Thomas Wolfe Books

The folklore of Arican-Americans is a rich and wonderful subject, but until the rise of folks like Zora Neale Hurston and J. Mason Brewer in the 1930s, most educated Blacks were too scornful of their own folk culture to record it, thus it was up to white writers such as Joel Chandler Harris to preserve them, with varying results depending on the collector. As Talley himself mentions in the intro, few Blacks in those days were willing to be candid with the white compilers of this material.

Thomas W. Talley was on the verge of a culutral revolution. A professor at Fisk University, he was one of the few educated Blacks of his day who saw value in Black folk traditions and recalled the tales of his parents and other ex-slaves in rural Tennessee for his book "The Negro Traditions" in the 1920s. Unfortuantely, the manuscript was never published and lied unread at Fisk University for 58 years, until the editors with the assistance of Talley's daughter and grandson brought it to light.

The tales require some work for the modern reader, as Talley uses the "Negro Dialect" commonly used at the time for attempts to replicte the speech of the black masses and is thus difficult for the modern reader who may not be familiar with this style to decipher. But once you get the hang of it, it's pretty enjoyable. I give it 4 stars instead of 5 because the intro notes that editors left out some stories from the original manuscript that sounded really interesting (I HATE when people do this! Let us the public decide!). But that aside, enjoy an almost lost and forgotten treasure of Black folklore.

Odd Thomas's encounters with the dead are the best part of this novel. The rest of the story drags.

Odd Thomas's friend is kidnapped by by an evil woman whose price is that Odd Thomas shows her dead people. This villian talks alot about strange things which the reader learns what they mean at the end of the story.
There is a chase that goes on forever. The chase part needs editing.

I listened to the audio and the narrator was very good.

It's hard to know where to start when trying to get acclimated with Dean Koontz's novels, given that there's over 50 titles. Classics such as "Watchers", "Phantoms", "Intensity" to me would be the ideal way to get familiar with him. If you like Koontz's style, then moving on to the "Odd" series I believe would be the next logical step. There are 4 books in the series, "Odd Hours" being the most recent title, released in May 2008. "Forever Odd" is the second novel in the series, a sequel to "Odd Thomas".

The events of this novel occur a few months after the tragic events in Odd Thomas. With his girlfriend Stormy dead and with the angels, Odd has been keeping a low profile, currently on a leave of absence from his job as a short-order cook so he can clear his mind and regain his sanity. Then one night, Odd is alerted to the disappearance of one of his best friends Danny, a young adult who suffers from a physical condition that make his bones frail. Odd follows the tracks that lead to Danny's location and faces dangers that he, even with his special powers, will prove very difficult to tackle on his own.

This is a typical fast-paced Koontz suspense novel, as the events unfold within a 24-hour timeframe and the action starts pretty much right from the beginning and carries through until the end. When cracking open the first page of this sequel, I was afraid it was going to degenerate into a sobfest filled with musings from Odd about how he misses his lost love but thankfully Koontz spares us of much of this melodrama. Instead we are plunged head first into a fast-paced action/drama/mystery scenario. The female villain is one of the most memorable I've read of in quite some time, an adult industry goddess whose fascination with the occult is taken WAY too far. I liked how everything in this novel was rather believable, as long as you can buy into Odd's special powers of course.

My 3-star rating should not be mistaken for a bad review. Forever Odd is quite enjoyable, it just comes short of matching the brilliance of its successor. We also see little of the characters of the first novel, such as Elvis, Terri, Ozzie and though it is an entertaining and fast-paced yarn, it does come across as a by-the-numbers suspense novel rather than something that is truly memorable. But clearly, Odd's character is evolving and we can sense that Koontz is trying to take this series in adventurous new directions rather than settling and that's the reason I'll continue reading.

Koontz introduced the loveable and intriguing character of Odd Thomas in his first book. The follow up book "Forever Odd" seemed to step away from what was so well liked about "Odd Thomas." Other than Odd's psychic tracking ability, the rest of his paranormal gifts were ignored in this book. Instead it read more like a regular murder mystery than a true Koontz novel. But for those who haven't read it, hang in there because the third book, "Brother Odd," Koontz redeems himself.

I'm sorry to say this was a really big let down. I liked Odd Thomas a lot. What a great cast of characters.

I have to say the second half of Odd Thomas wasn't quite as sharp as the first half, but still, very solid. But, because the characters were so good, I was really looking forward to the next book.

This was not what I was hoping for at all. First of all, the book moved away from many of the beloved characters from the first book. Second, the story just wasn't that good. It had some decent elements, but the whole premise wasn't enough to fill a whole novel. It feels like Koontz had a bit of an idea and tried to fulfill a contract by extending it into a whole novel.

Unfortunately, the next book isn't any better. The story is a little better, but Koontz takes the story out of the town where all the beloved characters are based. Almost none of the new characters are memorable or loveable at all.

Hope Koontz can get back on track. Odd Thomas and his loveable cast of characters deserve a top notch story.

I love the character of Odd. I have to force myself to put these books down at night to sleep. Odd is so likeable; you'd just love to have him as a friend. I can see why he is such a favorite of Dean Koontz. On the subject of favorites; I thought for years that I was a strictly Stephen King fan but move over Stephen; Dean Koontz is becoming a favorite of mine. His books are so easy to read and always fascinate me. I love Odd and I love Dean Koontz!

Don't waste your time with this nonsense. I slogged my way through this novel a year or so ago, hoping there was something of value here. There was not. It is boring beyond what mere words can ever say. I'd rather cut my lawn with a pair of scissors than read this book. It would take less time and be more enjoyable.

As I read Thomas Wolfe's novel, I was struck by how relevant the book is to present-day America. While the novel is a commentary on pre and post Depression America, it is a most uncomfortable reminder that we have failed to move very far as a country and society in the last 60-70 years. As wolfe wrote: "...it is not only (the) outward forms that we must look to find the evidence of a nation's hurt. We must look as well at the heart of guilt that beats in each of us, for there the cause lies...and if we do not look and see it, we shall be damned together." (p. 312, hard cover)

How very prophetic it is that today as a nation we have gone blind to what we are doing to other people in the world and to ourselves. Wolfe sets the stage early in the book as he draws the verbal picture of the man at the window of "The Distributing Corporation." He never moves, he does nothing but stare. He notices nothing. It is like an Edward Hopper painting depicting detachment. For Wolfe it is a metaphor for a country that has lost its soul.

This is a must read as a source for gaining a glimpse at the America of the Past and the America of the Present.

This is the last time I ever buy a book from Amazon. If you're going to list an item as new, it had better be in new condition when it shows up. The book looked like someone had beaten it with a hammer then aged it on a shelf for fifteen years - hardly in new condition. Amazon is just as bad now as any regular bookstore as far as the quality of their books. Do not buy books from Amazon unless you specifically collect old damaged merchandise.

This book was an upper and a downer for me. It's an upper because Wolfe does an outstanding job when it comes to character development. Sure, some readers don't have the patience or interest to get into the descriptions of background characters in a novel, but Wolfe really paints such a beautiful portrait of those that stand out in George Webber's mind. These characters really caught my attention, and the novel leaves me wanting more in the sense that Wolfe draws you in to the lives of these interesting characters, then ups and leaves them behind, not to mention that he leaves them behind during historical turning points.

But I think that Wolfe wants us to feel this way about the characters because the main idea in this story, which for me is the downer, is that the mind's eye is tricky, and when we reflect on the past with the mind's eye, it deceives us into thinking the past is better than it really was. We see this with Webber's disappointment when returning to Libya Hill. He was so excited to see the town of his childhood, only to find it a shell of what it used to be. Most people can relate to this event. I know I can. I remember my hometown being so unique and special, and then returning to my unique hometown to find that the specialness about it is gone and replaced with Lowe's and Best Buys. So when I go home to visit my family, I can't go home again. Same thing happens when Webber goes to Germany and sees it for what it really is when he was going there with the romantic idea of what it once was. It's so sad that with time, we all become so pessimistic. So I think he developed these characters so intricately to a point so that we have fond feelings for them while Wolfe protects us from what they really are and what they really become. At the point in which Wolfe leaves the characters, they are interesting and beautiful and perfect.

Overall, the story was bittersweet but captivating. The characters themselves were the heart and soul of this novel, and it is an endearing and thought provoking read.

Before you read "You Can't Go Home Again," make sure you have read "Look Homeward Angel." Wolfe's novels are essentially romanticized autobiographies, and although Eugene Gant and George Weber are not exactly the same character, they both represent the author struggling with incredible but unfocused talent, trying to find his home in a world that is inhospitable to his genius. If you are at all the creative type, these books will resonate profoundly. If not, you might find them a little contrived. If you are *Southern*, you absolutely *must* read these books.

It's honestly difficult to do justice to Wolfe's poetry with a simple review, but I can say that no Southern author even approaches his writing ability, save Faulkner. These two books form the literary pillars of my creative ego; they are at once tragically self-conscious and fervently optimistic. It's such a shame that Wolfe died young as he did.

A final note--before reading the chapters about the party in New York, look up the artists Alexander Calder and Joan Miró. You'll find that an otherwise hilarious scene is actually a scathing satire of contemporary art. If you at all share his sentiments, you'll have trouble staying in your chair.

Don't waste your time with this nonsense. I slogged my way through this novel a year or so ago, hoping there was something of value here. There was not. It is boring beyond what mere words can ever say. I'd rather cut my lawn with a pair of scissors than read this book. It would take less time and be more enjoyable.

As I read Thomas Wolfe's novel, I was struck by how relevant the book is to present-day America. While the novel is a commentary on pre and post Depression America, it is a most uncomfortable reminder that we have failed to move very far as a country and society in the last 60-70 years. As wolfe wrote: "...it is not only (the) outward forms that we must look to find the evidence of a nation's hurt. We must look as well at the heart of guilt that beats in each of us, for there the cause lies...and if we do not look and see it, we shall be damned together." (p. 312, hard cover)

How very prophetic it is that today as a nation we have gone blind to what we are doing to other people in the world and to ourselves. Wolfe sets the stage early in the book as he draws the verbal picture of the man at the window of "The Distributing Corporation." He never moves, he does nothing but stare. He notices nothing. It is like an Edward Hopper painting depicting detachment. For Wolfe it is a metaphor for a country that has lost its soul.

This is a must read as a source for gaining a glimpse at the America of the Past and the America of the Present.

This is the last time I ever buy a book from Amazon. If you're going to list an item as new, it had better be in new condition when it shows up. The book looked like someone had beaten it with a hammer then aged it on a shelf for fifteen years - hardly in new condition. Amazon is just as bad now as any regular bookstore as far as the quality of their books. Do not buy books from Amazon unless you specifically collect old damaged merchandise.

This book was an upper and a downer for me. It's an upper because Wolfe does an outstanding job when it comes to character development. Sure, some readers don't have the patience or interest to get into the descriptions of background characters in a novel, but Wolfe really paints such a beautiful portrait of those that stand out in George Webber's mind. These characters really caught my attention, and the novel leaves me wanting more in the sense that Wolfe draws you in to the lives of these interesting characters, then ups and leaves them behind, not to mention that he leaves them behind during historical turning points.

But I think that Wolfe wants us to feel this way about the characters because the main idea in this story, which for me is the downer, is that the mind's eye is tricky, and when we reflect on the past with the mind's eye, it deceives us into thinking the past is better than it really was. We see this with Webber's disappointment when returning to Libya Hill. He was so excited to see the town of his childhood, only to find it a shell of what it used to be. Most people can relate to this event. I know I can. I remember my hometown being so unique and special, and then returning to my unique hometown to find that the specialness about it is gone and replaced with Lowe's and Best Buys. So when I go home to visit my family, I can't go home again. Same thing happens when Webber goes to Germany and sees it for what it really is when he was going there with the romantic idea of what it once was. It's so sad that with time, we all become so pessimistic. So I think he developed these characters so intricately to a point so that we have fond feelings for them while Wolfe protects us from what they really are and what they really become. At the point in which Wolfe leaves the characters, they are interesting and beautiful and perfect.

Overall, the story was bittersweet but captivating. The characters themselves were the heart and soul of this novel, and it is an endearing and thought provoking read.

Before you read "You Can't Go Home Again," make sure you have read "Look Homeward Angel." Wolfe's novels are essentially romanticized autobiographies, and although Eugene Gant and George Weber are not exactly the same character, they both represent the author struggling with incredible but unfocused talent, trying to find his home in a world that is inhospitable to his genius. If you are at all the creative type, these books will resonate profoundly. If not, you might find them a little contrived. If you are *Southern*, you absolutely *must* read these books.

It's honestly difficult to do justice to Wolfe's poetry with a simple review, but I can say that no Southern author even approaches his writing ability, save Faulkner. These two books form the literary pillars of my creative ego; they are at once tragically self-conscious and fervently optimistic. It's such a shame that Wolfe died young as he did.

A final note--before reading the chapters about the party in New York, look up the artists Alexander Calder and Joan Miró. You'll find that an otherwise hilarious scene is actually a scathing satire of contemporary art. If you at all share his sentiments, you'll have trouble staying in your chair.

There are a lot of legitimate arguments to be made against the Bauhaus and Purism, but Tom Wolfe seems too interested in writing a sprawling rant to really explore them. Only once, near the very end, did he mention that many of these buildings were not built on a human scale -- in my view, their biggest flaw. Instead, the book focuses on these issues, which seem minor in comparison:

1. Glass, steel, and concrete are bad.
2. Simplicity is bad.
3. Architects who bad together into compounds are bad.

It's hard to accurately judge this book properly, since I read it 30 years after it was written. Still, if Tom Wolfe wanted to make a case against this type of architecture, it seems like he could have set his ego aside and done a much better job.

Tom Wolfe's FROM BAUHAUS TO OUR HOUSE skewers the Bauhaus School and Modernism in general (characterized by the International Style of architecture), as well as Post-Modernism (essentially, another version of Modernism). It's an intelligent, satirical look at an early 20th century European architectural ideology that rose up to reject the bourgeois and design for the working class--which the International Style architects may have regarded as too benighted to know what it really wanted. Apparently, according to these architects, what the worker would want, if s/he knew better, was to live in unadorned, black-and-white, steel and concrete boxes constructed with mass produced materials. Architecture schools and art institutes in the U.S. not only enthusiastically embraced the ideology ("They do things better in Europe," said Malcolm Cowley), but also its principle European champions, giving places of honor to the likes of Walter Gropius (Harvard), Mies van der Rohe (Armour Institute), and Josef Albers (Yale). Much of this movement was constructed around drawings and theory vice actually building buildings. In this way, architecture suffered from some of the same scholastic claptrap as the other arts, indeed of academe itself. When Wolfe drolly comments, "For the ambitious architect, having a theory became as vital and natural as having a telephone" (p. 121), he could have been speaking in general of contemporary academics--which many of these architects, ensconced in their university "compounds," were.

Wolfe's targets easily lend themselves to such a treatment. The Modern architects' disdain for the opinions of both client and occupant are obnoxious. One wonders why the client (but not so much the occupant) kept, as Wolfe puts it, taking it like a man. However that may be, Wolfe's style gets a bit old after a while. You just want him to chill for a bit. People weren't all necessarily duped by Modernism. The clean lines and simplicity of forms of work by Le Corbusier constitute a refreshing break from the past, and has certain aesthetic appeal. The offense of the style is not just that it is impractical; it's that it becomes so damn derivative and so dogmatic from that point on. (Frank Lloyd Wright, who was not a member of the International Style clerisy, but was "an American original," and so fairs pretty well in Wolfe's treatment, was not necessarily very practical himself. If you're a parent, tour "Falling Water" and you'll see what I mean.)

Wolfe's venom, to be sure, is aimed at the arrogance, pretentiousness, and hypocrisy of many of the leading architects comprising the Modernist and Post-Modernist movements. In that regard, Wolfe is very much on target in his criticism, even if he does go a bit overboard. Understanding that this is a screed, and not an objective critique, the reader will be pleased to find in this little book a readable, trenchant, witty, funny, and erudite treatment of these leading trends of 20th century architecture.

This is a delightful little book, particularly so if you want to have your prejudices confirmed. Those prejudices would include the following: 1) Theory should never become detached from practice; 2) Elites who think they know what is best for the common folk are never to be trusted; 3) Europe is different from America and we should neither be intimidated by their culture nor excessively defensive concerning our own; 4) Ugliness--regardless of the political ideology supporting it--is still ugly; 5) Common sense and common aspiration trump hothouse academic posturing; 6) Architecture is space for human life, not an opportunity to make an abstract statement; 7) (my personal prejudice) Art deco (on the large scale) and prairie-style (domestically) so far exceed modernist or postmodernist architecture that one must wonder why they were ever abandoned.

Tom Wolfe's purpose here is to demonstrate that establishment architecture (which happened to also be left-leaning, ideological, elitist architecture) is flat-out ugly. While he shows the linear progression of influences that led to the international style and sustained it, he never fully answers the question of why so many tolerated this nonsense for so long.

I have had some personal dealings with one of the individuals in TW's rogues' gallery and I found him to be arrogant, pretentious, highhanded and not terribly imaginative. How do such individuals prosper? TW's answer, in part, is that they draw their actual living from university appointments rather than from real world construction projects, but he also argues that, in general, the consumer simply defers to such a person's judgment rather than following his own lights. Thus, one of the key lessons of the book is to trust yourself and your own inclinations and perceive the nudity of the elite culture's current emperors--a healthy antidote to many persisting cultural diseases.

The good news is FROM BAUHAUS TO OUR HOUSE (1981) is a quick and easy read; the bad news is it is over a quarter-century out-of-date. Wolfe gives a good overview of modern architecture which developed between the wars in Germany and the Netherlands (mostly), by men [sic] who fancied themselves champions of the worker, scoffed at bourgoisie cravings for ornament and comfort, migrated to the United States, and isolated themselves in academic compounds where they spent more time issuing manifestoes and striking poses than actually designing and building buildings. These academic architects, for all their Marxist ideology, seemed to care little for what the common worker wanted or needed. And they never embraced authentic modernist American architects, such as Frank Lloyd Wright [who broke two of the compound architects' sacred rules by (a) listening to his clients, and (b) actually having clients]. Wolfe's presentation is swift and impactful and his opinions will be gratifying to anyone who is baffled or bored with modern arctitecture. I'm not sure I am ready to dismiss all 20th century architecture so completely (I love the Seagrams Building, for instance).

The book ends with a preliminary sketch and discussion of Philip Johnson's AT&T building in New York City. This building with a top that is said to emulate that of a Chippendale highboy has since been built (long enough for its original tenant to have moved out) and New Yorkers have ceased to comment on it (indicating, I suppose, either acceptance or boredom). Michael Graves, whom Wolfe criticizes for doing lots of drawing and little building, has actually taken on commissions and produced buildings that are defining post-modernism (for more about these, the reader must resort to Google). I suspect Wolfe has continued to write articles on architecture; it would be nice if he could bring these together with a Second edition of FROM BAUHAUS TO OUR HOUSE.

Wolf's main thesis is that the original impulse for Bauhaus modern was for worker apartments . That it became in the lead enterprise is deeply ironic .

The impulse arose in the difficult period between the two world wars when socialism and seems more vital and relevant an extreme capitalism . Very name the "international style" was rather haphazard , appearing in an essay by Johnson based on Gropius's 1925 book , international architecture .

The jump canes with a Rockefeller supported museum of modern art in 1929 in New York . The rise of Hitler led many of the architects to emigrate to New York or the East Coast architecture schools . This is happening in parallel with Arnold Schoenberg 's abstract music . Freudians also came , of which I was a beneficiary through Fromm. The buzz around these figures masked the American and she once, for example in psychology of William James . While the Europeans were looking to the Americans in using such as Scott Joplin and the Aaron Copland , the Americans were looking to Europe . Perhaps one can say looking without finding was the characteristic of the age .

The alignment Between socialist origins and an elite clientele made a modern movement hostile to the middle class and to any sense of comfort or nostalgia . The oldest traditions became heresy . Architects like Frank Lloyd Wright was constantly marginalized . What came to dominate was what was called the "Yale box", an endless series of Cuba's made of glass and steel arranged somewhat organically and painted white and undecorated . The boards of universities and corporations embraced this move because it was simple, cheap, and made technology and modernism look good . As wolf says, "the building could scarcely have been distinguished from a Woolco discount store in a shopping center . and "an architecture whose tenets that prohibits every manifestation of exuberance, power, empire, Granger or even high spirits and playfulness . In short, the reigning architectural style in this, the very Babylon of capitalism , became worker housing. " yamasaki , the architect of the world trade center , was an early advocate and built a housing project in Saint Louis in 1955 that was dynamited in a famous movie in 1972 . The similarity with a world trade center is painful to contemplate .

Creative impulses like Aero Saranan's here terminals at Kennedy and Dallas were scorned simply because they used curves . The modern architects moved strongly from office buildings to malls and museums , but the imitators can be seen in block after block of almost any ten were cheap rectangular buildings of failing break and cracked plaster are the results and remains of a hotbed undisciplined economy.

It is striking a small number of people who made names for themselves and those. And this small number of commissions . Most of the building was done by unknowns in imitative style in collaboration with developers looking primarily at the bottom line . In a way, the modern movement was not so serious. This book does a good job of naming the characters and showing their interconnections .

From a rhetorical point of view, Wolf at critical moments compares events to the renaissance and scholasticism. Well done.

I have about 200 books on Kundalini. This is among the very few I have read five or six times. The original method was somewhat unexpected, since the author used a small electronic wave generator everyday for a few months before he experienced the begining of K raising. The account is vivid and well written. I am happy I bought it.

Don't be fooled by the word "kundalini" in the title. Yes, Tom Wolfe had some mind-expanding experiences (as a result of playing around with a biofeedback machine) but not a true kundalini awakening. If he had, he wouldn't have written this self-indulgent, new age diatribe that doesn't contain a single word of spiritual understanding. It's just a diary about the ego of Tom Wolfe and his pseudo-science explanations that are clearly more the result of his unbridled enthusiasm than actual understanding.

Stick with Gopi Krishna, Vivekananda, Sivandanda and similar yogic masters.

This book might be fine if the publisher had not chosen to print the ingredients in pale yellow (making them IMPOSSIBLE to read). That was undoubtedly to discourage photocopying, but defrauding the innocent customers who legally purchased the book should not have been an option. Also, it is almost impossible to find anything in the horrible index; it was a though they didn't want you to locate their recipes. In short, a mammoth disappointment.

Eating at the Cottage in La Jolla is a real treat and I'm just so happy with this cookbook!! So far everything I've made from it has turned out to be top notch. I had guys begging me for the brownie recipe. My personal favorite is the french toast! You won't be disappointed with this book. It's one of the few cookbooks I actually use on a regular basis!

I purchased Tarnished Idol partly because I had written a little on the "ether war" for one of my own books, and partly because I live near the site where Crawford Long (1815-1878) practiced medicine and, in 1842, was the first to use ether for surgical anesthesia--antedating the Boston group but unfortunately failing to publish his discovery. I already had some inkling of Morton's dubious character, but little did I realize how shockingly nefarious was his past until I read Wolfe's exposé. Meticulously researched and exhaustively documented, this book will long stand as the definitive treatise on Morton's part in the ether war. It thoroughly redresses the historical injustices of past, highly biased Morton biographies.

That said, Tarnished Idol strikes me as a flawed work. It seems overburdened with minutiae of peripheral interest, such as the dates and dollar amounts of scores of real estate transactions in which Morton had no personal involvement. Such information could have been relegated to the end notes for those few readers who may have found it relevant. A few such facts do substantiate Wolfe's point, but the sheer number of them make dense and enervating reading and detract from an otherwise interesting narrative.

The book is also extraordinarily repetitious, retelling at tedious length stories that have already been told in earlier pages. Its ponderous 535-page core narrative probably could have been one-third shorter and more readable if it had less repetition and if peripheral facts had been placed in the end notes (which already amount to another 93 pages).

More seriously, the book fails in objectivity. Wolfe's stated purpose in the afterword is to avoid sensationalism ("which he abhors") and to "let the evidence speak for itself." This he fails to do. Wolfe spares no opportunity to step beyond the facts and launch his own assault on Morton's character, often based on little more than an unsubstantiated assumption, like slanderous gossip.

For example, while discussing an incoherent speech that Morton gave in Cincinnati in 1866, Wolfe presumes on no evidence whatsoever that Morton's audience must have thought he was drunk at the time (p. 478). He speculates that "His strange antics could be attributed to overindulgence in strong drink" (p. 481), yet he admits in the next line that despite all his exhaustive research, he could find no evidence that Morton ever abused alcohol. Entire, libelous paragraphs could have been omitted which do nothing to advance the story, but serve only to besmirch Morton's character on the basis of Wolfe's unsubstantiated suspicions. Wolfe comes across in places like a gossipy neighbor who assumes a man of eccentric character to be a drunkard, simply for lack of any less sensational and interesting an explanation.

Wolfe paints Morton's demise and death in the most unfavorable terms conceivable, but takes equal pains to cast a favorable light on the death of Morton's rival, Charles Jackson. He clearly admires Horace Wells, and perhaps for this reason glosses over the circumstances of Wells's death: the commission of suicide while being held in jail for assaulting two prostitutes. I feel sure that if Morton had died under such circumstances, Wolfe would have painted the most lurid picture possible.

While this book is a useful history of a fascinating subject, it fails as a model of objective scholarship. If the earlier panegyrics on Morton erred in the direction of idolizing him, Wolfe errs in the opposite direction, at least bordering on gratuitous character assassination. His writing is the opposite of gilding a lily: it is taking a tarnished idol and slathering on yet more tarnish of the author's own invention.

As a huge fan of The Firm this book was a disappointment. There are no thrills and no suspense. Spend your time/money elsewhere.

The judge dies and his son finds the body ( or so it appears):
he is the executor of the will. Then he find 27 boxes of cash,
each with over $100000 in them... Someone else who isn't friendly starts following him around as he uses garbage bags to transport the money.He isn't going to declare it in the estate because with that much money the governments gets most of it. He spends most of the book tracking down where his Dad got all that money while his brother goes into rehab for the
nth time. When someone burns up the airplane he has just bought with partners, the chase becomes serious. For me this law professor is pretty stupid ( he should open a Swiss account or an offshore back account or at least a set of safe deposit boxes) in letting the thugs bully him.
The twist at the end is interesting but not too earth shaking...
This book is really not John Grisham's best work.

This is the story of two brothers; one a successful law professor, the other a life-long drug addict. Both are summoned home by their ailing father to discuss his final wishes. The successful brother (Ray) arrives first and finds his father dead. In searching the home for his final will, he finds millions of dollars in cash! His father was a judge, but not a well paid judge, given the poverty of the area; the brother reasons that the money must be "dirty". The brother decides not to mention the money to the other brother, knowing that his brother would kill himself with drugs if he had access to endless amounts of money. As the executor of the estate, Ray is charged with going through the Judge's tax forms, bank statements, and discovering all assets for the purpose of probate. Ray hopes that he will discover the explanation for the millions of dollars. It's no surprise that an explanation is not apparent. Ray wrestles with the ethical decision he must make; divulge the money in probate which will be subject to heavy taxes and the remaining money to be split between the brothers or keep the money apart from the estate and keep the money, not giving the other brother the money as a means of keeping him alive. As Ray tries to reason it out, he is put under pressure by an unknown person who knows about the money. He receives threatening letters in the mail and someone breaks into his apartment numerous times. Ray must work quickly to discover where the money came from, who else knows about it and what he should do with it.

Although the plot was interesting and the book was well written, I was able to guess the ending about halfway through the book. I continued to read the book, only to confirm I was right and I was hoping for some kind of a twist. I was disappointed. The ending was exactly as I guessed with no twists. Only if you are dense enough not to pick up on the answer during the middle of the book, is the ending a twist. So if you are not any good at solving mysteries, then this book would be good for you.

I tossed this book across the room and into the corner trash can when I was done reading it.
Hopefully, it will one day wind up in an incinerator somewhere.
It is clear to me that Grisham and his publisher should be on trial for fleecing the public. They are utilizing some sort of 'formula of stupidity' to type these books out as fast as they can.
There's nothing here but a bunch of boring, one dimensional, cookie-cutter type characters involved in some worthless trivial plot that will leave you questioning your own worth in life just for having finished reading it.
But I won't be wasting any more of my time with this Grisham clown's books.
As George "Duh-bya" Bush so eloquently stated:
"Fool me ... fool me .. once ... shame on ... shame on you.
Fool me ... ... ... ... can't get fooled again!"

I've had this book a while now, and just recently got around to reading it. (Which happens with me a lot). I'll get a book and then when time permits I get to it. It was a quick read, and kept me interested and guessing all the way up until the end. I also made the perhaps mistake of coming on line and seeing how many negative reviews it had received prior to completing it, but I judge things based on how I feel about them. The man can tell a story. The characters were very realistic and while perhaps the judge was likeable because of his strict adherence to the law, the rest were not necessarily likeable at all, but very human if that makes sense. Harry Rex was an interesting character to say the least! And Forrest is unfortunately someone that is popping up in more and more peoples live's or someone similar to him daily. Was some of it far fetched? Perhaps, but then again maybe not, because there are people that do live life's similar to what he has portrayed here and I thought it all was woven together very nicely. His best? No if you're expecting a REALLY serious story line... But entertaining MOST DEFINITELY! It is also in my opinion, incomprehensible for this to be rated anything less than a five. It flows nicely, and when it comes to reading and enjoying something I am always thinking to myself, what am I learning here and there is plenty to learn from any book John Grisham pens!

I think if this had of been marketed more as a comedy mystery it would have more appeal but I also think although there has been humor in all his works, whether it be "The Client" or "The Firm" or "The Pelican Brief", John is stepping into new ground here and making humor more a part of his work and the blood shed, violence and wrong doings less of a player in this tale. Not that there aren't a lot of wrong doings but it isn't a bullet between the eyes kind of thing here. In fact, it seems like he is purposely telling a story where sex although mentioned, isn't a focal point and violence, although mentioned, doesn't have to be graphically described or the main thing in order to tell a tale. He's also sharing a morality lesson for those that missed it and I would have to say without giving any thing away, that it certainly will make you think about the saying, those that live in glass houses, shouldn't throw stones.

I enjoyed it and am quite sure I will continue to buy what this fantastic writer writes. He is no doubt gifted as proven in all that he has written and although this might not appeal to some of the fans of his more serious works, it still doesn't make it unappealing.

I would certainly recommend this book and I also think that there's not only a lot of humor in this book, but also a lot of life lessons to be learned from it. Author's like actors sometimes get type cast. And some break out and do what it is they feel they need to express regardless. And sometimes it's accepted, and sometimes it isn't. Anne Rice has went from Vampire tales to stories of Christ as a child and it isn't pleasing everyone by any means but it is still pleasing some if not many despite that.


Wishing you continued success John and I hope you continue to write what comes to your heart and not what others expect to see...
Sincerely,
Chase

And if this had of been marketed as a "Comedy Mystery" and you had used an alias I think it would have went over better with the majority...


Your Chance to Hear The Last Panther Speak

Short stories detailed to a fault and adorned with prose and dialog make up this classic work. Wolfe created romantic sounding titles for his work, which entice readers into a world of elaborate prose and drama. Even the most minute event takes on a doleful, visceral, sometimes odious, sometimes jejune and sometimes foreboding description. In a story entitled Death The Proud Brother, in which Wolfe describes three deaths that he saw firsthand, he writes, "It was now early morning, about half-past three o'clock, with a sky full of blazing and delicate stars, an immense and lilac darkness, a night still cool, and full of chill, but with all the lonely and jubilant exultancy of spring in it. Far-off, half-heard, immensely mournful, wild with joy and sorrow, there was a ship lowing in the darkness, a great blowing at the harbor's mouth. ... And again I looked and saw the deathless sky, the huge starred visage of the night, and heard the boats then on the river. And instantly an enormous sanity and hope of strong exultant joy surged up in me again; and like a man who knows he is mad with thirst, yet sees real rivers at the desert's edge, I knew I should not die and strangle like a made dog in the tunnel's dark. I knew I should see light once more and know new coasts and come into strange harbors, and see again, as I had once, new lands and mornings." This is a rare glimpse of Wolfe's hope in life after death. His prose speaks strongly of evolution and reincarnation. He says, "Come, mild and magnificent Sleep, and let your tides flow through the nation. Oh, daughter of unmemoried desire, sister of Death, and my stern comrade, Loneliness, bringer of peace and dark forgetfulness, healer and redeemer, dear enchantress, hear us: come to us through the fields of night, over the plains and rivers of the everlasting earth, bringing to the huge vexed substance of this world and to all the fury, pain, and madness of our lives the merciful anodyne of your redemption. Seal up the porches of our memory, tenderly, gently, steal our lives away from us, blot out the vision of lost love, lost days, and all our ancient hungers; great Transformer, heal us!" He tells of a train engineer who exchanged friendly waves with a woman and her daughter every day for years when he passed a certain town. Apparently the fantasy had been his inspiration. Finally, aged and weary, he decides to stop at the town and visit the women. They let him in unwillingly and sat in bewildered hostility while he tried to explain to them why he was there. "And finally, stammering a crude farewell, he departed. ...And he knew that all the magic of that bright lost way, the vista of that shining line, the imagined corner of that small good universe of hope's desire, was gone forever, could never be got back again."
Trish New, author of The Thrill of Hope and South State Street Journal.