English Classics Books

This is NOT an adventure story, like "Lord of the Rings" or "the Hobbit"; nor even a compendium of stories and myths, like "the Silmarillion." It is from Tolkien's main work of linguistic study in the Dark Ages, gleaning a bit of insight from a few scraps of language and a lot of guesswork. It is really only for those working in Old English, or the Anglo-Saxon culture, or closely related fields. It is probably very good in that context; I haven't the background to say; but it is nothing like Tolkien's popular works, and anyone looking for something of that sort should seek elsewhere.

Alan Bliss's Introduction to Old English Metre first appeared in justified 12-pitch Courier back in '76 and remains the standard study on the subject. In Finn and Hengest, Bliss is somewhat more than an editor and Tolkien somewhat less than an author. According to Bliss's preface, his having given a paper on the implications of historical comparison between Beowulf and the Finnsburg fragment, he was advised that Tolkien had anticipated his conclusions decades before, and he then proceeded to get permission to edit Tolkien's lecture notes on the topic, which were in various states of development.

What results, though bound to be tough sledding for all but the very most scholarly of readers, is a window on a past that is far more remote from our contemporary situation than imperial Rome or 5th-century Athens, even though less distant in time: namely, the period immediately preceding the Anglo-Saxon invasion of Britain. This was a time of blood feuds between pagan proto-Viking tribes in the wake of the Roman's empire's all-but-forgotten withdrawal from northern Europe, a time when noble ideals could result in bestial atrocities, from which in turn could result tragedies that Aeschylus might have telescoped for the dramatic stage.

Which is not to say that what emerges from a close reading is presented in this way. These are classroom lecture notes, which assume a working knowledge of Old English and a general knowledge of its surviving written records, literary and prosaic (not that this is a hard-and-fast distinction in the surviving Old English documents from our present-day perspective). Nevertheless, what emerges is none the less affecting for the lack of melodramatic treatment, which would only distort and misrepresent the actual lives that were lived and remembered more than a millennium and a half ago, in the northwest corner of the European mainland which now comprises Denmark, Holland, Belgium and parts of Germany and France; nor do the scholarly technicalities detract from realization of the fragility of our links with people whose struggle for gentility in the midst of savagery differed from our own not in kind but only as a matter of degree.

And yet, if we can find our way to a sense of familial kinship with these stiff-necked, fur-clad barbarians, how should we despair of understanding each other?

For all of you Middle Earth fans, the appendices in "The Lord of the Rings" were just games. This is the real thing.

Tolkien was a heavyweight scholar before he published a word of fiction. In his admittedly narrow academic circle, he was a famous man before ever there was a Hobbit. This book is based on lectures delivered by Tolkien over a period of years. Tolkien being Tolkien, he never got around to publishing them and he never stayed his hand from making changes. They have been deciphered, collated and edited into coherent form by a younger man, Alan Bliss, no mean feat of scholarship in itself.

The Dark Age was not entirely dark, nor were the Germanic barbarians wholly devoid of culture. Beyond a shadow of doubt, they possessed full-scale epics and many shorter heroic songs and lays. Many were gathered together by Alcuin, the great Anglo-Saxon scholar imported into the court of Charlemagne. When the mighty emperor died, he was succeeded by his son, then known as Louis the Debonaire, but more accurately called Louis the Pious by later generations. When Louis came in, out went his father's mistresses and his secular books. "What has Ingeld [an epic hero mentioned in Beowulf] to do with Christ?" asked Alcuin, now an enthusiastic book burner.

In our time, just one full-scale Germanic epic survives, Beowulf--and that clung to life in only a single copy. A pitifully few fragments of another large-scale poem, Waldhere, the epic of Walter of Aquitaine's conflict with his best friend and direst enemy, Hagen the Niblung, were found in the binding of an old book. Tolkien's book deals with a third epic story, the tale of Hengest, a hero who is caught in a particularly nasty moral dilemma. He had not only survived the death in battle of Hnaef, his prince, a dicey enough thing by the standards of his heroic age, but he had reached a truce with the foreign king who had killed Hnaef. The epic question was "What does a noble warrior do next?" The question was so interesting to the warrior society of Germanic barbarism, that two versions of the tale survive. One is a longish poem-within-a-poem quoted in Beowulf and the other is a tiny fragment of the whole epic, the episode that leads up to death of Prince Hnaef.

The tale was obviously so well known that neither the Beowulf poet nor the unknown skald of the Fragment felt it necessary to explain anything. Tolkien's literary goal was to extract as much sense out of his intractable materials as he could and to attempt reconstruction of the original story.

In addition to that, there is a historic question. Heroic epics are not necessarily tall tales of pure fiction. Hygelac, Beowulf's king, is a quite historical character. A contemporary monkish chronicler in Latin fully agrees with the Anglo-Saxon epic poet that Hygelac died in a disastrous raid on the Frisian Islands fairly close to 520 A.D. Beowulf, Hygelac's henchman and successor, heard of Hengest's dilemma as an old story, something from at least two or three generation earlier. Now, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that one Hengest, who led the wave of Anglo-Saxon invaders and died as King of Kent, landed on British soil in 449 A.D. Were the two Hengests the same man? The times seem to coincide, and there is no other Hengest on surviving record. Could a warrior named Hengest, likely an Angle, so thoroughly have blotted his copybook by outliving his prince that there was no place left for him in German lands? Was he forced to carve out his own new kingdom in Britain?

Read this book and then return to Middle Earth. Compare Tolkien's warrior princes with the originals on whom they were based. Revisit those appendices to "The Lord of the Rings" and compare the caricature of scholarship with the real thing.

For those who can brave the trip, five stars.

Alan Bliss's Introduction to Old English Metre first appeared in justified 12-pitch Courier back in '76 and remains the standard study on the subject. In Finn and Hengest, Bliss is somewhat more than an editor and Tolkien somewhat less than an author. According to Bliss's preface, his having given a paper on the implications of historical comparison between Beowulf and the Finnsburg fragment, he was advised that Tolkien had anticipated his conclusions decades before, and he then proceeded to get permission to edit Tolkien's lecture notes on the topic, which were in various states of development.

What results, though bound to be tough sledding for all but the very most scholarly of readers, is a window on a past that is far more remote from our contemporary situation than imperial Rome or 5th-century Athens, even though less distant in time: namely, the period immediately preceding the Anglo-Saxon invasion of Britain. This was a time of blood feuds between pagan proto-Viking tribes in the wake of the Roman's empire's all-but-forgotten withdrawal from northern Europe, a time when noble ideals could result in bestial atrocities, from which in turn could result tragedies that Aeschylus might have telescoped for the dramatic stage.

Which is not to say that what emerges from a close reading is presented in this way. These are classroom lecture notes, which assume a working knowledge of Old English and a general knowledge of its surviving written records, literary and prosaic (not that this is a hard-and-fast distinction in the surviving Old English documents from our present-day perspective). Nevertheless, what emerges is none the less affecting for the lack of melodramatic treatment, which would only distort and misrepresent the actual lives that were lived and remembered more than a millennium and a half ago, in the northwest corner of the European mainland which now comprises Denmark, Holland, Belgium and parts of Germany and France; nor do the scholarly technicalities detract from realization of the fragility of our links with people whose struggle for gentility in the midst of savagery differed from our own not in kind but only as a matter of degree.

And yet, if we can find our way to a sense of familial kinship with these stiff-necked, fur-clad barbarians, how should we despair of understanding each other?

Rather predictably, the first play offered here is "A Doll's House", the most famous of Ibsen's works. Strangely enough, this ended up NOT being my favorite of the four plays provided in this small collection, but I'll get to that in a moment. Next we have "Ghosts", "Hedda Gabler", and finally "The Master Builder".

"A Doll's House", 86 pages long, is also provided here with the alternate German ending. The ending was deemed so scandalous that Ibsen was forced to write up another ending, in which things go slightly differently. "A Doll's House", a play about a woman who rather does the unthinkable (in that time, at least) to help her husband and then once again to herself, is remarkably interesting. Ibsen plays are generally extremely fun to analyze, simply because there's always something there. Nobody would read dull plays, after all. The alternate ending provided is actually the most interesting part of all. It shows us what the impact of this play was on society at the time that it came out. Perhaps we find these things somewhat more "normal" (though they're actually not, and are still considered rather scandalous) and acceptable, so this ending really reminds us of WHY this play was so impressive and WHY Ibsen was such a strange character for his time. An intriguing play, though not my favorite.

No, that falls to "Ghosts". A play that once again touches on difficult subjects that are most intriguing, "Ghosts" chilled me from beginning to end. It was a more interesting play, overall, because it seemed to me more human. That's not to say that "A Doll's House" wasn't human (it definitely is), but there was something about "Ghosts" that touched me more than the other plays. At 73-pages and with fewer characters, "Ghosts" is an easier play to really read, and certainly an enjoyable one.

"Hedda Gabler" changes things a bit. The plot suddenly becomes a bit more interesting with a touch more mystery and intrigue. There are moments that positively creeped me out ("I'm burning your child") and moments where I just shivered. The ending is a bit more intense than in the previous plays, though less surprising. The play felt very different from "Ghosts" or "A Doll's House", though it was still clearly an Ibsen "morbid but interesting" play.

For me, "The Master Builder" is the odd play out. It's the one that, a. Bored me the most, b. Seemed to take the longest (though only barely longer than "A Doll's House, at 88 pages, and shorter than the 97-paged long "Hedda Gabler"), and c. Seemed the least realistic. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the ending wouldn't seem to work on stage. I felt like at some point Ibsen kind of forgot that he was writing a play and mentioned things that wouldn't really work (unless they have a complex blue screen, but those didn't exist in his time...). There are ways around it, certainly, and it's a minor flaw, but I found that "The Master Building" just didn't have that spark that the other plays seemed to have. No, it's not a BAD play, but it's not my favorite among these either.

While there are many options out there for buying Ibsen plays, this one is certainly a good buy. While the Signet edition also gives us four plays for a few dollars cheaper, instead of the incredible "Ghosts", we get the reasonable "The Wild Duck". For those few dollars, I'd opt for "Ghosts". Also, the book type itself is better in this edition as opposed to the Signet Classics one.

Highly recommended to anyone interesting in a good play to analyze and enjoy. Enjoy!

it was an older book, but it was in good shape. good plays too.

James McFarlane's and Jens Arup's translations of Ibsen have long been classics and are arguably the best. Although they were published in England almost forty years ago, they still sound remarkably fresh and will be in print for many years to come.

In "A Doll's House" (1879), Ibsen casts us into the world of Nora Helmer, a young Norwegian housewife and Nordic Madame Bovary. Highlighting the restricted position of women in male-dominated society, the play sparked such an uproar in Scandinavia when it appeared that "many a social invitation during that winter bore the words: 'You are requested not to mention Ibsen's Doll's House!'" In fact, Hedwig Niemann-Raabe, the actress who was to play Nora on tour in Germany, was so appalled at the ending of this play -- at this female "monster" -- that she demanded Ibsen write an alternative one in German, which he did (a "barbaric outrage", in his words). McFarlane has appended this German-language ending (and a translation in English).

Based on the theme, "The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children," "Ghosts" (1881) is one of Ibsen's most riveting plays. Like "A Doll's House", it, too, was denounced on its début ("crapulous stuff", "an open drain", one London reviewer called it -- certainly a Victorian exaggeration). As in most of his plays, Ibsen probes the hypocrisies of patriarchal society, which he deems to be rotten at its core, and stultifying provincial life ("Doesn't the sun ever shine here?"). Typically, he also casts women in a favorable light.

"A Doll's House" and "Ghosts" established Ibsen's reputation as one of the finest playwrights in Europe, but his next two plays -- "Hedda Gabler" (1890) and "The Master Builder" (1892) -- gave him undisputed international fame. As McFarlane points out, the 1890s "were the years when the publication of a new Ibsen play sent profound cultural reverberations throughout Europe and the world." "Hedda Gabler" marks Ibsen's shift away from highly controversial dramas primarily concerned with social and sexual injustice to "domestic" plays that addressed the struggle of individuals to control each other, people who "want to control the world, but cannot control [themselves]." "Hedda Gabler" is a thoroughly electrifying drama about a married woman's devouring sense of decay and confinement. "The Master Builder", which Ibsen coupled with "Hedda Gabler", is his riveting look into sexual potency and the domination of youth by age.

These plays are not as dark and dirty as they might seem. Whatever reviewers may have said about them when they came out and whatever gloomy stuff psychiatrists have written about them since, if you're at all familiar with prime-time television, they won't offend you -- in fact, you probably wont even lift an eyebrow. Still, I found myself glued to them for hours and I've read them before. Find a copy for your shelf!

Actually, I've only read two of these plays before but I did
want to list the names of the four included in this volume:

A Doll's House;
Ghosts;
Hedda Gabler;
The Master Builder.

Masterful social drama (to sound like a back-of-the-book blurb).
Seriously though, Ibsen's plays are wonderful.

I am a true lover of the work of Pablo Neruda and have perused many
translated works of the famous Chilean poet.
Stephen Mitchell's translations are by far the most eloquent I have found. I feel they best convey the many moods of Pablo Neruda. The writer is able to capture the most intense feelings in the poet's writing better than any I have read. Thank you Stephen Mitchell.

This is a lovely translation, but then I think of them all as good. There is no comparison for me to any other poet. Keep this or any of his books near your bed to understand the earth, sea, mountains, love, stones, earth, grace, redemption, cats, neighbors, friends, etc. The depth and breadth is expansive and this is a "sweet" book.

Having been interested in Neruda since seeing the movie "Il Postino," I've glanced at several collections for over 3 years, but never took a book home for my own. Looking for a collection that contained "Ode to Laziness" (one of my favorite subjects), I found and purchased Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon. I sat down in a big chair on a Sunday afternoon and opened it to the first page and the love affair started there. Usually, I read a book of poems randomly, just flipping here and there, looking for whatever surprizes me. For some unknown reason, I started this book from the beginning with Mitchell's introduction, then read the first poem. I couldn't help myself as I read one poem and then another till I had carefully read almost every one. Pure spirit, pure soul. Each poem is a love poem to the most simple, everyday, ordinary things of this world--his suit, his socks, his watch--engaging us to see a sheer web of grace that runs through out our lives. Put another way, Neruda sees and shows us a world that shimmers and loves us as fully as we love it.

Many thanks to S. Mitchell for creating this collection.

Stephen Mitchell translates an assortment of Neruda's lesser known poems that rank among his personal favorites. You can tell Mitchell truly loves these works as Neruda's voice almost literally sings off the page in English. The book itself is beautifully constructed with a painting by Gaugin adorning the cover. When you hold it in your hands, you will know you have discovered something truly special. You may also be interested in Mitchell's lovely translations of Rilke.

I love Catullus. I fell in love with him long ago because he was vulgar and funny and fearless in some cases, and after being faced with all the other famous Roman authors - Caesar, Pompey, Cicero, Livy, etc.-- it was nice to find someone that was not an over-achiever and who had common concerns such as love, death, and jealousy.

That said, Catullus is not for the faint of heart. He was active in the bedroom, with boys and girls, sometimes together, and thus is not for most young persons.

Some translators try to deaden his prose by removing all the juicy tidbits, but Rabinowitz does not. Vulgarity survives, thank God! What he does do, is modernize the word usage so that the witticisms and puns are more accessible.

Now, as is always the case, some people will find this highly objectionable, while others will love it. I merely consider this translation like I might different poets impressions of the same sunset.

Five Stars. An interpretative translation that does not strive to circumvents Catullus' wonderful vulgarity.

Example of poems one might find therein:

If the dead take any pleasure in our grief,
if the tomb is silently grateful for our tears --
for the pained way we recall old passions
and friendship lost--
then your wife Quintilia's early death is not
so much a hurt
as your love is a joy for her, even in death.

Also,

Caesar, Caesar who?

Also,

Lesbia's always cursing at me - never shuts up about me.
Damned if she doesn't love me!
What makes me think that?
Well, the score is perfectly even.
I too insult her energetically,
but damned if I don't' love her.

I never would have read the works of Catullus had it not been for Dr. Rabinowitz' translation. His translation is poetic, that is, he attempts to capture the spirit and mood of the poet, rather than remain stiffly be obligated to literal translation. That way, Rabinowitz captures the universality of Catullus' pain at heart ache for some young thing he met in the baths in a way that is accessible to a modern read like me, who is not a classicist. In a way, Jacob translated the poems of Catullus not as a scholar, but as someone inspired with Catullus' spirit. I look forward to the day he publishes his manuscript play of the Gilgamesh Epic.

Dr. Jacob Rabinowitz' Catullus is exactly the Catullus I had imagined - a cool fellow in a leather jacket. This is the best possible Catullus for the non-professional - and this professional likes it too.

Rabinowitz' translation omits footnotes because he works glosses poetically into the text, or comes up with a modern equivalent that makes the meaning clear -- thus he has Catullus nurse himself back to health with "chicken soup" instead of the 'correct' "nettle broth" -- so, as he explains, the reader can enjoy the poems, and not play peek-a-boo with the footnotes.//This is the style of translation used by Jerome in the Vulgate, by de Nerval in his Faust -- in short, wherever a real poet is doing the work. Such endeavors have never pleased the impotent old fogies -- which is almost the definition of a Classicist -- who like their translations, like their authors, dead.//Bravo for Rabinowitz! And a pity Amazon doesn't carry his scriptural translation "The Unholy Bible."

Wendy Lesser asked fifteen modern writers to reflect on their formative experiences with language and culture, and her Genius Of Language is the result: a survey of how writers alienated from their mother tongue embraced English and faced exile from both their culture and their own language. Essays by Amy Tan, Louis Begley and others provide important keys to understanding the process of adapting to another language and all its cultural implications.

This book of short essays assembled by Wendy Lesser is well worth the time and attention of anyone who enjoys language and the craft of writing. It provides the insights of serious authors as each adapted to the English language after being first subject to another tongue. As a bonus, the book is worthwhile in that it gives the reader a quick appreciation of the varied writing styles of fifteen talented authors, in case the reader would like to track down and explore any of their other independent works.

As someone with no ear at all for foreign languages, I find it amazing that these people become writers and then choose to write in what to them is a foreign language. Even more, they write it so much better than the rest of us.

They also reflect on how their bi-lingualism makes their English better. It seems that the effort of learning the second language gives them somewhat of a drive to find ways to express themselves in English what might be an easy thing to express in their own tongue. As a result, they learn ways to use English that stretch the language to its limit.

To have gotten fifteen writers of the caliber contributing essays to this book has to be considered a major coup on Wendy Lesser's part. This book provides an insight to language that is astounding.

If you are at all interested in language, language-acquisition, and how language (multi-linguilism) and life/identity intertwine, you'll love curling up with this book. There are 15 essays, arranged by the non-English (mother-tongue) language of the writer. Each of the six writers I have read thus far have approached the subject in wholly different (and mostly fascinating) lights. Tan is mercilessly sharp and funny while asking how seriously we should take the "language-shapes-reality" theory and while illustrating the fallacies of Chinese language/culture stereotpyes. Ariel Dorfman brilliantly uses an unconventional essay structure to probe and deconstruct his conflicted journey through his bilinguilism (Spanish/English)with extraordinary intelligence and linguistic/psychological force and sensitivity. With such a variety of languages, writers, styles/experiences, what's not to love?

Ivan Bunin is a great writer. And as for the readers, reading his stories and enjoying them are a mark of achievement. As you read his stories fierce chill pierces through you simultaneously as grand pictures fill your imaginations.

Bunin is one of the most brilliant Russian writers of the early 20th century. His short stories express more in a couple of pages than most novels do in hundreds. It is poetry in prose.

In the meditation entitled "Night," Bunin's unnamed narrator says: "Why did God choose to brand me so deeply with wonderment, thought and `wisdom', and why is that fatal mark constantly growing inside me?" Although the voice is abstract, I think it works as a description of Bunin himself. He wasbclearly a man with (again in his own words) "the capacity to feel with a singular intensity ... not only their own identities but those of other people...." And although he may feel that his capacity is somehow unusual, he does a remarkable job of imagining (or is it projection?) that capacity in others. Everybody, he says somewhere (although I can't put my finger on it), has a story that deserves to be told.

In his introduction, David Richards calls Bunin "egocentric." In context I think I know what it means, but it's an odd choice of words and I suspect misleading. Conceded that Bunin is not a "social" novelist in the sense that Tolstoi is, nor a dramatist like Dostoevsky: his metier is, indeed, the minute attention to feelings. In some sense I suppose these feelings are "his own," but in some sense, every artist's feelings are "his own." Perhaps closer to the mark to suggest that at some level every one of us is an egocentric, and that Bunin may be able to capture the egocentricity in all of us.

Caution: Bunin won a Nobel Prize, but don't be misled into disappointment. He's a fine and rewarding writer, but not better than several others who did not win the prize, the award of which inevitably has more to do with politics than with intrinsic merit.

No wonder he won the Nobel Prize! Four hauntingly magnificent short stories, all but the third with death as the end. Or maybe not the end, but the raison d'etre of the story. "The Gentleman from San Francisco" almost half the book, translated rather badly, I suspect, in the version I read, by D. H. Lawrence; "Gentle Breathing", an incredibly subtle story; "Kasimir Stanislavatch", and "Son". In each, he takes the human tragedy and contrasts it with beautiful nature. His detail is remarkable. The stories are all short, plots not intricate or even eventful, but he manages to make each one simply live and breathe and have being. It rather reminds me of all Russian writers; they're all so tragic. What is it about being a Russian? And nobody remembers him as they do Chekhov, or Tolstoy. I wonder why. Perhaps his volume of writing was not large enough.

Seferis is great. These poems don't feel dated in the least, nor do they sound translated. They emerge from some deep root in the shared brain, and brim into life like grace. If you like Montale or Cavafy, you'll probably like Seferis as well. All three have a large vision that begins in the local and reaches the world.

The edition, by Princeton, is very fine, with clear print and a helpful introduction.

...(like myself). Seferis is graceful, erudite, and profound without being pretentious or willfully obscure. His work is lovely and haunting. I first became aware of his poems when Stephen King excerpted bits of them in SALEM'S LOT, which I think says something about how broad an audience Seferis appeals to. His poems tell stories as well as create imagery and mood, which helps make their beauty all the more affecting.

Although it is difficult for me to select my favorite modern Greek poet since I hold several of them in high esteem, among his peers, Seferis crests the wave of poetic intensity. His poetry is always laden with images often as tragic as they are beautiful. Like Kimon Friar, Edmund Keeley has brought the powerful verse of modern Greeks to the English reader (see the Amazon excerpts of this work). In sum, Seferis' poetic world is enthralling.

Seferis is the ultimate point of poetry. The real king of poetry. His name will be around throughout ages and the words he wrote will be remembered. The nobel was the least that people could return to him.

This is truly a great book. In all of its proportions it is graceful and beguiling. Themes of love are presented with humor.

St. Luke's head is called, Pym-like, Father Thames. At the service, Wilmet Forsyth, wife of Rodney a civil servant, meets her friend Rowena's brother, Piers Longridge. She and her friend Rowena were Wrens during the war. They met each other and their husbands while stationed in Italy.

When Wilmet visits Rowena and her family in the country she goes to the country church. It seems to her that country churches are surrounded by graves and yew trees. Wilmet learns that Father Thames carries a sense of disappointment that he never became an Archdeacon. There is a reception held in honor of the new assistant, Father Ransome.

Wilmet and her mother-in-law Sybil decide to take evening classes from Piers in Portuguese. Wilmet explains to Piers that she was named for a character in a Charlotte Yonge novel. She gives blood and is drafted to help an acquaintance, Mary, find a suitable dress. It is possible that Wilmet is being pursued by both Piers and Rowena's husband, Harry. She find the Christmas Eve service beautiful and exhausting. She attends service alone since Sybil and Rodney are agnostics. Sybil remarks that she doesn't know what is expected when Christians pray for the sick.

When one of the communicants, (Mary), experiences her mother's death, she joins an order, but decides later that she is not suited to religious life. In the end Mary and Father Ransome marry and Sybil marries too, causing Rodney and Wilmet to be turned out of her house. Rodney and Wilmet find an appropriate flat in the vicinity. A bare outline of the plot does not do justice to the book.

Jilly Cooper says that Barbara Pym's books remind her "of what is true.....about English life". In the case of A Glass of blessings, this refers to a very small, but significant part of 1950's English life in the 1950's, and Barbara Pym portrays it beautifully. Her characterisation is excellent, as are her descriptions. She must have been a very observant woman. To say that she is snobbish is unfair. She portrayed her part of the world as she saw it. And note that the very implicit sexual backdrop never has to be referred to explicitly at all.

Whetehr the fifties were "better" than now is open to doubt: but if you want a picture of a small part of 1950's England, then this is an enjoyable way to find it.

This is the most entertaining book I have read in a long time. I happened upon the Barbara Pym web page and there was a page of quotations from her novels that were very amusing, kind of off-the-wall. Usually, humor from another era seems very tame or just doesn't hold up. I looked for a copy of one of her books and came across an old paperback copy of this one at the public library. The perceptions of the lead character, Wilmet Forsyth, a 33 year old childless married woman with a lot of free time on her hands, make up the book. I could describe some of the events in the book which involve men she finds attractive and men who find her attractive, church functions, a homosexual relationship, etc. but I won't bother. Sex is never overtly mentioned or contemplated by Wilmet in this book. The portrayal of a gay couple in England in the 1950's fascinated me. Wilmet is so cautious and careful in her observations even though she is opinionated. I was happy she wasn't harsh toward these gay characters even though she is heavily involved in her church. Wilmet is not a really deep thinker, but she's funny and kind. Anyway, it's a fun book you should seek out.

Blessed with money, position, and marital stability, Wilmet Forsyth lives in the heart of London with her husband and mother-in-law and tries to spice up her staid life by imagining the possibility of romance coming to her from handsome clergymen or lonely bachelor friends. The intertext for Pym's 1958 novel is clearly Jane Austen's EMMA, with the main character again trying to offset the end of narrative possibilities for herself that marriage brings. Philip Larkin praised A GLASS OF BLESSINGS as the subtlest of Pym's comedies, and although it's depiction of grace operating among the very respectable and genteel is very charming and even ultimately moving it is not one of her funnier books (in part because it is told from Wilmet's point of view and she, unlike Pym's more disadvantaged heroines, is so limited in her outlook). But the novel is pretty joyful nonetheless, and its depiction of a 1950s London gay subculture at the end of the book is fairly fascinating.

I'm belatedly writing this review because I feel it's owed, since I dinged another of Keane's novels, "Queen Lear," rather badly years ago. Excerpts from the QL review:

"I bought [Queen Lear] because I was stunned by the perfection of "Good Behavior" which I expect to read again and again over the years. . . [In Queen Lear] Molly Keane seems to attempt a repeat of the magnificent knockout punch she delivered in "Good Behavior" (an ending which perfectly and shockingly fulfills and transforms the beginning, built logically and inevitably on everything in between). . . [In Good Behavior] Molly Keane made me sympathize with and finally, grudgingly admire a truly fascinating heroine, Iris Aroon. She's warped, stunted, horrifyingly self-deluded, and her unquestioning acceptance of the shallow values of her tormentors is rather disgusting. Still, there's the hidden audacity and sly creative stubbornness with which she copes."

Almost 6 years after writing the QL review, my re-readings of "Good Behavior" are beyond count and the pleasure they've given me immeasurable. This book is simply outstanding.

I would not compare Keane to Austen though. As in Austen's novels, "Good Behavior" presents a meticulously structured and seamlessly controlled plot progression, featuring masterful character development and telling social detail. But Keane's story has little positive emotional appeal, which though often understated was never lacking in Austen - even her nasty little novelette, "Lady Susan," does not have the nihilistic undertones of "Good Behavior."

As a rule I abhor nihilism in all of its trifling, self-important manifestations, but it's bearable in Good Behavior because Keane has the good sense and the skill to deliver a double-whammy payoff to reward the reader's generous bestowal of attention and time.

First, there's the massive intellectual thrill the moment we "get" the significance of the first scene as the last concludes, and secondly, there's the deeply rooted satisfaction of witnessing proof that indeed, "what goes around, comes around." The universe is just, and our choices significant. HOOOAH. Big time.

I deeply admire Austen and generally prefer reading her to reading Keane, but still must say that in "Good Behavior" Keane delivers her one-two knockout with a power and precision unequalled in any other novel I've read, including Austen's best.

I found this book at a used book store for 48 cents - what a wonderful discovery! Entertaining, touching and very funny.

...In "Good Behavior", Keane has captured this world, depicting with sharply witty and bitter accuracy the passe rituals, the claims of class superiority, the tyranny of families disguised under the label of love. Yet she maintains the poignancy of the human need for acceptance and love.

I am looking forward to reading her other novels. And I've heard that there is a BBC production of "Good Behavior", so I'll be watching for it as well.

An aristocratic family living in poverty in a huge, crumbling mansion...A fat woman terribly disappointed in love...How could this story be funny? Only through the wit and skill of a great undiscovered writer like Molly Keane--how truly sad that this book is Hard To Find. She creates Ireland in the 30's for us in tones so rich and vivid that you'll never want it to end.

I totally agree with all the reviews below. What a pity this book is dropping out of print. It is an excellent general introduction to the Greeks that is funny, lively, and never takes itself too seriously. My one issue with Mr. France is that the translations of Homer, Sophocles, and Aeschylus he recommends are good (Hammond, Rieu, Vellacott, Watling), but what about Fagles? Maybe it is a British thing; but after Fagles' translations, those others simply won't do.

I started to read this book expecting a dry and labourious list of past events in ancient Greece and such like. From the first line of the introduction it was clearly not going to be like any other book on the classics I had ever read.
It is funny, factual - I loved the bit about Parson's Pleasure -,engaging, thoroughly entertaining and very informative. You've just got to buy this book.....

As a retired computer industry executive, I have spent seventeen serious years both formally a la carte at Oxford and elsewhere as well as informally studying classical Greek culture, have amassed a library of over four thousand books on this subject, and I only regret that I didn't have Peter France's book as my course outline before I started. The respect that Sir Kenneth Dover and other eminent scholars (and in Dover's case, formerly Oxford) lent Mr. France certainly attests with more authority than I to its value. Its thoroughness, breadth and accuracy of representation of a very complex culture is truly admirable and would have saved me from many lower priority lower yield "roads less traveled".

I read this book to get a general feel for ancient greece after reading the Odyssey in the summer. The book was an excellent walk though of ancient greek culture and philosophy, though in places it can be difficult without an academic background of sorts. I particularly liked how straight forward the authors analogies were, and how the information was portrayed in section, in particular the snippits from actual greek plays give a taste of some of the greats that is certain to leave one wanting for more. An Excellent book.