VIRGINIA WOOLF by Nigel Nicolson departs from the template used by the Penguin Lives series so far as I've read down the list. It cannot claim that its subject exists in obscurity behind clouds of legend or of lack of existing documentation. Woolf was a public person in her life time, she left not only a respectable body of work but an extensive collection of letters, essays and journals. She has been the subject of substantial, well received biographies and is also featured prominently in profiles of Bloomsbury, the Hogarth Press and biographies of her contemporaries. This volume is also distinguished from others in the Penguin Lives Series in that it was written by the son of Woolf's female lover, Vita Sackville-West; in other words, someone close to the inner circle. Woolf belongs to the visitable past. The book remains, however, a fine member of the Series because of its skill in purveying the whole through a spritely revisiting of the significant passages in Woolf's life. Nicholson writes with warmth and holds forth his opinions in controversial areas, but he is impressively objective given his relationship with his subject and those closest to her. Nicolson manages to capture all the ambiguities of the woman, makes them comprehensible, honest and, sparingly, poignant.

In this "Penguin Life" Nigel Nicolson provides a balanced, affectionate and eloquent introduction to the life of Virginia Woolf. Nicolson provides us with the major events, the major players, the family background, and Bloomsbury. He also introduces the reader to some of the controversies (e.g., the extent and effect of her sexual abuse by her half-brothers.) The picture that emerges is one of a brilliant and complex woman -- difficult, loving, deeply insightful, wrong-headed, sympathetic, prickly, loyal, jealous, witty, snobbish, and liberal.

Nicholson is an editor of Woolf's letters and the son of Vita Sackville-West, with whom Virginia Woolf had an affair. Nicolson's having known and liked Virginia Woolf adds a personal touch without compromising objectivity.

While most of Virginia Woolf's biographers (with the possible exception of her nephew Quentin Bell) bond with their subject through her vivid diaries and fiction, Nicolson (Portrait of a Marriage), the son of Woolf's lover Vita Sackville-West, draws on family archives and first-hand experience for his brisk, dutiful biography. For the young Nicolson, Woolf first appeared as a lively and amusing visitor. Not yet famous, to Nicolson she was like "a favourite aunt who brightened our simple lives with unexpected questions." Visiting Vita's stately home, Woolf might ask the young Nigel, "What's it like to be a child?" by way of research for To the Lighthouse, or she might make up histories for unidentified ancestral portraits as background for Orlando, her love-letter fantasy to Vita. Such personal glimpses enliven Nicolson's respectful position between various, often hotly contended views of Woolf as writer, feminist and Bloomsburian. Despite his insider's knowledge, which is nonetheless welcome, Nicolson manages to offer an objective perspective on Woolf's parents and siblings and on her childhood and youth. He is, however, less sensational than was Quentin Bell on her mental illness and the notorious early episodes when one of her half brothers examined her genitalia and the other forced his affections on her. Nicolson filters Woolf's writing career through VitaÄand her opinions: she delighted in Orlando and was exasperated with the hyperbolic polemics of Three Guineas, the 1938 pacificist tract that was her penultimate work before her suicide. The world is no doubt weary of Woolf biographies, but this tidy and homely little introduction will sell to readers who may have been too intimidated by Woolf's modernist reputation to broach her life and work before.

I'm glad I didn't miss this book. So many literary works seem to contain some vengeance or spite, but this is the first work of criticism that I've come across which studies the constant of revenge across a number of authors.

The betrayals described in the book are extreme, and include a homosexual husband writing of his bride's "frigidity" while the two are still on their honeymoon. The book is not for the young or squeamish reader, as Desalvo describes in detail some bizarrely depraved acts committed by adults upon the chidren in their care. There were a few letters from an incestuous grandmother that I found quite disturbing, and would prefer to have skipped.

This is a type of book I never thought I would encounter - an absolutely captivating work of literary criticism. I couldn't put it down.

Woolf's first novel "Melymbrosia" was completed in 1912, but wasn't published until 1915 under the title "The Voyage Out". Louise DeSalvo has pieced together this first manuscript to offer the public a glimpse into the early creative mind of Woolf. Following the same basic plot as "The Voyage Out" (a young woman's journey to sexual and emotional awakening), "Melymbrosia" is much more frank in its portrayal of politics and sexuality (including homosexuality). Another difference is the raw and unpolished feel that this early draft contains. DeSalvo chose to retain some of Woolf's errors in this version, and while this doesn't necessarily detract from the story, it does make the reader wonder about their inclusion. "Melymbrosia" is a fascinating and powerful look into Virginia Woolf's early writing and life that conveys the passions she felt for all aspects of life, which she felt she needed to mute to some degrees in order to gain acceptance.

I came at this book from the Mansfield camp and a little exhausted by all of the stale comparisons between Mansfield and Woolf. However, Smith's work is full of well-researched and thoughtful analysis. It's an amazing study--particularly of Mansfield, I think--and one that belongs on the same shelf as Kaplan's KM & THE ORIGINS OF MODERNIST FICTION and Dunbar's RADICAL MANSFIELD. Essential reading for Mansfield scholars and fans alike.

I came at this book with an interest in Mansfield (and to a lesser extent Woolf) and was tired of the countless studies (chapters and essays) comapring the two. Needless to say, then, I approached this study with trepidation and assumed I would not think much of it. But what a surprise! Smith has done a terrific job with her research and has produced a study that towers over the others I've seen. The study smells of sweat and hard work. I put it alongside Sidney Janet Kaplan's and Patricia Dunbar's studies of Mansfield. It is one of the best.

The constant edification of authors reaches a sickening degree when their lives are marched out like so much cannon fodder. Are they interesting people? Undoubtedly. Worthy of print? Surely. Worthy of endless reams of print that never stops? You get the idea

Aesthetic Autobiography is a fascinating study of the transmutation of life fact into fiction. Nalbantian's basic premise is that one's fictionalization of one's own life reveals more about an individual than an individual's earnest attempt at self documentation by way of a "memoir." The first chapter is an analysis of autobiography proper; in the second chapter Nalbantian introduces theories of "aesthetic autobiography," and in the subsequent chapters she relates her model of a shared aesthetics to the giants of twentieth-century autobiography. For example, writers of aesthetic autobiography share a concentration on a place, a childhood memory, and a beloved family member. In additon, they each utilize a concrete element as an anchor in time. It is a very creative work, and any individual interested in the creative process, the transmuation of life fact into fiction, will find this study essential and illuminating.

What Shays did for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in *Achilles in Vietnam,* Dr. Jane Lilienfeld does for alcoholism in her new book, *Reading Alcoholisms.* Lilienfeld's book reviews some familiar works of English literature dating from the 19th and early 20th centuries through the lens of what we have come to know about alcoholism, both the "disease process" itself and its somewhat predictable effects upon alcoholics, their families, and others close to them. At the time the works Lilienfeld focuses upon were written, there was no body of alcoholism theory; nevertheless, the authors of these works reproduced in painful detail what would later become familiar trajectories of personal and familial decline. One of the points Lilienfeld scores is to show that alcoholism as we understand it existed BEFORE we understood it. However crude and ineffective present treatments for them might be, alcoholism (and, by extension, other addictions) are hardly the iatrogenic diseases some occasionally claim. Lilienfeld allows her readers to think inductively about evidence in the texts. One might sometimes wish for her to validate our thinking by drawing more conclusions for us. But that's a small gripe. This is a fine book.

This book is so small, the Introduction, pp. xi-xxxii, by Hermione Lee (April 15, 2002), plus notes to p. xxxiv, (the truly scholarly pages substantiating the material which ought to be considered, now that an entire book, VIRGINIA WOOLF'S ART AND MANIC-DEPRESSIVE ILLNESS by Thomas Caramagno (University of California Press, 1992) covers the topic), have more paragraphs than the main text, which only has nine or ten, unless you count multiple breaks for lines of some poet on p. 20 and Rimbaud at the top of p. 21 as indicating some flight beyond the normal bounds of the paragraph in which "Incomprehensibility has an enormous power over us in illness, more legitimately perhaps than the upright will allow" (p. 21) expresses itself as a single sentence.

The sentences are what astounds. The first sentence is constructed like an erudite train to somewhere: "Considering how ..., how ..., how astonishing ..., what ..., what ..., what ..., how we go down into the pit of death ...--when we think of this, as we are so frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love and battle and jealousy among the prime themes of literature." (pp. 3-4). This hardly gives a firm foundation for those humorous moment when the primary reaction of anyone who is not in on the joke is: I think I'm going to be sick.

From its magnificent cover, to its brilliant and sensitive insights into the psychology of illness--being ill, being near someone who is ill, anticipating being ill or well again--this book is a jewel. I love the way it feels in my hands. I love the way my eyes roam over the pages. I love the way it feels beneath my pillow. I've given it to friends and they have given it to their friends. And I am so pleased that Paris Press--"beautiful and daring feminist books"--has reprinted it as Woolf and Vanessa Bell intended. Precious!

On Being Ill is a small masterpiece. This is a unique book--compassionate, intelligent, affirming, and comforting, both for the "healthy" among us, and those who have experienced illness. This is Woolf at her best: brilliant, daring, probing, and Hermione Lee's Introduction is a gem.

Also, for those of us who care about design, the book is a beauty, a work of art in itself.

Put this book among those most dear to you!

I have read many books about womens rights and I agree with many of them. But A Room of One's Own is the most despicable piece of literature that I have every read. Virginia Wolf was a sexest pig who only cared about the advancement of the female race in society. There is nothing wrong with advocating womens rights but Virgia Wolf went too far. I strongly desagree with anyone buying such a pitiful excuse of a essay. Wolf wrote two and a half page paragraphs which just went on and on.

Considering the context of this writing, I believe Virginia Woolf is not only competely on target for the early twentieth century, but she was also (apparently from reading the previous review) speaking to generations extending into the 21st century. When one states facts, an author's potential sexist opinions are not even an issue. In A Room of One's Own, Woolf described a historical pattern of facts, not a sexist opinion. Women as men's property was not a sexist propaganda ploy purported by Woolf; it is a fact, and Woolf deals with the corresponding consequences of such a fact in this revolutionary work.

Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe is neither the best nor the worst book I have ever read. I have long been a lover of classical language. As such, I am enchanted by the engaging rhythm of Defoe's words. His dialogue is charming as he uses a tongue and accent not much different from today's but far more elegant. The plot of the story, however, disappoints me. The story is wholly comprised of events, making it nothing more than a flowery timeline of one woman's life. For me, this odd combination of excellent language and mediocre plot makes for an ultimately readable yet slightly dissatisfying novel.

Moll Flanders is the story of one woman's struggle to avoid the plight of poverty in seventeenth-century England. Moll is born in Newgate prison and orphaned by her criminal mother. From there, she is taken in by a kindly woman and raised as a "gentlewoman," and thus her story begins. Moll's childhood innocence is quickly transformed as her life turns from that of a simple servant into that of a common prostitute. She soon learns that sex and marriage are merely tools for bartering with, and love is only worth its weight in gold. Eventually, Moll turns from prostitution to stealing in order to supplement her finances, and her life goes drastically downhill from there. Her story is littered with unresolved sin and shame, until one momentous event changes her entire outlook on life and on love and teaches her what it means to be righteous.

Ultimately, what sounds like an intriguing story line results only in one continuous stream of events. Defoe's style of writing, although nicely worded, is impersonal in that he includes very little about the thoughts and feelings of Moll. Everything the reader learns about the main character is derived entirely from the events that comprise her life. Although this is supposed to be Moll's story, she has no reaction to the world around her. She simply reiterates what actions she has taken on her journey through life and what the resulting consequences are for those actions. Though hardly imagined to be a complete imbecile, Moll has absolutely no thought. The only words that I hear spoken directly from her mouth to the reader are words of dialogue to another character. The banality of this style of literature is highly disappointing in my eyes.

I am also highly disappointed with the content of the story. Only the first few pages and the last few pages are void of any criminal or adulterous behavior. Every other page contains a perfect recollection of one sin after the other. Although the story claims that this unrelenting wickedness should be useful to deter other sinners, I find that the continuous stream practically drowns me with boredom. Eventually, I lose track of Moll's numerous husbands and her countless thieving exploits. Any time a reference is made to her past history, I am forced to flip through the pages to find the mentioned sin as I have gotten it confused with some other of a similar nature. By the end of the story, every adventure sounds the same and every man has the same amount of money. I would have liked to see more variety in these pages.

I would not discourage another person from reading this book, however. I would gladly recommend it to those who love classical language, for I find Daniel Defoe was a great author for the words he could write, not necessarily for the stories he could create. The language is beautiful and enticing, for that alone I would recommend the book. Keep track of events and people while reading, though, because everything starts to sound the same after awhile.

This book is about a woman, Moll Flanders, who was born in a prison and raised by a governess that brought her up as a "gentlewoman". ALthough her manners were that of a gentlewoman, circumstances led her to become a thief and a "whore" (her own term), and her spirit kept her in that trade until she re-lived her mother's fate.
It is hard to believe that this book is written by a man, for he knows female nature very well and looks very critically at the actions of men towards Moll. I would almost call this book feminist, although I don't like to use that term, since it makes men run from those books. I use that term very loosely, since it really does not go into any deeper feminst issues. This book is filled with adventures and is funny and witty, although its storyline is somewhat grim. I really wanted to give this book 3 1/2 stars because it left me wanting for more, not just at the end, but throughout. All events are described in very little detail, and I personally wanted to know more about Moll and other characters. Overall, I liked it because it managed to entertain me and because it's fast and short, it grabs your attention.