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I actually chose to read this book for a class paper on great American journalists. I had a hard time convincing my professor that Harry was indeed a journalist and not simply an entertainer. After thoroughly enjoying this book, I think I convinced the prof - I got a 99% on the paper.
If you have a love for the game of baseball, you will surely find this book entertaining. As someone now in sports communications with a professional baseball team, I recommend this book to all my co-workers. It's a great way to learn about aspects of the game that most fans would never know about - and it's about a guy everyone feels they already know.
Perhaps one of the most disappointing things about biographies is that they somehow tarnish the memory or reputation of the book's subject. This book will simply make you love Harry even more.
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The characterizations are exquisite. The beauteous earth mother Ximena Del Rio makes a radiant heroine. It's a shame she comes on only after we get through the first hundred twenty some pages. A major weakness in the story. She gives it its greatest warmth. She is the strongest character.
Virgil's crime scenario is intriguing. Hard to believe we could come up with a new way to kill somebody but this might be it.
The men seem to cry a lot when they're not out on sorties destroying life and property. It's comforting to contemplate even terrorists have a tender side.
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The scene where the priest puts the dagger against Virgil's face, the spores infecting his nostrils, and Ximena bringing her face down upon his hands about the kitten, his awareness of her having shed the single tear - and then her throwing back her head to reveal only laughter- is masterful.
The zen-ambiance blends effectively with the raunchiness of the situations. It touches all bases. It's a big story. Given a lesser range of language skills, it would come out like oil and water,
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Commentary re "A CAT'S FULL NINE?"
No, re "IVANHOE" written by Sir Walter Scott in the early 1800s. Read in middle school in England, and enjoyed to the max as I did and do enjoy reading about superbeautiful women. I wonder if you've guessed, I'm one myself.
I'm a big girl now with adult tastes and the world of Rowena and Rebecca comes out far too pristine. But not that of the two contemporary beauties of CAT'S, Pola and Ximena. Abstractly polarizing wickedness and virtue, they bring over to this side of the diaphany that cordons them away from our reality the concept of beauty as weapons toward those ends.
Besides the women I recall very little about IVANHOE except despite some hype about "a thunderous climax" it did end in a way that was logical. Likewise CAT'S, for all its wild mindtrips that push the envelope, given the mesh of circumstances and personalities, it comes to rest fully inside the limits of probability.
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List price: $23.95 (that's 30% off!)
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Furthermore and far worse, Barra makes several factual errors in Clearing the Bases. In his misguided attempt to tear Babe Babe Ruth down, he incorrectly states that Ruth benefited from good homerun parks in Boston and New York. This is absolutely false. One thing Barra didn't learn from Bill James: Fenway Park in 1919 was a very tough homerun park. Ruth hit 20 of his 29 homers on the road. For his career Ruth had more homers on the road. I sent the author an e-mail informing him of this fact, which he has not acknowledged. Another misstatement occurs in the Lefty Grove section. Barra says that Grove missed time in 1934 because Connie Mack was overusing him. That would have been unlikely, since Grove was traded to Boston before the season and wasn't being coached by Mack that year. Barra can do better and I hope he will try again. Don't waste your time and money on this book.
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It is a joy to look back at the circumstances that led us to believe what we understand to be the total picture of fact. While I don't neccesarily agree with all that Barra points to in his own reconciliation, I found myself wound up like a pretzel trying to accomodate my own beliefs on numorous occasions within the pages of "Clearing The Bases".
Following the pattern of his "That's Not the Way it Was" volume, he has outdone himself with this new set of chapters debunking the myths of sports legends. This book is a must read for anyone interested not only in Baseball, but sports of any kind. It is one of the most thought provoking, intriguing books I have read in many years.
Thank you Allen, for a re-energizing look into the greats of the game!
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Used price: $31.87
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My advice? Get your general knowledge from a guide like Fodor's, skip the inevitably dated and "fluffy" guidebooks to retirement, come to Costa Rica and attend a "warts and all" newcomers seminar sponsored by the Costa Rican Resident's Association (the best bit of information in Mr. Howard's book), and wait for the next and more accurate edition of The Golden Door to emerge.
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The book involves the adventure of Senhor Jose, a low-level functionary in a state bureaucrat of The Central Registry of Births, Marriages and Deaths. Senhor Jose, who lives in a meager house attached to the Registry, becomes obsessed with collecting the birth records of "famous" individuals, and thus begins a series of midnight excursions into the Registry. One night, along with the celebrity birth records, he stantches a copy of an ordinary woman's birth certificate, and quickly begins a compulsive quest to learn the details of the woman's life.
This book is ripping good to read, yet does not meet the standards of Saramago's earlier works (especially ripe for comparison is The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis). In Ricardo Reis, Saramago focused on issues of personal identity by ingeniously having a pseudonym communicate with a dead poet, all the while exploring the poetic notion that "I am innumerable people". All the Names explores the same theme far more heavy handedly: instead of a brilliant poetic vehicle, or a clever plot construct, Saramago here explores identity through the rather hackneyed device of anonymity and obscurity (a sort of long-winded Kafka, if you will). And this is generally the case--All the Names is far less original a work than Saramago's early novels, and far more dependent on modernist European literature.
Again, this is not to say this is a bad read. Anybody who enjoyed Saramago's other novels should be sure to check out this Kafkaesque, Borgesesque dark wonder. However, if you expect a second Ricardo Reis (or Blindness for that matter), you will probably be disappointed.
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In contrast to the main character in Saramago's earlier "The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis," who is dead but doesn't know it, Senhor Jose is alive but doesn't know it. And unlike his earlier works in which fate seems to hold all the cards, in "All the Names" Saramago lets chance (serendipity) guide the story. It begins, almost as a reward for a tiny bit of daring, when Senhor Jose sneaks into his work place to get some more information about famous people for his collection and discovers, stuck to one of the records he was looking for, a misfiled record for a woman (another un-famous, unknown). Unbeknownst to him at the time, it will be the question posed by this simple piece of paper (Who is she?) that brings Senhor Jose "back from the dead." Skillfully, Saramago uses the same question to draw in his readers, and it is some time before he begins to let on that maybe this "unknown woman" is more important as a metaphor for what has become of Senhor Jose's spirit - his willingness to engage in life - than as some real woman he will eventually find. In the end, it is the search itself that eventually leads Senhor Jose to discover that what makes life worth living is never so dead that it can't be resurrected.
There is a shift in "quality" (character) between this book and Saramago's earlier ones. "All the Names" is not about politics, history or culture; it is focused on the psychology and spirit of the human experience. Saramago is such a brilliant observer of the inner life. His ability to write from within his characters (as opposed to about them), while clear in his earlier works, is taken to a new level in "All the Names." The many occasions in which Saramago lets us know what Senhor Jose is thinking (be it silly or sublime, ridiculous or profound) are written so well that it is hard not to feel that you know this character as well as you know yourself.
It is significant that Saramago never says where the story takes place and he gives no one but the main character a name -- and it could be Mr. Smith or John Doe for all it matters. Although Saramago has written this book as if it were about "someone in some place," what he has created is in fact a story for anyone in any place, even you in your place. There is a more than a little Senhor Jose in all of us.
(A note for those who are new to Saramago's writing): Saramago's writing style is, I think, an acquired taste. He has little regard for punctuation and slips easily into "stream of conscious" wanderings (more accurately, what appear to be wanderings but eventually add to the whole experience -- like unexpected dashes of some spice that no on one in their right mind would think of using but everyone would miss come dinner time had they been omitted). If I could claim to know a universally fool proof method for reading Saramago it would be this: sometimes you have to listen to the reading voice in your head as if it were someone reading the story to you aloud. As Saramago was blessed with a grandfather who would stay up at night telling him about life (and all the stories that entails), I think that his writing voice can be attributed to (and is a tribute to) his grandfather's speaking voice.
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On the other hand, the authors tend to overstate their case by being very repetitive, and they don't need to. The material is so provocative, it doesn't need rehashing ad nauseum. Additionally, the countless typos are a huge distraction. Taken together, the repetitiveness and the typos undermined what could be a very open and shut case.
Nonetheless, it's a well-conceived work, and solidly grounded in common sense. You won't find any fantastic, Von Daniken-esque intergalactic flights of fancy here. If ever there was a case for Occam's Razor in the case for, rather than against Atlantis, this would be it.
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