His (very) short stories span the years he spent wandering around in Zurich,Berlin,Biel and Berne (1896-1933) when he was transferred to a mental institution with a much disputed diagnosis of Schizophrenia. Walser's prose is a stroll at the borders of the society, viewing , admiring, mocking it, and finally refusing to be a part of it. His narrations are about ordinary things but are so profound and sweetly tragic that it leaves one almost stunned. He writes small truths which he called the true truths in a very astonishing, bold way. Many a times he ends his stories abruptly leaving one wondering not only about the story but the story teller himself. He is truly a sublime writer. Recommended to those who appreciate beauty in tragedy.

Walser is a magician of interiors that spiral into an incomprehensible, slightly threatening, but tenderly mysterious world. Follow his mind as it walks through his stories. Maintaining his stance of wide-eyed wonder on the margins of a world of sinister adult mediocrity which many of us strive daily to avoid (even as we're sentimentally attracted to it), he is a navigator scribbling out a map useful to all misfits and dreamers.

The Robber is a guidebook for disappearance, an endlessly tangential map of the transient ghostliness of the ever-elusive self written by a gentleman who has politely bid farewell and stepped outside of his person. It is a precious hoot. It is a picaresque series of tiptoes around a goblin-infested forest. It is a shared narcissistic prism. It is a suite of rapid motions that spins in place. It is a needling delight, a frustrating pleasure.

Dear Walser has pulled out of thin air a labyrinth constructed of air.

In review of writers far worthier than I, and contemporaneous of Walser: Robert Musil said: Walser writes as "an ice-skater executes his long curves & figures...these little endlessnesses waft over into the void...as in the hours between a suicide's decision and final act(1914). The most Illuminated of all assessors of literary greatness, Walter Benjamin said (admittedly of Walser's anti-fairy tales of himself in drag of Cinderella and Snow White): "Walser begins where the fairy-tale leaves off"(1929). But none has equaled what Elias Canetti wrote as late as 1978, with an angry unmercy for all critics who live off other writer's wounds: Walser is 'The most camouflaged of all writers (who) never formulates his motives...his work is an unflagging attempt at hushing his fear...and that is why it is sinister (the work, not the words)...as he escapes everywhere before too much fear gathers in him...in order to save himself...his experience with the 'struggle for existence' takes him into the only sphere where that struggle no longer exists: the madhouse, the monastery of modern times."
This is Robert 'Robber' Walser's last novel written before his grand finale of silence upon admittance unto the mad houses of final quietude. Beyond even the beautiful miracle of Rilke's Elegies or Bruno Schulz's phantastics, it's as if a Henri Rosseau painting were stepped in upon by lovingly devoted thieves who only want to live there a while...I recall Aleister Crowley's words speaking of a friend's madness: "It was if a man had stepped outside of himself to go on a long walk". That is what happened, so they say, 'Robber Walser' Did upon completing this holy novella in the poetic excesses of his Blakean view of the world where all's Holy. Intermingled as it is, with his own Dostoyevskian Doppelganger & fleeting doves of the Holy Ghost; in one of the most intimate of doubles Literature's ever known. Here in these pages whispers the secret treasure of a Robber, a writer, & a Walker, all centered around 'one singular man' name of Robert Walser. The watercolour on the cover is by his brother, Karl Walser, circa 1894; they were close as a Theo to a Vincent in our Robber's heart. This is the only known photograph of Walser's Robber, who reminds me of a cross betwix Billy the Kid & Peter Pan? We cannot spiritually afford to give the 'plot' away as Walser's words are all about Freedom from the bondage of one's inner demons, and therefore costs an unpronounceable price beyond even American currencys can purchase, amen. For those without the right amount of time to dedicate to All Walser wrote, I would refer them to the Quay Brothers film: 'Institute Benjamenta'---which is a rare species of film indeed to capture the dream world of our hero 'Jakob Von Gunten' in cinematic black-n-white exposure. Of Walser's supposed 'Mental InStability', (however undersimplified) I feel his suffering comprises a beautiful exception TO suffering; a rare species of 'beautiful suffering' had from his own Superbly Sound Sensitivity to Sensations a great many regrettables shall most likely never become aware of without the Romance of a Robber such as Walser's being born along inside us...on a romantic lark such as this carefully pocketed jeweled compass is sure to lead its thieves far, far away, to where 'Here Be Dragons' is writ on old incunabular maps. One merely has to read Walser, so unlike the multitude of unstable geniuses one need not make the sign of the cross to ward off the evil peering from inside so many ingenious but dangerously depressive works. Inside Walser's heartrending Romantic prose his ever-active eternal spirit takes on alarming fleshly precedence though still omnipotent enough to take over the world dressed in cool sunglasses shading that evil eye; in luminous gowns made of 'white magical' tissue paper, all the better equipped to wipe away tears at the same time as reading. The Robber respectfully bows deeply before all that's worthy of beauty, including every woman ever born so graceful a creature, A-men? Walser never screams but shouts out to greet every overcautious reader who dares to tread his pages lovingly; he never runs but walks at an amazingly quick-pace through literature, town & city, and of course, the vast countryside that replaced words for Walser to wander in; falling down dead one Christmas day in the snow; & as William H. Gass so poetically envisioned him at the end, falling down upon a field: "smoothly white as writing paper". There is nothing in this book a Robber would pawn without an excess of tears hot enough to scald the vision & heart from which they were taken, so innocently, out of boundless admiration & unrestrainable worship! If you read only one writer or one book in all of Earthly existence, let it be by Robert Walser, a humble man with an inborn pride of thieves; who takes from his own rich Heart and gives Poetic alms to those poorer in spirit or in need of fellow grievance, commiseration, companionship, or simple celebration before those horrid if 'entertaining thoughts of suicide' are finally exorcised from the Book of Life. Walser's books are integral in every first-aid literary kit for bandaging burnt souls and crushed spirits. Each sentence is like a shot of hot fiery spirits to chase away throats sore from yelling all the time, and at the ones they love sadly screaming the most. The subtle irony of each paragraph is stretched across the boards of Literary history to flatten out the riddles & wrinkles of a Kafkian love of cosmically-inclined intrigues & double meanings. The mystery is deep as a sea full of Leviathans; and Walser navigates straight through the groping tentacles of mythological monsters to purge the heart of all its fictions. He is, along with Hoffman, Goethe, Kleist, one of the Magical Immortals in the realm of Germanic & Romantic Phantastics. And without equal whence it comes to the one & only artistic pre-requisite of mine: Sincerity!

Although his novel "Jakob von Gunten" is a masterpiece, the maniacal genius of Walser is more easily discovered in his short fiction. If Kafka's vision is maddening and claustrophobic, Walser, who deals with a similar kind of surrealistic world, applies a lighter, more deftly playful touch. Sometimes, the puns and literary license Walser take can be willful and test a reader's patience, but the sheer force of his philosophy and world view contained in these miniaturist stories are awe-inspiring, and are on par with the delirious vision of Kafka. Walser is a kind of a writer who can turn from anger to unbearable tenderness within a sentence. Many of these stories will move you and frustrate you at the same time, but all the risks he takes are still, and I suspect always will be, thrillingly modern and relevant. I only wish his excellent reworkings of fairy tales (I'm thinking especially of 'Snow White') could have been included in this volume. Walser has been neglected for far too long, and the longer his work languishes in obscurity, the world is that much more at a loss.

This is a collection of some great sad stories. They're not for everyone, however. I've noticed I have to be in the right mood to read them; otherwise I might reread a story I really liked and not understand the point in it at all. They're mostly stories about alienated characters, like the stork who is in love with the hedgehog and pines away like a hunger artist, while the hedgehog, lowly as it feels itself to be, refuses to feel anything but contempt. Or the man with the pumpkin head who wanted to be number one, and ends up with a broken heart and a burned out candle stump in his head. I'm not doing justice to these stories in this review, and unfortunately I don't have a copy with me right now to make myself clearer. The situations in the stories are absurd, and they're told with such strong, clear emotion and sympathy for the characters! You find yourself understanding and sympathizing with the characters, and for the writer who found such a unique way to express himself. The best of these stories are heartbreaking and you will relate perfectly to them, assuming you're in that lonely and nihilistic mood. (Kafka was supposedly heavily influenced by the writings of Walser.)

In 1910, Franz Kafka began writing his journals. This was one year after the publication in Germany of Robert Walser's eccentric little novel, "Jakob von Gunten". The fact is worth noting because Kafka had read Walser and liked his writing, writing which can be characterized as "Kafkaesque" even though it preceded the publication of Kafka's work by several years. The resemblances between Walser and Kafka-- in sensibility, in prose style, in eccentricity of thought and syntax--are remarkable.

"Jakob von Gunten" is the first person journal of a student at the Benjamenta Institute, a school for butlers in an unidentified city. In young Jakob's words, "one learns very little here, there is a shortage of teachers, and none of us boys of the Benjamenta Institute will come to anything, that is we shall all be something very small and subordinate later in life."

The Institute is run by Herr Benjamenta and all classes are taught by his sister, Fraulein Lisa Benajamenta. There are no other teachers, all of the others being either "asleep, or they are dead, or seemingly dead, or they are fossilized." It is a narrowly circumscribed world full of students who are enchanted with the most mundane and trivial matters. But it is also a mysterious world, a world alienated from reality, a dreamlike projection of Jakob's mind expressed in the concrete language of the real. "The Benjamentas are secluded in the inner chambers and in the classroom there's an emptiness, an emptiness that almost sickens one."

Humorous and absurd, disturbing and, at times, childlike in its simplicity, "Jakob von Gunten" is the work of an undeservedly obscure master of modern prose. Thus, Christopher Middleton, the translator, in his fascinating and useful introduction, describes Walser as "in significant ways untutored, something of a primitive." More precisely, Middleton notes that Walser's prose "can display the essential luminous naivete of an artist who creates as if self-reflection were not a barred door but a bridge of light to the real." It is, in other words, prose which seeks to rewrite the "real" in the distorted image of the narrator's mind, making simple descriptions of mundane experience absurd. It is Kafkaesque writing before the advent of Kafka, a diminutive precursor of the Master of Prague.

Any true lover of literature will love Walser. The only complaint that can possibly be made is the poor paper quality of this edition of this book. The publisher should re-print.

Jacob is a young man attending a bizarre school to train servants (butlers) for upper class families. We are never certain if it is the school that is so odd or Jacob. He decides the other teachers "either do not exist, of they are still asleep, or they seem to have forgotten their profession" for the teaching responsibilities are taken solely by Herr Benjamenta or his dying sister Fraulein Benamenta.

This slim novel is Jacob's soliloquy to us. He is charming, buoyant, perhaps mad, and never intimidated. He reflects upon himself, his fellow students, his family and the Benjamentas with interest, sympathy, and occasional sadness.

Even when Jacob is frightened (rarely), he is intrigued and fascinated at what is happening to and around him, as when he incurs the ire of Herr Benjamenta:

"I'm writing this in a hurry. I'm trembling all over. There are lights dancing and flickering before my eyes. Something terrible has happened, seems to have happened, I hardly know what it was. Herr Benjamenta has had a fit and tried to-strangle me. Is this true? I can't think straight; I can't say what happened is true. But I'm so upset it must be true-"

I ended this novel very fond of Jacob. I know I will find him unforgettable. I believe the translation must be very good as the prose is fluid with Jacob's idiosyncrasies of speech intact. Highly recommended.

An excellent supplement to narrative or recorded jazz histories. Organized chronologically, the collection of readings is quite easy to read and offers a variety of viewpoints (musicians, interviews, critical essays, reviews, etc.) that highlight major attitudes and trends in jazz history. Walser begins each article with a brief but excellent introduction that locates each reading historically and elucidates the important critical questions that the reading poses, all without ever sounding preachy. (I only give 4 stars simply because it's a collection of older writings; for what it is, it's great.)

While a student in Professor Walser's Jazz class at UCLA, I was one of several students lucky enough to have read every chapter before it made it to press. Every chapter was like a time machine, transporting us back in time to an era where racism and sexism took a toll on some musicians while only strengthening the resolve of others. This book was, at the time, one of the best readings I had done in a long time. In reading direct quotes from the greats of music, you couldn't help but feel a bit inspired. "Keeping in Time" is a gem and should be assigned reading to anyone studying jazz or just wanting to learn more about the many performers who played or sang that one song you liked differently. Professor Walser certainly knows his subject matter well. And in my case, he certainly excelled in the one thing he likes to do: teach.

As many people in the general populus consider Heavy Metal as more entertainment than art, this book tends to bring to light more of the social & artful aspects of the music. As the title suggests, there's much to do with sociological issues of power, gender, and emotional views. But there was also a large undercurrent of the musical talent and influences of those who make H.M. music. Moreover, the view that H.M. is/not dominantly popular due to lyrical content alone was another interesting topic discussed (among other topics). It is true that some of the topics lack the proper explaination they ought, but for the most part, the details given are good & helpful. If you are a musician, this is a MUST HAVE book! For those trying to understand H.M. (parents, teachers, etc) - open your mind and open this book. Includes indepth looks at musical styles of: Eddie Van Halen, Randy Rhodes, and others.

Walser attempts to cover too much ground in this book. Still his treatments of gender and madness as content of Heavy Metal lyrics are worthwhile. He covers music and some imagery; these tend to distract from his central ideas rather than add. Yet, this may be the academic reference book on HM that others are judged by, simply because it has primacy and is comprehensive. It was a needed work in the field. A major criticism is that he does not adequately account for the various sub-genres of the music.

This is one of the best books about popular music I have read. First of all, Walser avoids cliches: he is good at interpretation, and like all people who are good at interpretation he checks his ideas against the ideas that people who make and listen to the music have. PMRC supporters watch out. Second, he knows what he is talking about: the analysis is grounded in a good understanding of musicology, social theory, literary theory and evidence. So when he tells us where heavy metal "fits," we can believe him. All this, of course, is aside from the question of the reader or anybody else "likes" the music or not. As a model of how to do context-informed analysis of a genre, it rocks.

There's nothing scarey about these ghost stories. The illustrations by Gorey are great. Gorey fans will love them, but not the text.

This is one of the most interesting books I've read of late, I must say. It's a collection of short fiction from the turn of the last century, writer Edward Gorey's favorites, and they range from odd to downright spooky. It begins with explorers in a haunted house, and over 250 pages manages to cover much of the breadth of late Victorian English ghost stories.

Each tale is definitely unique. A couple involve haunted houses, some demons from hell, mysterious magic, ancient curses, strange events, and normal humans on the underbelly of society, afflicted with a dose of the supernatural. There are both long ones, nearly novellas, and more succinct pieces. None are truly gruesome or horrifying, with the exception of "The Body-Snatcher", but rare are the pages that will not send chills down your spine. These writers were the masters of their times, thrilling audiences from newspapers and bookstands. These are tales to be told in the cover of darkness, where the shadow takes firm grip upon the soul of the unwary, tales to be told aloud, for the chuckle and boom of a voice will bring their ghosts to life.

To those who would enjoy such tales, and I believe that includes a very wide range, this book is probably one of the best samplers of the genre, a solid footstep from which more can be found. Certainly several of the authors I've already sought out more from. At least some of the stories are bound to appeal to almost anyone, especially on a foggy night around a fireplace. Some are better than anything I've ever read from Stephen King and other modern dealers of this type. Not to mention that I simply enjoyed the archaic dialect of these, being a fan of the old styles. You will not regret picking this book up, as it so forcefully captures the imagination. Not all so captured me, but as I said, variety is the key here, and something is bound to appeal to everyone.

My personal favorites were probably Harvey's "August Heat" and James' "Casting the Runes", on opposite ends of the book, nicely pulling me in and leading me out. "Heat" is short, sweltering, and eerie, ending in such a way that is simply too powerful; "Runes" about a the thrilling unraveling of a mystery surrounding a warlock who hexed a man. "The Thirteenth Tree" is perhaps not the most exciting, but definitely is mysterious. The title of "A Visitor From Down Under" has a double meaning, and the story embodies the psychadelia and madness of the period. Rats both haunt and protect a university student in "The Judges House", but little can stop the real horror that lives there. In "The Monkey's Paw" one wish brings ruin on a family, and a second used in desperation seems to bode more... "The Empty House" casts its siren call over an old woman, who brings her nephew in only to witness an invisible murder. The namesake of "The Signalman" has some ability to see future accidents. And in the bloody "Body-Snatcher", medical college students must take criminal steps to ensure a supply of cadavers, until one turns on them.

I bought my copy of, The Haunted Looking Glass, when it was first published in 1959. I still read out of it but the pages are brittle and yellowed. As a teacher I recommended it to my kids for halloween reading and they managed to find hardbound copies for 5 bucks each and they devoured it just as I did. Edward Gorey published several books under the "Looking Glass Library" label and I regret not buying them up. It is a collection of pretty strong ghost stories that provide a good start for a young ghost story reader. It is also a set of ghost story classics that belongs on the shelf of any genre collector. Many of the stories such as W.F. Harvey's, "August Heat," are frequently anthologized but some like E. Nesbit's, "Man Sized in Marble," are rare and truely eerie. I am sorry that the new edition of The Haunted Looking Glass was not was not printed in hardback. My copy crumbles a little every time I touch it and with Halloween coming it has stories that beg to be read. Savor M. R. James' "Casting the Runes" and experience the three-wish-curse formula in W.W. Jacob's, "The Monkey's Paw."

Small makes a few valid points, but he seems too closed-minded. He critizes Western music too much and sometimes his arguments are just plain stupid.

Anyone with an interest in the emergence of Avant-Garde in Western classical music should read this book. Those with general interests in music -- in rock or jazz or "world" -- should also pick it up. Small's well-argued points about Western ideals and preconceptions of music -- especially its limitations -- are compelling. A classic in music scholarship!