OUR people are afraid of wearing afros, cornrows, braids, and locks. The book needed to explore the holistic impact of hairlocking or natural hairstyles in general. This booklet is a signal that more SERIOUS research is needed into our culture BEYOND the Bible, Qur'an, and Torah

I purchased this book because i just recently decided to redread my hair. Having had dreads 5 years ago to my waist, i thought by purchasing this book i might gain some new techniques on dreading hair. The book reads like a 3rd grade primer, there are a number of grammatical and typographical errors. I am sorely disapointed, and angry, as i paid not only for this rubbish, but a shipping and handling charge that totaled almost the same amount as the book. I read a description of the book and it seemed exactly what i was looking for with illustrations included. the illustrations are poorly drawn and have nothing to do with the technique of starting dreadlocks. Wanda Johnson made out like a bandit with 155,000+ issues sold, but if you have not yet purchased this 35 page rip-off then save your money! AND IT IS NOT WORTHY OF EVEN 1 STAR...IF I COULD HAVE GIVEN IT A ZERO RATING, I WOULD HAVE!

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Despite Ms. Factor's disparaging review of Don Foster's literary detective work, I highly recommend his book "Author Unknown," which methodically explains why "Wanda Tinasky" could not be Pynchon.

Following reading Don Foster's Author Unknown, In Search of Anonymous & also being a Pynchon reader, I was intrigued to see the original letters & have a look at what caused the rumours. The A4 format of the book & cheap paper are a poor start. So too are the cloying sketches of a derelict with a shopping cart full of Pynchon's books. And the typeface is horrible too. It is clear from the way the book looks and feels that we are dealing with amateurs. The footnotes by TR Factor when not stating the obvious, are striking by their ignorance. Also the tone of desperation, citing the briefest moments in the letters and somehow correlating these to obscure & passing references in Pynchon's fiction, is absurd. However, if one can ignore all this and get to the meat of the text, you are left with the fine writing of a man with a mission to annoy & highlight the foolishness of Mendocino county residents such as the abominable Factor. I am retyping the text of the letters and trashing the book.

Yes, this book of letters has many literary and pop culture references but if Thomas Pynchon has denied authorship of these letters then shouldn't Pynchon devotees just accept that there is no ghost to be found here? Enjoy Mason & Dixon and his other fine novels and let Wanda enjoy her fifteen minutes.