Jack London Books

I have sailed a few times in S.F. Bay being from the Bay area and I truely related to this story and since the Snark was being built by Jack London right before the 1906 quake. It amazed me and invariably he got taken advantage of by the various builders which led to some precarious sailing manuevers since they measured wrong on one side. Which Jack London didn't find out until out at sea. I could picture all the island stops and so enjoyed the old photos that were put into the Snark truly an interesting journey. It was interesting to me hearing of the staph infections were attacking the individuals when the crew would cut themselves and then end up with these sores they knew nothing about and how they had to heal themselves with virtually no medicines on board. This book is a captain's log which he wrote in daily. If your a sailor you'll love it or even if you've been exposed as I have you'll enjoy it, especially if you happen to be from the Bay area. I recommend it as an interesting and enjoyable read though at times I did feel he was just writing to keep his checks coming in to pay for his journey.

Sebastopolian Reader

Even though I consider myself a London fan (starting when I read "The Call of the Wild" and "The Cruise of the Dazzler" as a boy), I have never felt the urge to read "The Cruise of the Snark"...until now. I must admit that is one easy, enjoyable read yet there are a couple of chapters which in my opinion seem to be "filler" material, possibly created when Jack was sick and do not seem to fit the adventure billing (Beche De Mer English for example). Regardless, most of this book is very enjoyable and you get a few chuckles when Jack interjects some of his dry, sarcastic humor into the reading (when he mentioned that the Snark was actually shorter than expected and suggested that "the builder was not on speaking terms with the tape-line"). Jack's life was an adventure and this was the culmination of an adventurous soul. It's a wonderful story and a prime example of Murphy's Law.

It has been said that the best story Jack London ever conceived is the one he lived. You need look no further than THE CRUISE OF THE SNARK to confirm that. In this book, all of London's passions come together: action, experience, sailing, foreign travel, writing and reading. It is a "real adventure" tale, a travelogue and above all a well-crafted book full of London's personal voice and vibrant outlook on life. One may say it is also full of his ego, but he earns the self-satisfaction by putting action and hard work behind his beliefs and words. He is fearless. He is the first to get the irony in a situation and the first to laugh, especially at himself.

In 1908, London and six others, including his wife Charmian, sailed out of the San Francisco Bay into the open waters of the Pacific on what was to be a lengthy circumnavigation of the world. They were leaving over a year later than originally planned due to hold-ups in the construction of London's "perfect" boat, "The Snark," which ate $30,000 dollars before they left harbor. It isn't long before leaks, sea-sickness and other banana peels come their way, and it takes 27 days to make Hawaii. In due course, London learns to surf, they visit the top of a volcano, hang out at a leper colony, and then head further south to the land of Melville's "Typee" and the scary Solomon Islands. The various captains hired for the trip all seem to lack the navigation gene, so London teaches himself and gets it down to a science. London, first by necessity and then overtaken by the intoxication of success, becomes a self-taught dentist, and thus his crew's savior and worst nightmare. He and the crew suffer a nasty list of maladies, as well. It is a testimony of the man's indefatigable spirit, that even when his own health puts an end to the "round the world" scheme, that he never characterizes the voyage and anything that did not go as planned as a crushing failure or disappointment. He just heads straight to Plan B.

London's voice is wholly engaging, his profiles of crewmates and people encountered are delightful. One only wishes that some of his perceptions of other cultures were more enlightened, though they were liberal for their time. The Penguin Classics critical edition is an excellent balance of original text, a non-spoiling critical introduction, and a selection of 4 other short pieces, including accounts of the voyage by crewmate Martin Johnson and wife Charmian, and two unrelated maritime essays by London that enrich the overall experience of the book.

I have a lot of mixed emotions about this book. I thought his book "Call of the Wild" was one of the best ever works by an American writer. That novel was the peak of the Jack London's career.

Just so we are clear, this is not a novel. It is a collection of related short stories. London wrote everyday for a few hours each morning during a two year sea voyage. He did this to make money to pay for the boat trip. He wrote and sent off a number of different short stories during the trip to different magazines and each chapter was published separately. Then later, he took some of the stories and simply arranged them in chronological order to make the present book.

The book and the trip grew out of London's romance with yachting, and his idea that he wanted to sail around the world in a boat that he made himself. He wanted a large boat - about 50' - that he could sail himself helped by a small crew including his second wife. There is a lot of optimism here, and less practical experience than what one might consider to be wise, and London made a number of errors. London did not actually make the boat. He hired contractors. In any case, we hear how London made the boat and then sailed it across the Pacific, finally stopping near Australia. His motivation was based on dreams from his youth plus the romantic inspiration from prior writers such as Melville, Rudyard Kipling, Frank Norris, and Joseph Conrad, to name a few.

We read what we assume to be is a non-fiction account of how he built the boat, and then the trip itself in pieces along with trips to various islands.

Overall, the writing is good, but some parts are a lot more interesting than others so the book has a slightly uneven feel. I found a few of the chapeters to be boring.

Interesting read, but not as good as I had hoped: 4 stars.

I've recently arrived back in the USA from Suva and Nadi in Fiji, one of Jack's stopping points.

However, what he describes about the South Pacific is no more.

London's South Pacific was affected by European trade and commerce. For one thing, disease, in an era when its prevention was primitive, was rife and the inhabitants of the islands he visited were dropping like flies. Today, of course, the very same network has brought modern medicine and the major health threat to natives in the South Pacific is obesity: the only restaurant on Victoria Parade in Suva, allowed Sunday hours, was McDonald's, while Singh's Curry Shop had to close (I recommend the latter, around the corner from McDonald's on Gordon Street: try the goat curry).

London's natives were partly pagan. Today, ordinary people in Oceania are mostly fundamentalist Christian, and, in Suva, there is also a streak of Islam, petering out far to the west of Indonesia but echoing in the afternoon call of the Muezzin in Suva.

The fundamentalism means that the yachtsman is well-advised on shore to dress modestly. Of course, London and his wife did this naturally, long ago. I actually saw an Australian man warn a woman in shorts in Suva to put knickers on lest one of the local Methodists or Moslems be offended.

But any myth of escape has been so commodified in the South Pacific by tavern owners and tourist companies as to be sour and bitter to the taste.

London, while asserting his property rights thoughtlessly at Oakland's wharf, and while assuming he had the right to hire men to work on his boat and judge their hard work in print, also assumed, in the South Pacific, his right to wander at will.

Today, as the Rough Guide to Fiji advises the tourist, 85% of the land in Fiji is owned fee simple by chiefs. Sir Arthur Gordon decided not to repeat America's dispossession of the Indians and covenanted with the lads in Fiji in such a way that today, the natives form a land-owning aristocracy.

Their fair-mindedness (as on display from Steve Rabuka who backed down from being a military dictator) means that other lads from other mobs have rough civic equality.

London was the prototype, however, of the colonialist as rugged individual whose humanity is based on the unconscious deprivation of others' humanity.

London was the prototype of the soured Yank who when a lad thought the best of people, without a dime to his name, who now has everything, and thinks the worst of people.

London with a grin repeats texts from the hundreds of letters he received from individuals who wanted to sign on to the Snark and so escape their own lives of quiet desparation in an America already unbearable for the average city-dweller. Like him they yearned for a clean-limbed life but unlike London they lacked cash.

London essentially uses their texts to pad out a book that was obviously written not from the heart but to raise cash for a silly boat.

Any yachtsman knows in his heart of hearts that if the landlubber wants his experience, he has only to stand in a cold shower tearing up 100 dollar bills. The Snark was an expensive lark and, like modern yachts, unconsciously offensive at both its sharp end (where were the natives, giving London gifts and dying like flies) and its blunt end (where were the American laborers whose work London disrespects because it was not finished on his schedule).

The South Seas are overrun, today, by people who really ought to be paying more taxes back home. I traveled out there to work at global rates and learned much more about the REAL South Seas than any tourist might, and I'm afraid that Joe Conrad, who also worked for a living, in The Heart of Darkness is more reliable on the tropics than old Jack London.

I'm afraid that London saw, what he wanted to see: the Gilded Age struggle of man against man. However, as Hannah Arendt points out in The Origins of Totalitarianism, this defines rather a culture of hatred out of which were form racialist identities. London was for the most part free of any special form of racism but he did believe that Socialism was impossible because Alpha males (like Wolf Larsen) would take what they need.

Well, they might, and they do. Nonetheless, in the South Seas and elsewhere, Beta males and women continue some how to achieve more, and of more lasting value, by working in groups. Sir Arthur Gordon is forgotten save in Suva, because unlike Cecil Rhodes he failed to mind his own press-agentry but it appears he did lasting good with his land-tenure scheme.

London never learned the limits of his world view and his darkest book, Alcoholic Memories, is a testament to London's limitations.

My favorite yachtsman remains good old Tristan Jones, a British sailor who was trained in the Royal Navy and who paid his dues. Tristan would like me arrive back, from the back of beyond, without a dime and go willingly to work while living willingly in a doss-house. Tristan dragged his own boat across the Mato Grosso and talked back to tinpot Fascists in Stroessner's Paraguay.

In my experience it is relatively easy to learn the mechanics of a sailing boat but what is hard is endurance, not only of Nature but the Other. London endured Nature but has a tendency to be impatient in print with others, as shown by his insenstive near-mockery of applicants for service on his boat. Jones, on the other hand, mocks only people who deserve it, like customs agents in Paraguay.

We lack Tristan Jones' spirit in America with the result that the Third World is overrun with the worst of us, whining yachtsmen and CIA agents and their trophy wives. London I fear was despite his genuine greatness of soul a prototype for the worse that came later.

This barely merits three stars, after hundreds of pages with a maudlin stereotype of the unlikable and boring, nearly always drunk, Irish playwright-fisherman who turns away the love of his life only to whine after her, into and out of the asylum. What kept me reading, despite the dreadful opening section, was the second part, which in markedly more controlled prose and conscientiously crafted writing, tells of an RUC policeman from the North who finds himself the televised image of the Crown's brutality as he is filmed beating a Derry Civil Rights demonstrator. Jonathan Adams' turn from tongue-tied preacher to a by-the-book constable unfolds intriguingly. The scenes when he summers with his family in the unlikely locale, given his background, on the remote Mullet peninsula off Co Mayo and the family's interaction, or lack of, with the locals and especially two Irish-language tutors make for curious if original plot contrivances.

But again, in the third section, the protagonist Jack Ferris finds himself living in Belfast as what must be the most naive "southern Irishman" ever to have survived the 70s and 80s there. All I can say is that the dole must have been generous to allow him for so long to live what seems to be a decent enough life with lots to spend on the booze with so little employment, and there's really no evidence that Healy offers to make his dramaturgical sideline sound like that of even a part-time writer able to live somewhat off of a craft that is barely evident. Healy throws off his job as a teacher of Irish, for instance, in a paragraph; surely this could have been improved as a plot element, since he gives up a theatre gig for work that never receives afterwards any mention. Too much of this section shows sloppy thinking on Healy's part as well as Jack's.

Jack's pub encounters defy credibility, although the tangential and too brief cameos by an ex-soldier Chris, an anonymous man to whom he takes his idea for a play about an IRA volunteer, and later the reminiscences of De Largey, a former IRA man, do make more recognizable figures in a section far too lazily and disjointedly conveyed in an attempt at matching a desultory form to the content, the wanderings of the feckless Jack. With his brutality and emotional "fascism," to turn a term of abuse he uses on his girlfriend, Catherine, back at him, he does nothing to arouse a reader's sympathy.

Too casual an approach shows also in twice misspelled, and once as a title of a chapter "As Gaelige" instead of "Gaeilge" as the Irish word for the language. The wonderful poet Sean O Riordain's name is also misspelled--too bad that his poetry, very suitable for this type of story, could not have been given more than a one-sentence aside here. The last section of the book does redeem itself in how it spirals back on itself, but again, the protagonist's fishing trips and endless walks and self-pitying funk fail to make his plight ultimately matter.

I had vacillated about reading this, and only did after leafing through it to find it took place on the Mullet and mentioned corncrakes, two items that I had read about on another shelf of the library only minutes before. I took this as an omen, and while I learned little about the terrain and nothing really about the endangered bird, I did appreciate more the type of writing that Beckett did about similarly lost souls. Healy does have talent but it appears in too scattered and mercurial patterns here for it to coalesce into an aesthetically cohesive or admirably rendered novel. It could have been, as another reader notes here, 150 pages with a far better result. With such a promising image as that of the goat stranded and unable to swim across, left only to sing for its mate, it's a pity that Healy did not take more time to create a satisfying story.

P.S. I do admit that although the sanitarium scenes do not equal those of Beckett's "Murphy," they do strive for a more literary and faithfully confusing ambiance than those conjured up through Kesey's McMurphy!

"Goat's song" is the literal translation of the word "tragedy." There is no better way to sum up this book than a beautiful, heart wrenching tragedy.

The book follows the life of playwright Jack Ferris as he loves, loses, remembers, and recounts the early life of Catherine, an aspiring actress. The tone of the book is so personal, it felt as if Healy were writing from experience. Healy writes beautifully, oftening slipping into a sort of stream of consciousness to bring the reader into the liquor induced insanity Jack so often experiences. He conveys the desperation of the characters and their emotional, almost physical, pain in such an immediate way, I felt truly depressed as I got deeper into the book. The story begins with the ending, jumps to the beginning, then progresses inexorably towards the heartache you know is to come. The book's ending is simply perfect.

An added bonus to the beautifully told story is the wonderful peek into Irish life. The book is set in Northern Ireland before and during the troubles, as well as in the Republic of Ireland, both in the city and in an ancient village. As an American, it was a delight to read the many voices of the Irish people. However, I ran into some difficulty with the politics. Healy uses RUC/Provo, Loyalist/Republican, Protestant/Catholic interchangably and without explanation, so if you have no frame of reference for the politics of Northern Ireland, it is easy to get lost in the terms. However, that may have been by design, as Healy tried to convey the subtleties and complexities of living in the midst of revolution.

I truly enjoyed the emotional ride of this book. While I quite often disliked the characters, I couldn't help but feel compassion for them.

I am not sure why the rest of these reviews deal with a different book than what is listed above, "From Hell: Being a Melodrama in Sixteen Parts," the graphic novel about Jack the Ripper written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Eddie Campbell. Granted, we will never know the "truth" about Jack. After all, scholars cannot even agree on exactly who he killed, which you would think was a rather important starting point in constructing any sort of theory, checking alibis, and such. All that matters from a narrative standpoint is whether "From Hell" tells a compelling story. By that standard, "From Hell" certainly succeeds.

In the Appendix to each chapter Moore careful details his sources, alterations and inventions for "From Hell" on a page-by-page basis. While such elaborations will only serve to infuriate most scholars of the Ripper, they are certainly of interest to us poor neophytes who cannot help but be fascinated by the details of the unsolvable mystery. Moore is working primarily off of Stephen Knight's "Jack the Riper: The Final Solution," which advances what Casebook: Jack the Ripper (the world's largest on-line public repository of Ripper-related information) labels the most controversial Ripper theory. Known as the Royal Conspiracy theory, it does have the delicious quality of involving virtually every person who has ever been a Ripper suspect. Despite its popularity, Ripperologists pretty much universally dismiss the theory (it ranks 8th on their list, mainly because one-third rated it 10 and another one-third rated it 1). But then the most popular suspect is currently James Maybrick, brought into prominence by the "Diary of Jack the Ripper" hoax (ah, but was it really?). Given everything that is out there, it is no wonder that the most "legitimate" suspect of the day, Francis Tumblety, gets lost. But all of this just reinforces the idea that "From Hell" is not history, but rather drama. Time and time again, it is the rationale of the STORY rather than the FACTS that drive Moore's narrative.

The artwork by Eddie Campbell, aided and abetted at various times by April Post and Pete Mullins, is certainly evocative of the tale. I even think there is a point at which the reader has to be grateful that the bloodier episodes are rendered in stark black and white drawings. Campbell presents various styles at different times in the narrative, altering it to match the narrative. But it is Moore's epic story that captivates throughout as he puts his giant jigsaw puzzle together from all the evidence and his own speculations. When Moore works in the conception of Adolf Hitler, which happened in Austria around the time of the murders, as an ironic counterpart to his narrative, it is hard not to be impressed, just as we are horrified by the clinical details of the Ripper's murder of Mary Jane Kelly, which takes up all of Chapter 10. Through deduction, induction and abduction, Moore creates a compelling story and the fact that it is not what really happens has little to do with how much we enjoy "From Hell."

Do I believe that Sir William Gull was indeed Jack the Ripper? No, I do not. I have heard many theories regarding his true identity that have been plausible, at least at face value (e.g., Patricia Cornwell's case for the artist Walter Richard Sickert in "Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Riper, Case Closed"), and I am more than willing to leave it to the knowledgeable experts to argue out their respective merits. But I was not reading "From Hell" to be convinced of the guilty or innocence of any one regarding the world's first infamous serial killer. I read it because as we have known ever since Alan Moore did his own take on the Swamp Thing, one of his greatest strengths as a writer is to make us look at old things in new ways. We will have a reminder of his originality soon enough when "V for Vendetta" hits the big screen next year.

"Every time you weep in a theatre you're listening to a goat singing."

This is the Author, Dermot Healy, explaining through the playwright/protagonist Jack Ferris, what Jack's trade is. As I have now read this second book by Mr. Healy, after completing "Sudden Times", it also is an apt description of the Author as well. You cannot categorize nor summarize what Mr. Healy creates and then relates to readers in a word, or two, or four. Just as with the fictional Jack Harris, an explanation is needed, and not just an ordinary statement, but also a demonstration of not only the wide knowledge, but also the true understanding the Author commands of his knowledge to exacting detail. The exchange that follows is Jack's half of a conversation with Catherine who wants to know what he does. After the lines below she still has no clue, and neither did I. However by the bottom of the page not only do we learn what he does, but its origins, a bit about Greek theatre, and even that goats cannot swim.

"I do a spot of writing."

"Plays, I'm interested in plays"

"I pen songs of the buck. Billy Tunes"

"Goat Song's"

Now if this Author's prose is compared to what we normally would read, "What do you do?" I write plays, tragedies", you begin to gain an appreciation of just how special this man's literary gifts are. The example I share is not the exception with his work rather it is the rule. These are not clever sounds bites surrounded by mediocrity, this man consistently writes with a level of expertise, which is remarkable. It has been mentioned that the first section is overly long, and at first it appears to be. However once you are into the balance of the book, extending to the very end, the first section underpins the entire tale.

There is a single or perhaps singular event that symbolizes much of what takes place in the book. It is not the death that is the issue, it is the symbolism of the location, the deceased's relationship with the institutions that bracket his death, and the man, and his Daughter Catherine, who live with those realities, or will live with the lingering effects in Catherine's case, that make the event so pivotal.

Mr. Healy's created worlds and the people that inhabit them are generally not people the reader would enthusiastically change places with, if places changed at all, ever. His creations are troubled people, not necessarily in a unique manner as they are the result of a Country divided by violence, Religious based hatred, and hundred of years of pain both suffered and inflicted. In certain key events it is the characters themselves who are at the center of the violence that they and the next generation will continue to suffer for, through guilt, paranoia, prejudice, and anger that borders on hatred. As if to ensure the events can never be properly dealt with, abuse of alcohol guarantees that melancholia will be as contented as these otherwise miserable people are. Even here the abusive drinking is not just a standard Irish cliché, the author makes these characters more complex by bringing you right along side their thoughts as he always does. He lets the reader experience the mental anguish that at times borders on psychotic.

Mr. Healy has the gift of immersing the reader in a story that is not necessarily fantastic, and certainly not contrived. He continually demonstrates that the people he creates are all too familiar, that daily life is not grindingly repetitive but fascinating.

It is no wonder at all that top writers speak of this man's work in terms of absolute praise of the highest order. That they are gifted, proven writers, who praise his work above their own, make their endorsements all the more impressive.

I can't believe the reviews this book has been getting. I found it to be a major waste of time and regretted reading it. My problem is with the prose style - he never uses one adjective when 4 can be used. The book is nearly 500 pages long, if it was reduced to 200 or so it could be really good. 150 pages are excellent - the rest is genuinely cringeworthy.

The plot -- alcoholic catholic playwright falls in love with northern protestant girl -- very original! His descriptions of Belfast are excellent and other sections also. The rest is overwritten claptrap, he goes off on a journey of purple, nay vermilion, prose and emotional peregrinations which seemed designed more to confuse the reader that he/she is reading some high art rather than gettin on with his book. I felt like throwing away the book in disgust several times. If this is what it takes to be praised as a great Irish writer then I'm going to write a computer program to take care of all the work, sit back and watch the reviews pour in.

Dermot Healy is defintely a very talented writer, other books (e.g. The Bend for Home) are much better. We could do without the poetic crud though.

Informative with a lot of interesting pictures,

Jack the Ripper continues to taunt us over 100 years after his murder spree. Theories come and go, but if you're looking for THE reference book on the Ripper, order Philip Sudgens book.

Informative with a lot of interesting pictures, This is the first book for me about "Jack the Ripper" and I will really recommend this book. Great and easy reading,

I liked the photos, some of the murder sites no longer exist today, so it was neat to see the sites of the murders. The text was interesting, but the high point of this book for me was the photographs.

For a book that touted the fact it would be full of interesting pictures, the promised photos weren't that prominent! Don't get me wrong--there are a lot of interesting images--but I expected them to be larger, with more direct commentary ... a focus on the images, the photos, and their connection to the history.

Instead, the book reads like a typical JtR book, with a lot more illustrations. Trow makes a few good points, though, and the last chapter is really, really interesting. Worth reading, but don't expect too much on the picture front.

This volume is a guide to the last 400 years of Japan's greatest and most distinctive artistic tradition. It explains the techniques used in Japanese lacquer and chronicles the development of the craft in response to Western demand. Edward Wrangham, one of the world's foremost collectors of lacquer, contributes an article tracing the revival of the Rimpa style. This volume of the Collection is sold with a free copy of "Volume I: Selected Essays".

The second of two volumes on ceramics, this book covers earthenware and focuses on another great artist-entrepreneur, Yabu Meizan (1853-1934), and illustrates 168 of his earthenwares and those of his contemporaries and imitators, minutely decorated in enamels and gold over a characteristic crackled ground. These wares, under the misleading nane of 'Satsuma', were the most popular of the Japanese craft products which dazzled the Western world in the era of the great exhibitions. An essay by Malcolm Fairley and Oliver Impey demolishes the various myths about the originb of 'Satsuma' put about by Japanese and Western writers in the late nineteenth century, while a biography of Yabu Meizan by Yamazaki Tsuyoshi of Osaka Municipal Museum, illustrated with copious examples of his work from the Yabu family archive and from contemporary illustrations, sheds fascinating light on the evolution of his style and working methods. By assembling such a large and outstanding group of ceramics and presrnting them in the light of pioneering research into their origin and progress, this volume makes a major contribution to the study and appreciation of Meiji art.

The first of two volumes of the catalogue of the Khalili Collection of Japanese Art covering ceramics, this book discusses porcelain. It concentrates on Miyagawa (Mazuku) Kozan (1842-1916), illustrating more than 80 examples of his virtuoso work in porcelain. Kozan brought the medium to new heights of technical perfection not seen before and, ever responsive to market forces, produced wares with shapes and decoration in Japanese, Chinese, and European styles. An essay by Malcolm Fairley and Oliver Impey traces the part played by Japanese porcelain in the international exhibitions of the period, while Clare Pollard contributes an artistic biography based on documentary research in Japan. By assembling such a large group of ceramics and presenting them in the light of pioneering research into their origin and progress, this volume makes a contribution to the study and appreciation of Meiji art. This fifth volume is sold with a free copy of "Volume I: Selected Essays".

This collection of essays by an international team of scholars provides essential background on the administrative, social, and economic, as well as the artistic, history of the Meiji period in Japan (1868-1912). The first three essays investigate the new government's active role in the modernization and re-orientation of the traditional crafts, which was seen as a vital component in Japan's efforts to become a modern country on a par with the Western powers. Janet Hunter sets the scene, describing the drastic changes wrought by the Meiji revolution and the conflict betwen Western and Japanese civilization that was to become a constant theme of Japan's development. Sato Doshin analyses the Meiji bureaucrats' efforts to promote the craft industries by means of trade exhibitions at home and abroad, while Hida Toyojiro investigates the motivations and working methods of the Japanese entrepreneurs who did so much to bring the domestic craft tradition to an international audience.

This volume covers Japanese cloisonne enamels which were a technical triumph of the Meiji (1868-1912) and Taisho (1912-26) periods. The 107 examples in the Khalili Collection offer a panorama of the achievement centred around the work of three artists: Namikawa Yasuyuki, Namikawa Sosuke, and Ando Jubei. In assembling this group of pieces the emphasis has been on work of the highest quality and there are many superb examples made for exhibition in Japan, Europe, and the United States, or for presentation by the Imperial family to Japanese and foreign dignitaries. The collection includes a large number of works by each of the three leading artists, making it possible to establish a reliable chronology for the development of enamelling in Japan, firmly based on extensive documentary research as well as on the internal evidence of the pieces. In their introductory essay the authors trace the brief history of the craft from the first experiments of Kaji Tsunekichi in the 1840s and '50s, based on Chinese models, and identify three strands of stylistic evolution that took place from the 1860s: the conservative, the pictorial, and the exotic. The conservative Yasuyuki continued to treat the wires separating the different areas of colour as an integral part of the design, while the more pictorial Sosuke, in his late works, almost dispensed with them altogether to create works which are really a variety of painted enamel. An essay by the great British scholar Jack Hillier, one of his last publications, traces the relationship between Sosuke and the painter Watanabe Seitei. The volume, combining magnificent colour reproduction with pioneering scholarship, will serve as a guide to a little-known facet of Japan's artistic achievement. This volume of the Collection is sold with a free copy of "Volume I: Selected Essays".

Long before TV, the written word was the wellstone of many political movements. This is as true in America as it is in Europe, and many modern American books are testament to this. Upton Sinclair's Jungle started the food safety movement, Nader's Unsafe at any Speed brought public and Congress's attention to car safety, and the Grapes of Wrath put white poverty into the attention of the mainstream media. This book, more than any other single work of American literature, can be argued as giving birth to the animal-rights movement; a very unique feature of American society as animals have almost no rights everywhere else in the world. This story itself is short and accessible to most elementary school students. What it does is create a parallel between human suffering and the suffering of animals; and in doing so, it puts a human face on animals. As such, it deserves to be on any list of great works of English literature, and as part of any middle school curriculum.

The Call of the Wild is about a dog and his adventures. The writing of it and the action that takes place is excellent.

Ok, this might just be me, but I found this book extremely boring. The author did an OK job on making it bearable for girls, yet I would definitely classify this as a "boy book." I found it impossible to enjoy, although guys may like it. I don't like reading about animals. I like reading about people, and how they react to different situations, a position no animal could fulfil. My favorite books are The Phantom of the Opera and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. If you like those books, you will probably not like this one.

Jack London is still the most widely read American author in the whole world. He was one of the first to incorporate modern psychology into his fiction and gave birth to the 20th century short story. Great eye for detail

I have to admit that I have not really given Jack London his proper due up to now. Perhaps it is because I don't by my nature like outdoor adventure type stories, or perhaps it is because I associate White Fang and "To Build a Fire" with my youth. The fact is that Jack London is a tremendously talented writer. His understanding of the basics of life matches his great knowledge of the snow-enshrouded world of the upper latitudes. The Call of the Wild, despite its relative brevity and the fact that it is (at least on its surface) a dog's story, contains as much truth and reality of man's own struggles as that which can be sifted from the life's work of many other respected authors. The story he tells is starkly real; as such, it is not pretty, and it is not elevating. As an animal lover, I found parts of this story heartbreaking: Buck's removal from the civilized Southland in which he reigned supreme among his animal kindred to the brutal cold and even more brutal machinations of hard, weathered men who literally beat him and whipped him full of lashes is supremely sad and bothersome. Even more sad are the stories of the dogs that fill the sled's traces around him. Poor good-spirited Curly never has a chance, while Dave's story is made the more unbearable by his brave, undying spirit. Even the harsh taskmaster Spitz has to be pitied, despite his harsh nature, for the reader knows full well that this harsh nature was forced upon him by man and his thirst for gold. Buck's travails are long and hard, but the nobility of his spirit makes of him a hero--this despite the fact that his primitive animal instincts and urges continually come to dominate him, pushing away the memory and reality of his younger, softer days among civilized man. Buck not only conquers all--the weather, the harshness of the men who harness his powers in turn, the other dogs and wolves he comes into contact with--he thrives. The redemption he seems to gain with the fortunate encounter with John Thornton is also dashed in the end, after which Buck finally gives in fully to "the call of the wild" and becomes a creature of nature only. While this is a sad ending of sorts, one also feels joy and satisfaction at Buck's refusal to surrender to nature's harsh trials and his ability to find his own kind of happiness in the transplanted world in which he was placed. This isn't a story to read when you are depressed. London's writing is beautiful, poignant, and powerful, but it is also somber, sometimes morose, infinitely real, and at times gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.

The other stories are also powerful tales of survival (or demise) in the face of nature's harshness. I feel I am not alone in saying that I cannot recall most of the stories I had to read in school in my younger years but I distinctly recall "To Build a Fire." London's real, visceral language and description is hard to forget, as is the human pride and stupidity that characterizes the protagonist--London seems to be saying that we must respect and understand nature in order to survive and prosper. The protagonist's demise is more comical than tragic because of his lack of understanding and appreciation for the harsh realities of his environment. All of the stories bear the same general themes as the two I have mentioned. In each, man or beast is forced to battle against nature; survival is largely determined by each one's willingness or freedom to recede into primitiveness and let the blood of his ancestors rise up within his veins. Those who refuse to give in to their lowest instincts and who do not truly respect nature do not survive. I feel that London sometimes went a little overboard in "The Call of the Wild" when describing Buck's visions and instinctual memories of his ancestors among the first men, but his writing certainly remains compelling and beautiful, an important reminder to those of us today who are soft and take nature for granted that nature must be respected and that even her harshest realities are in some ways beautiful and noble, and that the law of survival applies just as much to us as it does to the beasts of the field.

I enjoyed the authors style of writing. A little different from the books I usually read. The story is not a fast action type plot. Things move very slowly. But, it is filled with very descriptive narritve about whats going on at the moment.
As an animal lover, it was a little hard to listen to how the dog was treated in the beginning of the book. The only thing that kept me listening was I knew it had to get better.

I would recommend To the Man on the Trail by Jack London, to an intrigued and adventurous reader because I think that the story gives them a taste of reality. It shows that often there are confusing situations that no matter how much hard work you put into them, sometimes the situations just don't work out. Jack London takes you through a story that takes place in rural Alaska, far different from most people's experiences. The setting plays a large roll in the story because the environment makes it hard to be mobile at a reasonable pace, and there are many obstacles that can get in your way. I like this book because I often like to see unexpected surprises, exactly what you get with this story.
This story is told in three main parts. The first part the friends are hanging out together in the cabin, next a stranger comes in and spends the night, yet he is hiding the fact he is on the run from the cops. The last part the stranger leaves, the cops come but give up on catching him because of the obstacles they have been faced with. I like this way of distinction because it leads you to appreciate the different sections for their individual impact.
Reading the novel gave me the experience as if I had lived through this story. The story has such vivid detail and makes such personal sense that I feel as I was in the story. I can appreciate the experience and I suggest this book to any reader in search of experience.

Gold was found in Alaska, the rush to obtain it required a strong constitution and many dogs to do the work that horses usually did in the states. The environment bread harsh attitudes. Also in the testing of ones mettle one finds their true potential.

Buck (a dog that is half St Bernard and half Shepherd) goes through many lives, trials, and tribulations finally realizing his potential. On the way he learns many concepts from surprise, to deceit, and cunning; he also learns loyalty, devotion, and love. As he is growing he feels the call of the wild.

This book is well written. There is not a wasted word or thought and the story while building on its self has purpose and direction. The descriptions may be a tad graphic for the squeamish and a tad sentimental for the romantic. You see the world through Buck's eyes and understand it through his perspective until you also feel the call of the wild.

The Call of the Wild - Dog of the Yukon (1997)

Jack London does an incredible job of using a complexed vocabulary. He uses a lot of detail to explain the southern lands and the northern lands. As I continued to read this book, I grew more and more attached to it. I truly think this is one of the very best books I've ever read. The action in this book is written to where you feel as if you can almost see it happening. I Loved this book from begining to end. This is a must buy novel and why not buy it from the best book seller site I know, amazon.com!

This is a rather predictable mystery novel that benefits from an interesting premise. The mystery is mixed with solid historical fiction concerning the enduring enigma of Jack the Ripper, in the London of 1888. Fans of unsolved mysteries in history can have fun with this premise, remembering the fact that Bloch advances a culprit out of his own sense of writing a fun novel. However, one of the reasons that the Jack the Ripper story remains so fascinating with enthusiasts is the cover-up angle, as many investigators (in many non-fiction books) suspect a person of high standing in British society who benefited from a cover-up. In Bloch's story here, the conspiracy angle is examined but the perpetrator turns out to be someone far less interesting. Also, the motive (the key to any strong mystery story) is weak and under-explored. Add to that Bloch's very formulaic construction of the story, as if he was working straight from a "How to Write a Mystery" manual, along with completely unnecessary cameos by historical personages like Arthur Conan Doyle and the Elephant Man. This treatment of the Jack the Ripper legend is a fun read but is not an especially strong example of the mystery genre. [~doomsdayer520~]

Working from the facts of the Whitechapel murders, Robert Bloch takes on Jack the Ripper in The Night of the Ripper and proposes a novel, logical, yet highly imaginative solution to the crimes. This is pure fiction, so one should not think that Bloch proposes a reasonable theory behind the Ripper murders and the identity of Saucy Jack. A number of entirely fictitious characters find themselves at the heart of this tale of murder. Mark Robinson, a young American doctor working at London Hospital, becomes the centerpiece of the action, working in conjunction with Inspector Abberline to find a solution to the horrific crimes sending London into fits of panic. Eva Sloane, a young nurse at the hospital, catches his eye early on and becomes the object of his unrequited affections and concern. With several of the doctors at the hospital initially considered suspects of a sort, particularly the eccentric Dr. Hume who seems to enjoy his surgical work just a little too much, Robinson adopts the role of Eva's protector, but this aspect of the story could have been much better incorporated into the larger picture of the murders. While this novel failed to win me over completely, I must say that the ending, highly imaginative as it is, does provide a surprise or two and in its way manages to explain some of the discrepancies in the Ripper evidence, particularly that surrounding the most brutal slaughter of Mary Jane Kelly. One interesting touch that I did like was Bloch's means of introducing each chapter; working his way through history, he gives short descriptions of some of mankind's most brutal and horrifying activities.

It may well be that someone unfamiliar with the details of the Ripper murders would enjoy this novel more than I did. Being an armchair Ripperologist myself, the true facts of the actual murders in this novel fail to shock or horrify me; rather, I tend to dwell on the facts that Bloch left out and the general incompleteness of the facts he chose to play with. Bloch also chose to mention all manner of past theories over the course of the novel without attempting to explain the real significance (or impossibility) of some of them. Also, I can't say I care for the insertion of such well-known characters as Arthur Conan Doyle, Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw, and John Merrick (the Elephant Man) into the narrative. These characters serve no purpose at all in this novel beyond making it more sensational; each of them makes a brief, wholly unimportant appearance and is then forgotten. As talented a writer as Bloch was, I can't imagine why he would resort to such needless sensationalism. The main problem I have with the novel is in fact the shallowness of all the characters. These characters never come alive; for the most part, we merely watch them come and go like puppets controlled by the author. The presentation of such historical individuals as Inspector Abberline, Sir William Gull, and Sir Charles Warren is superficial and more misleading than insightful. Abberline remains quite inscrutable, although Bloch chooses to repeat ad nauseum the conditions of the poor man's troublesome stomach.

Only a certain breed of author would attempt a fictionalized explication of Jack the Ripper's crimes. Bloch was certainly one of that rare breed, but I believe his fictional engine was not clicking on all cylinders as he wrote The Night of the Ripper. His determination to bring in some of the actual facts of the murders, give lip service to all manner of Ripper theories, and insert a number of famous men having little or no connection to the crimes seemed to distract him from the more important issue of character development; that deficiency makes this novel a superficial read that fails to impress this reader.

For anyone who loves mysteries, this book is for you.
For anyone who loves Rober Bloch, this book is for you,
For anyone who is fascinated by the Jack the Ripper murders this book is your bible.
Bloch is one of the best writers out there today and he weaves a giant web of mystery and suspense that keeps the reader turning the pages. This is one of those books that grabs you and holds in in place until you turn the final page. You can't put it down. Soon, as the story deepens you find yourself sweating and biting your nails. With each turn of a page you tell yourself you don't want to know what happens next, that you want to put the book down and stop reading. This possibility, of course, is impossible. Whether you like it or not you are along for the ride with no exits.
If you're looking for a page-turner sure to give you goosebumps this is the book for you. You won't regret reading it.

The short stories Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper and A Toy for Juliette, as well as the Star Trek episode Wolf in the Fold show just how fascinated legendary writer Robert Bloch had been with the Whitechapel serial killer. This 1984 novel poses an original idea for who the killer may have been and why the crimes were committed. Bloch's voluminous knowledge not only of the crimes themselves but of the Victorian Era makes the novel worthy of repeated readings. A very good book from a great writer. Highly recommended.

Jack London is undoubtedly one of the greatest American writers. His skill is present even in his lesser known short stories. This text conveniently gathers this collection into one edition and provides the reader with marvelous introductions. These two scholars (Tietze and Riedl) provide the reader with awesome maps and diagrams along with well-written critiques. This book is a must have for any adventure story fan.

Jack London's short stories are well-written and adventurous. I enjoyed them thoroughly. However, the introductions to each section by Thomas Tietze were surely the greatest introductions I have ever read. His concise and insightful interpretations of the text should not be underappreciated. I bought the book because of Jack London, but read the stories with greater understanding because of Thomas Tietze. Kudos to this book.

Most of these stories were writen for the Saturday Evening Post and later compiled in book form (the copy I have is a [older]1950s paperback, not the current pricey literary collection). Captain David Grief, called the Son of the Sun for his body's ability to tan perfectly, is a trader, entrepreneur, and adventurere in the south seas. In each of the eight episodes which comprise the book, he has a less than spectacular adventure which he solves using the combination of brawn and brain. There's not enough excitement to be true pulp fiction, and the stories are too slow in developing to interest youthful readers, so it begs the question: who comprises the intended readership? I read them because they were writen by London, and as such are well crafted, even if boring. Unlike many of his other works, I won't be reading this one again.

In short, these editors have fulfilled a desire I have had for years. Some of these stories appear in Jack London collections, but until this well-researched edition came out there was nowhere to get them all in one book.
These David Grief stories are a pleasure to read: a truly heroic hero, exotic settings, well-crafted characters, language at once crisp and descriptive where every word defines a character, furthers the action, or draws the reader into the narrative.
The footnotes illuminate the historical and geographical references in the stories, but even on their own these stories encapsulate cultural views, historical settings, and philosophies with London's personal twist. Hardly anyone today would describe the original islanders in terms of monkeys; but as soon as you think London is racist for doing so, he takes island characters and portrays them heroically and sensitively - often in the same story. One should understand that London did not shy away from presenting the reader with a slice of reality. It is his hero who is the fantasy, but one gets the sense, and rightly so, that London's fantastical characters inhabit a very real world with which he was personally familiar.
The price tag on this edition will discourage those casually acquainted with London, but if you want the best of the best of London this is indispensable.
Consider this as a gift for the short-story lover in your life, whether writer or reader, who appreciates craft and literary substance in their action, romance, and adventure stories. A great collection in every way.

One star is not because the Jack London stories in this book are not wonderful. It is because this book is not South Sea Tales by Jack London, which I first got from my grandfather's bookshelf and was one of the most memorable reads from my youth. It is a collection of sea stories, including four from South Sea Tales, but I have found a copy of the original stories at Barnes and Noble. One might guess that some of the stories were dropped because, like Huck Finn, they use dialogue and espouse attitudes that we now know better than to live. The stories are still great and do not deserve to become un-stories. This collection is misnamed and misleading.

London does not disappoint in this collection. His observations are as sound today as they were in his time. It was fascinating to see that London even experimented with science fiction in his story the Red One.

Sean O'Reilly
Editor-at-large
Travelers' Tales
Editor of 30 Days in the South Pacific

It's a shame Jack London's "South Sea Tales" (sometimes referred to as "Hawai'ian Stories") are not more respected, both by the masses and by literary circles. London's stories here are equally as engaging as his better-known Yukon tales ("White Fang," etc.). And the fact that the setting is so drastically different from the snowy Northern Hemisphere of his other tales represents how versatile of a writer he was. It is true, there is not a lot of character differentiation from story to story, which may annoy readers looking for a veritable "collection" of stories and yet please those other readers looking for stories that are connected and read more like chapters of a novel. Nonetheless, Hawai'i is a United State and yet, fiction from this region that is taught on an academic, American Literature collegiate level is rare. That is a shame, because this collection shows that the region is intriguing, dangerous, and beautiful, all at the same time (and what more can you want out of a short story collection)!

Eight good stories by Jack London, about the people and places of the south Pacific in 1908. Also a good long introduction by A. Grove Day which should (like all too many "introductions") only be read *after* reading the stories.

Most of the people in these stories are, of course, either victims or perpetrators (or both) of one of those long painful Western exploitations of a less civilized ("less civilized") part of the world. London knows that that's what's going on, and he writes with sympathy for all concerned, and without the more self-conscious bemoaning that would be expected of a XXIst century writer. To the modern reader, then, he can sometimes seem cold-blooded, but seldom disturbingly so.

The prose is fine and spare most of the time, and never gets in the way of the tale. The places and the tales are memorable. There is not a great variety of character and setting; the eight stories together could almost be a single novel. His voyage on the Snark (which inspired these stories) clearly left him with a strong and single impression of this place and these people, and he conveys that impression skillfully along to us.

Definitely worth reading.

The Abysmal Brute is a quick read, but it is under-appreciated in importance for Jack London fans. London critics seem to frequently concentrate on his "socialist" fiction or his "nature" stories. Sometimes lost in the discussion are novels that emphasize London's interest in individualism, and the rise of the "superman." In the Abysmal Brute, we get tastes of various sides of London. Jack the social reformer shows us the corruption of the boxing game. Jack the individualist shows us the superman, a boxer who grew up in the wilderness, can beat any fighter in the world in short order, and attends literary lectures an hour before the big fight and reads poetry in his spare time. This seems to be London's fantasy self, inflated to incredible proportions. He has an equally powerful mate in the form of a reporter who is skeptical of the boxing game, Young Pat's equal/mate who is of course Charmian London in thin disguise. Suspend disbelief and have fun with this one, and realize there are deeper issues beneath the fantasy coating.

I'm always happy to see one of Jack London's lesser-known works get plucked from obscurity and brought back into print. Originally published in book form in 1913, this short novel tells the story of Young Pat Glendon, a proverbial "babe in the woods" who is brought out of the wilderness to embark on a big-city prizefighting career. London has written boxing tales before, most notably the excellent short story "A Piece of Steak" and the novel "The Game". His style of gritty realism is well-suited to the sport. The detailed, naturalistic descriptions of boxing matches, the people who fight them, and the combat strategy involved really makes you feel like you're there in the ring with the contenders. In this book, the vivid realism is somewhat counteracted by the fact that London makes his hero into such a superman that his perfection defies believability. On the other hand, with a little updating this book could easily be turned into a Hollywood movie (where defying believability is commonplace). It's not just another typical underdog-overcomes-adversity-to-win-the-championship type of boxing story. There are some unexpected turns in the plot which are a pleasant surprise. The introductory essay by Michael Oriard puts the book into historical context, and gives the reader a good picture of the boxing world of a hundred years ago. Oriard also addresses the issue of whether or not London was a racist, and the role of race in boxing at the turn of the century.

If you're reading this, you must, like me be a Jack London fan who is able to enjoy some of his less well known and somewhat flawed work. If so, you'll enjoy _The Abysmal Brute_. It's great to have this in print.

If you're interested in Jack London, you may want to ask your ISP to carry the newsgroup alt.books.jack-london, where we discuss his life, works, and ideas.

Anyone who has read Malamud's _The Natural_ (or seen the movie based on it) has to wonder whether Malamud was thinking of _The Abysmal Brute_. The theme is the same; only the sport is different.

This is one of London's boxing stories (the others are his fine short stories "The Mexican" and "A Piece of Steak," and his novel _The Game_)

I loved the first half of the book. Even though it's silly and unbelievable, Pat Glendon is a memorable character. He's one of Jack London's superheros, a boxer who totally outclasses every other living boxer while reads Browning in his spare time.