Gibson Books

I have worked as an astrologer for over 41 years in this life and have done work for many people who were psychic. Some had a spiritual orientation but many were the opposite. I would think the author would understand this.

I read the reviews of the software before I decided to buy it. The last person almost stopped me from ordering it with the comments about the help file. But I called the publisher and he said that there is a help file built into the program. A full help file with a massive search engine, getting started options, and an easy to use pull down menu section. When I got it home a few days later, he was right! I love it and now I'm trying it on all my friends. The karmic section alone is worth the price of the software. I have all the major astrology software packages on the market, including Kepler, and this one is a must have. This software is a great deal and a lot of fun..

First: I thought this was popular astrologer Steven Forrest - NOT. Not even close to the quality of astrology of writing. Software, is that a joke or what.

I urge you not to waste your money or time.

Dr. Gibson has out done himself again. This book shows Dr. Gibson's kind, caring, generous and loving soul. I have read many books about astrology, Dr. Gibson has done extensive studies, and has worded his entire book, so everyone can understand, even a child, as my daughter has read this book as well. She loved it, in fact, her exact words were . " Mom, this book is amazing." I have recommended this book to all of my colleagues, as well as friends and family. I recommend all of Dr. Gibson's work to everyone, including his software, entitled , " The Spiritual Sky," and "The Inner Sky." Dr. Gibson also has a series of meditation CD's that are exquisite.

I have been reading books about astrology for years and to date
I have not found a great deal written about spiritual potential and the aspects. And voila!! Dr. Gibson has written what I consider to be a true classic in this field. The way that he synthesizes his personal experiences about life and the world from his psychiatry practice with his software is insightful, visionary, and in short, brilliant. His website intrigued me when he added the tour of the Spiritual Sky software. That showed me everything that the software was capable of. I truly hope that he will continue to produce products that address the gap between the metaphysical and astrology!!!

I called him and asked if he were going to produce a relationship package. Just as luck would have it, he is in the process of creating a program called the Intimate Sky. I love the way the programs allow you some flexibility in relearning the art of astrology. I also like his new vision of the sky as a living breathing being!!

I didn't really think I'd enjoy this book because it was advertised in the New Yorker. Shallow reasoning eh? But anyhow a very good friend gave me a copy of Gibson's book for my birthday and so I felt I had to read it. Well let that be a lesson to me, from now on I will scour the New Yorker looking at all its ads, for this particular book, a cross between a memoir and a novel, turned out to be very good. I could not put it down, even though I had a zillion other things to do. I just kept reading as the day wore on and the sun went down and I had to fumble with the lamp to switch it on without diverting my attention from the page.

I felt I had to know what was happening with John, and what was up with Alan, and what was going to happen to Wesley once the full dimensions of John's illness became obvious. It isn't that the plot is so strong, indeed, hardly anything happens, so don't come to this book looking for Clive Cussler style action. No, it is Gibson's wonderful insight into all the little crazy things we humans do, that make the book so compelling. I feel not so much as that after reading his book I know Wesley Gibson, but rather that through some magical gift of X-ray vision into the heart, he knows me.

I used to live in New York so I'm familiar with the rat race of trying to find somewhere decent to rent. And who hasn't lived through the misery of having someone die on you; even if you aren't in love with them, it still knocks you on your ass. With his love of language and his discernment and humility, Wesley Gibson brings all these things right to the surface, the place where the reader and writer extend hands and touch fingertips.

I did not find this book as good as other reveiwers made it sound. Most problematic for me was the too frequent use of tortured and cute metaphors and similes. More editing should have been done. Unless you can read "my heart hummingbirded in my chest". . ."I rolled my dewy Coke against my cheek". . ."platters of tuna melt the size of satellite dishes" and many, many more of such passages without a wince, you are better off with David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs.

Maybe a requirement of reviewing a book is actually finishing it - but I just couldn't get through this one. The book basically details a gay man moving to New York and attempting to make it..... I thought it would be a great book, but I was mistaken. The author's language was obtuse... the phrase: TRYING TOO HARD comes to mind.... I'm sorry Mr. Gibson if I am being unfair - I'll try to finish your next one.

This book is generally good. I liked it and am glad I purchased it new. The problem is that it's almost like Gibson wrote this novel like a session on a psychologist's couch, with every little detail of every person he ever met and everything he ever experienced - without full regard for what the reader would like to hear. There are some details in here I find too graphic and disgusting, such as when he helped a morbidly obese neighbor off a toilet.

The book gets a lot better halfway through, and continues to become more moving through the end. The story of Wesley's roommate John and his eventual death from lung cancer paints a beautiful picture of human frailty and the bonds that exist between us.

I am enraptured of New York City and like to read people's accounts of it. I am also a writer like him. Gibson did not disappoint.

I read "You Are Here" as a recent vacation read... the cover design alone was inticing. I'm not sure I had an expectation of the book, but I found it to be dull and uninspired. Like the author, I moved to New York right out of college, but a lot of his experiences seemed more whiney and priviledged than pithy or universal. Can't live well in New York at a young age? Join the human race! Most people don't live well at that age. At times he seems grandiose, such as in passages where he talks about being depressed that he isn't a published author yet. Considering that his writing isn't much better than a lot of aspiring writers, his egotism (which may just be poorly expressed irony) detracts from his storytelling.

All in all, "You Are Here" reads like the memoirs of some guy who lucked into a publishing contract. David Sedaris, breathe easy.

I loved it.

"All's Well That End's Well" is a convoluted story of guys who want to marry the girl who doesn't want to marry them, but wants the guy that doesn't really want her but, wants to go off with another guy. There's a coward, homoerotic undertones, slapstick, deceit, and a king who is in charge and apparently clueless.

The significance of a devious, influential, and brilliant young woman as a heroine is easy to understand when Queen Elizabeth was in the audience. In a period of sophisticated intrigues and war, this was a relevant bit of entertainment. Knowing the original context, much of this play's relevance is retained after almost 400 years.

The subtle insinuation that Bertram would rather hang with his buddy that his lady is easily lost if you don't pay attention, and would be easy to play down on stage. It shouldn't be, it was part of the play, and adds a subtle and arch touch to the script.

I really enjoyed this one, especially when the coward Parolles gets burned.

E. M. Van Court

In giving this play 4 stars, I am comparing it against Shakespeare's other work, not against any other writer.
This is supposedly one of Shakespeare's "problem plays", but I don't see the problem. We have characters who have extreme emotions (a favorite Shakespeare motif) and some situations that border on ridiculous, but the emotion and heart of the conflict reflects reality in a way that only Shakespeare can produce. Although modern audiences may balk at Helena's throwing of herself at a man who disdains her, we must remember that Helena is in love, and thus, not always rational. Love wants its desires, not practical solutions.
Alls Well also includes a wonderful Shakespearian character in Parolles. The man is a coward, a fool, and a braggart. The irony (and joy) of his character is that he knows and accepts these faults in himself. Despite his poor qualities, he is really the most honest character in this work. Read this play if for no other reason than to introduce yourself to this this great character.
Existential questions about self worth and the paradoxical nature of humanity are the real crux of this play, and once again, Shakespeare shows us what it means to be human. As one character says in Act IV, "The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together..." Alls Well demonstrates this in the dual nature of almost every character and plot device.

Try as you might, you will have a hard time finding any redeeming social merit to the "hero" of this play. In an era of arranged marriages, "our hero" abandons his bride and runs off to the wars because she is not good enough for him. This opinion makes him a majority of one, since everyone else thinks she is too good for him. Before he leaves, however, he sets her an impossible task which will win his devotion, if not his love. The heroine then undertakes to fulfill the terms of the task. In order to accomplish the task she devises a plan which will wound everyone who loves her and take advantage of his unworthiness of her.

It's hard to see what she sees in him, but as the saying goes, love is not only blind, it is also deaf and dumb. The plot moves snappily along toward its foreordained happy conclusion, with the hero's aide-de-camp, a sort of cross between Iago and Falstaff, providing "comic" relief.

Arkangel Shakespeare has put on a five star production of a three star play. Many recordings of Shakespeare plays add poor sound quality to poor diction, resulting in a product that is difficult, if not impossible, to follow. The sound is good, the lines are well-spoken, and the dialog is easily followed.

This play is probably not as great as others of Shakespeare's comedies, but it is still worth the effort. The play is quite ribald. It is a short play. The plot is a familiar one - a woman is set an almost impossible task, and if she succeeds in completing it, she will get her dearest wish. Worth a read.

All's Well has been unfairly treated. It's supposed to be one of Shakespeare's worst plays, but it is truly fascinating. It is subtle, and the conflicts are rich. Here, no one is purely good or bad, and perhaps it's the difficulty of feeling drawn to a variety of characters who are in conflict that makes people dislike this play. The female lead is bravely determined. The male lead is completely controlled by the political situation. Of course he wants his freedom! The adoration that the female lead feels for him must seem like a trap. . . And yet she does feel it, and she's willing to do everything to realize her dream. I love the reality of this play. It isn't glorious like Hamlet, it isn't abject like Lear. Instead, it's a picture of a middle class reality that gives us insight into sex, liberty, love, and authority.

This is a pretty decent political tragedy. The book has a great inroduction that helped lay out the themes of the play. While this was a good work, it wasn't my favorite by Shakespeare.

This inexpensive volume is a fine edition with very readable text, good notes, and a nice introduction. Coriolanus is not one of Shakespeare's most popular plays, though it has its partisans. As with several of Shakespeare's best plays, it is an attempt to combine an investigation of the nature of power with a psychological portrait. The nature of power or kingship was one of Shakespeare's great themes, featured in some of the great tragedies like MacBeth or Lear, and this theme runs through many of his history plays. In Coriolanus, however, this theme is handled less well. It is interesting to speculate why Shakespeare, who dealt with this theme so well in many plays, doesn't do such a good job in Coriolanus. The action in Coriolanus is set in a republic, not a monarchy. The structure of republican politics is not one Shakespeare would have known well and the problems of politics and authority in a republican are different than those of a monarchy. Particularly for modern audiences, whose intrinsic understanding of republican politics is much greater than Shakespeare's, the clumsy handling of the tension between the aristocratic Coriolanus and the plebes rings false. In addition, the psychological portrait of Coriolanus is not nearly as rich as Shakespeare's analysis of quite a few of his other protagonists. Much of the language in Coriolanus is powerful but it lacks the dramatic movement and insight of his best work.

I had an overpriced Arden Shakespeare copy of the play. The spine broke. I have known Oxford was as good for lower price and prefer the notes. The Arden text is more authoritative but the physical (Oxford) book is better.

Coriolanus seems to have the critical imprimatur as one of Shakespeare's greatest tragedies. Yet, this must be a misprint. Latest? Certainly. Greatest? Hardly.

For one thing, anyone with any familiarity with Shakespeare's plays must immediately note the protagonist's lack of humanity. Coriolanus' heartlessness is his chief characteristic. All the things that make him so compelling on the battlefield only serve to dull his appeal as a civilian. Since Coriolanus spends the majority of the play as a civilian, this is bad news for the audience.

There may well be tragic events in Coriolanus. However, Coriolanus falls short of great Shakespearean tragedy. The lead is not exceptional (as are the rest of Shakespeare's tragic heroes). At best, Coriolanus is a dolt who becomes a savant on the battlefield. Shakespeare telegraphs, rather than foreshadows, the tragic events of Coriolanus. This, compounded with Coriolanus' inability to carry the play, makes for a rather frenzied mush of a drama.

I recommend Coriolanus only to the Shakespearean completist. It is not one of his better works.

+++++

This play, written circa 1608, is the last of William Shakespeare's (1564 to 1616) eleven (some say ten) known tragedies. Even though it is known as a "Roman" or "political" play, serious readers will discover that it so much more. I found that it stayed with me long after I read it.

This play is set in ancient Rome. It is essentially the story of warrior Caius Marcius (later known as "Coriolanus") whose honor, pride, and sense of social rank dominates his life and interferes with his ability to function effectively when he's not on the battlefield.

One of the great attributes of this play is that it does not have many characters and thus is easy to follow. The major characters are as follows:

(1) Coriolanus (originally Caius Marcius): a valiant warrior and patrician (nobleman) with a non-overbearing wife. "A soldier to Cato's wish" and a modest hero who "hath deserved worthily of his country" but who lacks tact and refuses to placate "the mutable, rank-scented many."
(2) Volumnia: his overbearing mother. "In anger, Juno-like."
(3) Menenius Agrippa: "a humorous patrician" and an old and true friend of Coriolanus who is trusted by the plebeians (lower class)
(4) Titus Lartius and Cominius: fellow generals with Coriolanus.
(5) Sicinius and Brutus: tribunes (representatives of the plebeians) of the common people and Coriolanus' political enemies. "A pair of strange ones."
(6) Tullus Aufidius: general of Rome's enemies and rival in glory to Coriolanus.

This "Shakespeare PELican" book (published by Penguin in 1999) has some interesting material before the play proper. I found the introduction to the play especially informative.

I would recommend, in order to get the full impact of this play, to either see it on film (the BBC production is excellent) or to see it on the stage.

Finally, I cannot understand why this play has been overlooked as one of Shakespeare's great works. (It was, in fact, written during Shakespeare's greatest period, 1599 to 1608.) The story itself is interesting with many subtle themes. The only thing I can think of is that there are some terms that you must know to properly understand the play (such as patrician, plebeian, tribune, etc.). These terms can be easily looked up in a good dictionary.

In conclusion, this play, in my opinion, is an overlooked gem. This book published by Penguin is an excellent resource for students, teachers, theatre professionals, and anyone interested in discovering this great play!!

+++++

Edith Wharton won the Pulitzer in 1921, for her social romantic tragedy "Age of Innocence." What to do after a triumph like that?

Well, in Wharton's case, she went the opposite direction, with a gentle romance called "The Glimpses of the Moon." It's the cliched love-or-money storyline that's existed as long as love and money, but Wharton elevates it with some social satire and lushly sensual writing.

Nick Lansing and Susy Branch are young, attractive, clever, arty, and poor -- they are confidantes of the wealthy, but can't live like them. So Susy comes up with a scheme: they'll get married, and live for a year off the honeymoon gifts and guest houses -- and if either of them gets a better offer, they'll divorce immediately with no hard feelings.

All goes smoothly for the idyllic first months. But when staying in Venice, Nick finds that they are staying at a villa because Susy is helping the house's mistress meet up with her boytoy -- and that Susy's acid-tongued pal has just inherited a fortune. But despite their pact, Susy finds it increasingly difficult to imagine a life without Nick -- especially when he seems to be involved with a clever young archaeologist's daughter.

The story of "Glimpses of the Moon" is not the selling point of this onetime bestseller -- you can pretty much guess how it will turn out, and how many days the pact between Nick and Susy will last. In fact, it's kind of astonishing that Hollywood hasn't nabbed this one rather than the tragic "Ethan Frome" or the bittersweet "Age of Innocence."

But the beauty of "Glimpses of the Moon" is how it's presented -- Wharton's prose relaxes into a sensual feast of decayed villas, bright sunlight, rich colours and luxurious details. It slacks off as Nick and Susy's relationship deteriorates, but the first half is awash in beautiful imagery ("... a great white moth like a drifting magnolia petal"). And of course, we always have the overhanging symbolism of the moon.

And it wouldn't be a Wharton book without some social commentary -- in this case, about the idle wealthy eagerly snatching onto any trendy artist, illicit lover or amusement that will fill their empty days. And of course, the lesson that love should trump greed.

Wharton's knack for characterization doesn't hurt either -- Nick is a penniless artist hoping to keep this pact-marriage together, and Susy a social wit without many scruples, until she inadvertantly drives Nick away. The supporting characters could have a book devoted to each one as well -- the acid-tongued peer, a rather snotty young girl, and a desperate wealthy matron bouncing from one "toyboy" relationship to another.

"Glimpses of the Moon" is a simple boy-and-girl story, but with a clever social twist questioning what happens AFTER happily-ever-after. Romantic, sensual and sometimes tartly amusing.

THE GLIMPSES OF THE MOON by Edith Wharton is an incredibly readable, engaging novel, that is accessible, interesting and involving. While it's not at the level of her better known novels The Age of Innocence or The House of Mirth, it's quite worthwhile. Wharton wrote GLIMPSES in 1922, two years after winning the Pulitzer Prize for Innocence. (She was the first woman to win the prize.)

The premise of the book is that two society people from New York, Susy Branch and Nick Lansing, decide to marry. They are in love, but the twist is that their marriage is ostensibly a business deal: While they are socially connected, neither one of them has enough money to live the life of their peers. Because of this, they live off their friends' generosity and whims. They scheme to marry because with all the honeymoon gifts, money, precious items, and the subsequent lending of homes their friends will make to them for their honeymoon, they will be able to live the life they want for at least a year. They also agree that if either one of them finds a way to make a better match for him- or herself, they will willingly free each other from the marriage.

Their subsequent personal and physical journeys are the subject of the rest of the book, as they try to resolve themselves to their situations and look back on what they have together and how their future will play out.

It's hard to believe this book was written in 1922. The prose reads like a current novel, and Edith Wharton is, as always, deft at skewering the moral bankruptcy of the very rich at the same time she demonstrates a fundamental understanding of their world. Those caught between, like Susy and Nick, make fascinating studies as their characters grow toward or away from the light this lifestyle casts. Wharton also keenly portrays the very human behaviors of individuals on whom she concentrates, and shows both Susy and Nick as sympathetic and frustrating simultaneously to the reader as they each seek to come to terms with their options and their feelings toward each other in light of their current values. No one is really the hero or the anti-hero here. It seems in some ways to be a realistic portrayal of maturity and some growth, while also being a tale of the power of affluence and ease to corrupt and weaken.

As I wrote, this book is "lighter" than Mirth and Innocence, but it deserves to be read. Some aspects of it seem a little too tidy, but not completely unconvincing. Wharton is a master -- one of my favorite authors -- and this book demonstrates her abilities in a clean, straightforward story of two lovers and the impact of their community on their relationship, their values and their behaviors.

The Glimpses of the Moon is undeniably not Edith Wharton's best work, but that doesn't keep it from being a very rich story. Wharton does one of her best jobs ever of getting and keeping her reader's interest in the main characters and their friends, society, and lives. If you have read Wharton before, you know that she does a flawless job of this anyway, so let me assure you that TGOTM is outstanding in this sense. I couldn't get over the fact that Susy defines potential self-discovery so perfectly. Wharton somehow keeps us from siding entirely with Nick, who is close to being morally perfect. Even when Susy is at her most primitive and ruthless, Wharton reminds us, subliminally it seems, that she is still a 'good' character. In a way, Wharton presents us with a question and a problem in her presentation of Nick and Susy. In a world where money is needed not only to thrive physically but also socially, there are two ways to deal with the fact that you have less of it than everyone else: You can be like Nick or you can be like Susy. They are at two opposite ends of the spectrum and they stand for two completely different forms of action. They love each other, too, and this makes the issue even more of a puzzle. Which character would you choose to act like? Even more importantly, which character's actions most defines your own actions in 'real life?' Wharton never suggests that either way is the right way. As readers, we can only examine the consequences of both characters' actions and notice how the book ends. It's not surprising that Wharton hides her answer in a love story.

Given the flawlessly smooth machinery of THE HOUSE OF MIRTH and THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY, it's kind of weird to come across a Wharton novel as structurally sloppy as this one. More uncharacteristically yet, the first three chapters, in my opinion, are just plain shabbily written. But Wharton is never without her reasons, and once she's disposed of the characters' "backstory" as expeditiously (if inelegantly) as possible at the top of the book, she hits her stride in earnest and gives us all of the pleasures of a great Wharton tale -- chiseled prose, trenchant humor, sociological precision, briskly paced and compactly dramatized.

Something that strikes me about this book: it'd make a much better movie, be much easier to adapt, than either HOUSE OF MIRTH or AGE OF INNOCENCE. It's got fewer locations, a much smaller cast of characters -- heck, it even has a happy ending, and an honestly earned one. (In fact, the conceit it starts with -- a couple in love who'd like to stay together, but alas, there's no money in it -- is pretty much the idea Preston Sturges started with in THE PALM BEACH STORY, an audience-pleaser for sure.)

Set in the aftermath of World War I, this study of 1920s society, with its elements of social comedy and satire, follows Nick Lansing and his wife Susy, through the highest levels of European society. Though they have the credentials to be accepted, they are financially limited, always unsure where their next funds will come from. Nick and Susy have married for love, with the understanding that if either of them finds a more financially stable suitor with a long-term future, that each is free to dissolve the marriage. They spend their honeymoon year living in the empty European homes of their more affluent friends.

When they stay in the palazzo of Ellie Vanderlyn in Venice, early in the novel, Susy receives a note from Ellie asking her to mail four letters, one each week, to Ellie's absent husband Nelson, so that he will not know she is away. Confronted with this thorny problem, which she has been sworn not to reveal to Nick, Ellie agrees, knowing no way around the problem, since she and Nick depend on Ellie's hospitality.

It reveals no plot surprises to say that Susy's deception eventually undermines her superficial but loving relationship with Nick. Wounded by Susy's lack of trust and her deceit, Nick needs to get away. The separate comings-of-age of Nick and Susy occupy the bulk of the novel as each, still sharing the extravagant lifestyles of their friends, considers whether to honor the agreement to let the other person go if someone "better" comes along.

Wharton presents their dilemmas clearly--their desire to experience the "good life," their belief that they deserve to do so, the lengths they are willing to go to make it possible, the conflicts they face between their latent ethical sense and the realities of their lives, the belated discovery that each has the potential to support himself/herself, and the growing awareness that life offers many rewards that are not financial.

Filled with trenchant observations about society and the frivolous behavior of those committed to remaining part of it, Wharton's novel draws attention to the conflict between real feelings and pretensions and between real goals and social expectations, presaging the novels of Fitzgerald. A sophisticated and elegantly written study of aristocratic society in the twenties in Europe, this is not Wharton's most thoughtful novel, but it one of her best observed. n Mary Whipple

I ordered the book after watching "north and south" tv adaptation
to another of elisabeth gaskell's book. i was curious to know more from this writer.
but this one was nothing similar:
the plot is slow, including irrelevant and too detailed side stories.
the main characters are not clear and are very distant to the reader,
in a way it's hard to care for them. so it was easy leaving the book in the middle.

Although this is not Gaskell's best novel, it is still well done and contains quite a bit of drama and romance. Much of the book concentrates on life in a manufacturing town, however, the love story has a prominent place. The characters in this book are lovable and fallable, as usual in Gaskell's work, and overall very realistic. This novel is set up much like "North and South" yet not as well put together, and with quite different characters. There is the struggle between masters and men and a love affair unrequitted on the female end with family and friends dropping like flies on account of mental or physical anxiety. I would recommend this book to anyone that likes Gaskell, Dickens, and the time period of early industrialization in England.
As to the edition, Everyman's Library always makes a nice hard copy. It includes a biography and timeline of work as well as the author's preface and an introduction by Jenny Uglow.

Set in the industrial city of Manchester in northern England, this is one of Mrs. Gaskell's "social novels" (NORTH AND SOUTH was another), in which she attacked the harsh treatment of factory workers by the owners. It being a novel, there is also a love story. Mary Barton, daughter of a soured mill-hand, attracts the attention of two men: Henry Carson, son of one of the mill owners, and Jem Wilson, a worker. She chooses Carson (a big mistake, of course). Later Carson is killed and Wilson is suspected of the crime with jealousy as his motive. But Mary learns that her father, John, is actually the murderer, and she spends a good portion of the second half of the book trying to prove Wilson's innocence (she now realizes her mistake in picking Carson over her true feelings of love for Wilson) without implicating her father. John Barton is wracked with guilt, however, and makes a deathbed confession to Carson's father that redeems him. It's an energetic book, and the story moves forward swiftly. The trial scenes are especially stirring. MARY BARTON was one of the first novels set exclusively among the working classes, and the book was highly regarded by the public and critics alike (though the Manchester mill owners protested against it).

After watching the 2005 BBC TV-adaptation of Elizabeth Gaskell's novel "North and South", I was intrigued to go back and read the novel. I liked it so much, that I wanted to read more, and so found "Mary Barton". In both novels, I was impressed with Elizabeth Gaskell's keen insight into the human spirit - despair, doubt, kindness, love, compassion, hopelessness, loyalty, frivolity, and most of everything in between. She has a rare talent to create believable male and female characters (with their inherent differences in perception and interpretation) at all walks of life, and to inspire compassion and understanding for all her characters' actions. The plot is largely divided between mystery and romance, both of which are done well. This is definitely a book I would recommend to fellow Austen fans!

Compared to the majority of modern novels, her writing has more of a leisurely pace to it and she takes the time to describe the emotional inner workings of her characters as much as she devotes to outward plot development. The frequent historical or literary references not immediately at a current-day reader's fingertips are explained well in this edition's notes at the end for those who want to know (like me).

Historically, this book is a fascinating treatise of the working class toil, life, and death in the mid-1800s in Manchester, England, the rise of trade unions, and the trouble attendant therewith. Gaskell's astute observations about the living conditions of the poor in that day and age make for a compelling and thought-provoking read. It is hard to leave her books not feeling that the two opposite points of view of masters and men can be true, and that compassion might go a long way to bridge the gap.

This book shows the opposite side of life of Gaskell's final novel, Wives and Daughters. Where Molly Gibson (another girl sharing her name appears in Mary Barton, too!) deals with a pettish and jealous stepmother and the perils of moving in society, Mary Barton's father worked the looms that perhaps provided the Gibsons with their fine dresses.
Unlike Dickens in Hard Times, Gaskell does not dwell so much on the physical aspects of Manchester (OK, Dickens didn't actually write about Manchester, but the city he used *was* Manchester) and their symbolism of moral and societal pollution, but she shows the effects of man's inhumanity to man. Her morality is quietly moving, not dogmatic. The workers' agitations and subsequent deadly repercussions are dealt with in a firm but understanding light. While she condemns the act, the motivating factors (i.e. workers' treatment) can be understood.
Gaskell's working class book isn't as slick or symbolic as, say Germinal, but it is effective. Although the love story in itself is moving, we can also see it as the nobility of human spirit no matter where it lives or works. While the novel is titled Mary Barton, Mary serves as a tool to teach us and reprove us.
I highly recommend Wives and Daughters as well--Gaskell has surely matured and her dialogue is sharp and social criticism even more biting.

If I were going to be stranded on a desert island with only one novel to read for the next 50 years, this would be the one I'd want. The world picture it paints is finely detailed and entirely believable; and taken together with Phineas Redux it comprises the most nuanced exercise in character development I've ever seen in English fiction.

Trollope's London is thickly populated with memorable characters, but two women stand out in particular: Lady Laura Standish and Marie Max Goesler. Both are gifted, charming, and in love with the eponymous hero -- a handsome (but poor and socially inconsequential) Irish barrister who finds himself swept up into the world of parliamentary politics.

Without giving away too much, Lady Laura becomes a kind of study thwarted passion. She is riveting; a sad, tragic figure but one the reader never stops caring about. Trollope considered her to be the best character in the novel, and one of his finest literary achievements. Phineas proposes marriage to Lady Laura, and she rejects him, pledging herself instead to a rich man she does not love. This rejection happens quite early in Phineas Finn, but it haunts the characters through both Phineas novels like original sin and propels the entire plot.

About Madame Max I feel I can't safely say too much without spoiling everything, but she is, to my mind, utterly captivating and the actual best character in the books. The scene in which she seduces the Old Duke by allowing him to catch a glimpse of her perfectly turned ankle is the best written seduction scene I've ever had the pleasure to read anywhere. One doesn't usually think of Trollope as a steamy sort of writer, but this is certainly very very erotic stuff.

Another reviewer states that many feel the conclusion of Phineas Finn to be rather weak. Perhaps. But Trollope says that Phineas Finn and Phineas Redux should be understood to comprise but a single narrative. I suspect that many readers who've had the patience to read through both novels will agree with me in stating that the conclusion to the latter novel is probably the most gratifying they have ever read, but it wouldn't be so had the first novel ended in any other way.

Recently, a personal tragedy resulted in a rare hiatus in my reading. In attempting to return to normal, I found the only author that suited (and soothed) me was Anthony Trollope. As an English major at Dartmouth, I never encountered his works, and none were on the required reading list; yet now, there are few writers who can "embed" me in their world so easily as Trollope.

This is the second of the Palliser series of six novels, the first of which was CAN YOU FORGIVE HER? Although it is not a prerequisite to understanding PHINEAS FINN, I recommend that readers start at the beginning, so that they have some idea of British parliamentary politics in the mid 19th century and the characters of Plantagenet Palliser, his wife Lady Glencora and their circle.

To begin with, there was at that time no monetary recompense for being a member of the House of Commons. The assumption was that: (1) the member was independently wealthy or (2) the member had a day job which paid his bills. This becomes an overriding issue in the novel.

Enter Phineas Finn, an engaging Irishman, who gives up the practice of law to run for an Irish seat in the House -- much to the consternation of his friends and relatives who worry how he is to make ends meet. He joins in with a group of Liberal politicians centered around Lord Beresford and his beautiful daughter, Lady Laura Standish. No sooner does Phineas get up the courage to propose to her than he finds he has been beaten to the punch by a wealthy Scottish member, who happens to be a dour and rigid Presbyterian.

Next he targets Violet Effingham, who has an on-again, off-again relationship with Lord Chiltern, the brother of Lady Laura. In targeting Violet, Phineas runs up against the choleric Chiltern, whose "red hair is no lie," to quote one of my favorite lines in THE QUIET MAN. The two actually fight a duel across the Channel on a Belgian beach with no serious injory to either party. But Violet makes up her mind for Lord Chiltern, and Phineas is out in the cold again.

As Phineas eventually makes it into the Treasury, which does carry some salary, he meets a beautiful wealthy Jewess named Mme Max Goesler, who has some feelings for him. Unfortunately, he had fallen under the tutelage of Mr. Monk, another Liberal politican who runs up against the prevailing political winds in the house. Not only does Phineas become a victim for his principles, but the Liberals are voted out; and Phineas is out of a job and flat broke.

He returns to Ireland, marries an old childhood sweetheart, and gets a sinecure position in Cork as the Tories busily redraw the political map under Disraeli (called Daubeny in the novel).

In addition to being a charmer -- though a bit feckless at times -- Phineas finds himself liked wherever he goes. Mind you, not enough to nab a beautiful, wealthy wife -- but there is a sequel to come called PHINEAS REDUX, which I am reading now, in which Phineas makes a comeback in his old haunts.

As in all of my favorite Trollope novels, there are the obligatory fox hunting scenes, including one in which Phineas helps save Lord Chiltern, whose horse rolls over on him. He even saves the life of Mr Kennedy, Lady Laura's husband, by driving away some muggers. There is something sunny about the title character, and this quality shines throughout the novel.

Anthony Trollope wrote some 47 novels: This one is one of the best, and will certainly make for an enjoyable read.

This Oxford World's Classics edition contains two appendices titled Explanatory Notes and Who's Who. Unfortunately, they give away plot developments not only for this book but also for sequels in the Palliser Novels, of which Can You Forgive Her? is the predecessor to this work. This seems altogether unforgivable, so I recommend you seek out another edition. The novel itself is quite good if you have a lot of time; I was looking forward to the sequels, but now that I know so much of what is going to happen...

The chances are that "Phineas Finn" will not be the first or the second or even the third Trollope novel that you read. Several Barsetshire novels and "The Way We Live Now" are likely to get pride of place. This is probably fair enough. But that fact says more about the merits of the other books than of any defect in "Phineas Finn." It isn't perfect, but it is a very satisfying novel, indeed - perhaps the best "political" novel since Disraeli's "Sybil," It is "political," that is, not in the sense that it tackles big issues, as "Sybil" does - "Phineas Finn" gives a once-over to voting rights, tenant rights and the Irish but it's all somewhat perfunctory. No: it is "political" in the sense that it is about the lives and fortunes of a public man, and of those who offer help or hindrance on the way.

The core elements of the plot are fairly familiar: callow youth sets out to conquer the world and finds out that it's trickier than it looks. Impetuous young woman enters into marriage full of high hopes only to find out that she is stuck with a bad deal. But then, you don't read Shakespeare for plot. I wouldn't say that Trollope is Shakespeare. Still, it is impressive how much by way of character and situation both writes can milk out of a structure that is almost haphazard.

Other commentators have also noted that the ending to "Phineas Finn" is weak, but I don't see that as a crippling vice: I'm hard put to think of a really good novel whose ending is not weak.

One of the many notable facts about the cast of characters is its great range: we have the home folk in Ireland. We have a marvelous portrait of Finn's landlord, the law-copyist, and his employer, the successful barrister - in each case, along with their wives. We have a narrow-minded country squire and a feckless young playboy. And we have a sketch, brief and incomplete but still convincing, of the grandest peer in the realm.

Aside from the sheer breadth of reach, the other thing to be said about the cast is the extraordinary range of interesting women. Phineas, devil that he may be, catches the fancy of at least one back home in Ireland and three more in London. Trollope is often good with women and here in particular he shows remarkable sympathy and comprehension of what they are up against. And not least of the three is, of course, the remarkable Madame Max Goesler, who is surely in contention for recognition as the most remarkable Trollope character at all-for a lady named Max with a touch of a moustache, she is a Victorian sexpot.

It would be fun to read this in comparison with Henry Adams' "Democracy" another novel of politics in more or less the same period, though on another continent. Meantime, I'm clearing time to read the rest of Trollope's "political" novels, in the hope that he maintains the high standard that he has set here.

At the heart of Trollope's Phineas Finn lies quite a unique (and perhaps presciently postmodern) notion of politics. However, to get at this theory, we readers must wade through the immense amount of exposition that typifies Trollope's writing. We must patiently and assiduously gather plot details from the frequent and plentiful parlor chat, table talk, and other various and sundry gossip that Trollope uses to advance what is an otherwise exceedingly meager plot. Nevertheless, such exposition, which moves at a pace roughly equivalent to that of continental drift, rewards the reader with quite a keen insight into mid-nineteenth century British politics and its relationship to the reality of human nature.

Perhaps the easiest way to approach the political critique at the heart of this novel is by defining the operative assumptions underlying representative politics in general. In theory, representative government is intended to grant the citizenry a say in legislative process, albeit indirectly. A particular representative is supposed to vote on a piece of proposed legislation in such a way that reflects the greater concerns of his constituency. Prior to the events of Phineas Finn, British representative government is grappling with the issue of whom to extend the franchise based on the criteria of real wealth, property, region of origin, etc. One thus gets the sense that the presence of such exclusionary criteria betrays a rather Platonic distaste for general democracy on the part of the parliament ministers. Thus, in creating a system of barriers or gateways between the public at large and the legislative apparatus, the governing body reduces the potential for an anarchic clamor of myriad and wide-ranging interests on the part of the citizenry, which could potentially derail the legislative process altogether. As a result a properly civic-minded representative may always act for the good of his constituency by exercising his judgment, regardless of whether or not his vote conflicts with his constituents' desires. In other words, built into this system of government is the elitist conviction that the governed may be at times too unruly to exercise its franchise prudently. Therefore, by withholding the franchise from those deemed too ignorant to vote wisely (a determination based on various socioeconomic considerations), and by inserting elected officials between the enfranchised and the legislative apparatus itself, government achieves a normative regularity.

However, with the implementation of such a system of governments also come opportunities to exploit and abuse the system. A certain aphorism-- which I attribute to Michel Foucault, though I am not entirely certain that it is indeed his-- comes to mind: "a system is defined by what escapes it." In other words, because a system results from the desire to perpetuate the plane of consistency from which it emerges, the system must necessarily exclude that which is inconsistent with its purpose. Therefore, around any system arises a margin of excluded possibilities and potentialities; however, those dedicated to the system seek to refine it in such a way as to increase its power to envelop and re-absorb that which it had originally pushed to its margins. Thus any system exists in a state of perpetual refinement because it aims to absorb back into itself that which has escaped it into the margins.

Into such a system steps the young and callow Phineas Finn, a man who is indeed marginal in that he is Irish and a commoner, and it is that position of marginality which the system seeks to incorporate into itself. However, one must understand that the system does not incorporate into itself those who dwell at its margins in order to empower them. Rather, it seeks to neutralize the threateningly unregulated marginality that individuals like Phineas Finn represent by bringing them into its regulatory, normalizing regime, and as we shall soon see, this is precisely what almost happens to Phineas.

With the above in mind, one may ask if whether there is any real benefit to entering such a system, if it is indeed essentially neutralizing and normalizing. I answer provisionally that the system into which Phineas enters, i.e., British Parliament, conceals its regulatory, homogenizing and neutralizing essence beneath a seductive veneer of power and celebrity, and it is this veneer to which Phineas succumbs. That is, it seems that at first a government office offers one the ability to satisfy one's desires, because it is a forum policymaking that also generates a cult of celebrity, and I need not explain the advantages of being a celebrity. Therefore, although we may initially think Phineas one lucky devil, we soon discover that Phineas's various political adventures are characterized by the necessity of forsaking that which he desires. For example, Phineas must abandon his desire for Lady Laura Standish because he cannot satisfy Lady Laura's own political ambitions, and later his political indebtedness to Lord Brantford forces him to abandon of his desire for Violet Effingham, with whom Lord Chiltern is in love. In fact, Phineas soon discovers that posturing, longwinded orations and cloakroom alliances epitomize politics more than any deep desire to get things done.

Mr. Kennedy, on the other hand, is quite a virtuous consummate politician, because he is devoted to carrying out every administrative detail that accompanies government office. In truth though, he is really nothing more than a particularly diligent paper pusher. But, however propitious his demeanor is to the endless administrative duties he must carry out, Trollope nevertheless portrays him as a dry, sober, and nearly humorless. Furthermore, Trollope also portrays Mr. Kennedy a sort of gentle but effective disciplinarian in his married life. Thus we may conclude that political success requires the abnegation, or at least the endless deferral, of one's true desires, and that the most successful politician is one who can most effectively subordinate his desire to the workings of government. Therefore, the system seduces Phineas and his peers with a promise of power that it never delivers, and furthermore the system steals one's position of resistance from him via assimilation into a normalizing regime.

Thus we have arrived at the essence of Trollope's political critique: that the British system of representative government is not dedicated to progress, but to stasis. The government preserves and extends the influence of the status quo through a subtle and complex array of practices: e.g., needlessly repetition of proposed legislature, stupifyingly long-winded filibusters, etc. These practices thus result in a perpetual deferral of desire on the part of plebeian, politician and rising young man alike.

I'd really rate this a 4.5, but I couldn't give it a full 5 stars. I did like this book in the series more than the first.

Nicole in the first book was really evil and bitter, although still funny and sarcastic at the same time. In this book, she's not so mean. She's reluctant to enter a relationship after catching her loser husband in bed with the younger sister, but when she meets retired NFL pro Hawk she doesn't stand a chance. They have a fun chemistry throughout the book. There's humor, drama, and love.

If you're wanting to get an update on Claire and Wyatt in this book, you'll be sadly searching for nothing much than tiny bits of barely anything. I'm guessing that will prove the same for Nicole and Hawk in the 3rd book.

Mallery must have this think with always needing a perfect character. In the first book Claire was too close to perfect for being human. And in this book the high school star quarterback, Raoul, whom Nicole takes in her home to take care of, comes across as a little too perfect. I really liked his character but he just seemed a little too mature for an 18 year old.
And the other slightly annoying part was that all the Keyes sister became pregnant at the same time out of wedlock ( which then push the realization of love faster for the guy they love who doesn't want kids). That tactic was a little over used.

But all in all, the book was funny and cute, and I really liked Nicole and Hawk together. It was fun to watch their relationship from the very first chapter and on.

Okay, I have to say, Hawk is hot, and drawn very well in this book. You like him, probably fall in love with him, and even understand him.

Nicole is still Nicole, hard on the outside, still a little mixed up and needing love on the inside. She is angry with her sister Jesse, who she believes has done the unforgiveable in regard to Nicole's ex-husband.

Raoul, the high school quarterback who is homeless and tries to steal five dozen doughnuts for his team, appears to be the most mature of the whole cast of characters, and very loveable.

Brittany is a product of her environment, entitled and spoiled and selfish, but with some redeeming qualities.

This book could have gone in several different directions, but I like the way it went, with the exception of the baby. Also, for a woman who complained so much about being responsible for everything since she was a child, it was a little weird that Nicole ended up with Rauol and Sheila and more responsibility. Perhaps she has begun to realize the person she can be when she has the ability to make choices of her own?

The sizzling romance between Hawk and Nicole was cute. He's a tough guy, knows his own worth and his own attraction, and it never enters his head that he can't get around a woman like Nicole. She presents a challenge, one he feels he is up to handling, and he does. They fall in love, but to prove that he understands who Nicole is, Hawk gives himself several tasks which he must complete in order to overcome the gaff he made when he proposed publicly.

I'll be honest, my experience with Mallery's books is that they are hit or miss. But this one is a DEFINITE HIT! Great characters (excellent hero!), interesting plot, hot love scenes. But the best is that it's unpredictable--the characters are like "real" people with flaws who make mistakes, etc. For example, the hero does something that would normally be considered really romantic--but it totally backfires. I'm an avid romance reader and I highly recommend this book.

Nicole is bummed that she's in the middle of a divorce, not speaking to her youngest sister, and everyone around her (including a stray dog) seems to be pregnant. One morning a teen comes into her bakery and attempts to steal donuts. She calls the cops but instead sexy football coach Eric "Hawk" Hawkins shows up. Brash Nicole wants nothing to do with the smooth charmer, but agrees to let Raoul work off the donuts at her store. Raoul soon proves to be an invaluable asset and she gives him a full time job, and soon he moves in with her when she discovers his foster family has kicked him out. Meanwhile everyone seems to be taking pity on her single status, so she opts to make a bargain with Hawk to pretend to be her lover in exchange for, well the fringe benefits of being a lover. Widowed Hawk never even considers that he might actually fall for the often prickly baker. And then there is his impetuous princess of a daughter...

Mallery's second installment in the Bakery sisters trilogy is a bit disappointing. Nicole is absolutely obnoxious throughout 95% of the first novel, and pretty much half of this one, so I had a hard time actually liking or caring what happened to her character. I did like that Raoul brought out the softer side of her, but disliked the way that she treated just about everyone else around her. And what about her supposed BFF, Wyatt - he was completely MIA in this novel.

POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT: I really hate the trite plot device that some authors resort to in order to get a couple together - the dreaded unexpected pregnancy. Really, can't they find a better way to bring a couple together? Use a little creativity. This novel could have been so much better had Mallery not resorted to impregnating all three of the Keyes sisters in order to get their respective men (well, don't know for sure about baby sis Jesse since she is in the next book, but my money's on it). She has realistic dialog, pretty good secondary characters, and a heroine who (finally) grows. It could have been a pretty good story; instead, it's just pretty average.

© Tracy Vest, September 2008

I tried to like this book. I didn't enjoy Sweet Talk because of Nicole and hoped that I would like her more in this book dedicated to her, but I didn't.

She still comes across as nasty and judgmental. However, I did like the relationship she had with Raoul was sweet, I never understood why Hawk was with her.

I was also put off by Hawk's relationship with Brittany that the author decided to deal with in the last five chapters or so of the book. For two hundred and some odd pages, Brittany never seemed to have a problem with Nicole or behaved in a way that was spoiled or selfish and then, suddenly, she starts yelling at Nicole and acting like a princess. It didn't fit.

The dialogue was witty but at times there was too much of it. The characters did a lot of talking. And I never saw Nicole really change. She was still selfish, controlling and bossy.

I am looking forward to Jesse's story because I always kind of liked her. We'll see.

Sir Walter Scott began WAVERLEY, his first novel, in 1805. Years later, after his move to his dream home Abbotsford near the border with England, he found his manuscript while rummaging in a fishing tackle box. He then brought the world's first historical novel to a conclusion in 1814.

Abe Lincoln read Walter Scott. His children entertained their mother re-enacting scenes from the WAVERLEY series of novels. I wonder therefore if Lincoln's "Four score and seven years ago..." does not echo WAVERLEY's frequently repeated sub-title, " 'Tis Sixty Years Since." WAVERLEY is narrated as from 1805, the year it was begun, and for both it and the Gettysburg Address, a reader inevitably starts calculating backwards. What date are we talking about? Ah,1745 for young Edward Waverley. We know (as he does not) what turmoil he is letting himself in for when he rides into the Highlands -- the last hurrah of the legitimate Stuart dynasty. And 1776 for Abe Lincoln meant the Declaration of Independence. In 1745 "auld" Scotland almost disappeared in defeat. In 1776 Hanoverian Britain began its retreat from North America.

Scott tells us in i.1 (p. 5) that in 1745 our ancestors expressed their anger directly, by taking up arms. But in 1805/1814 his generation was more indirect, taking enemies to court.

This very great novel should be read for sheer entertainment, for its characters, for the omnipresent black bears of the Baron of Bradwardine and for its love story. But I suggest that we read it as well as history and geography. Are we up for the sounds of broad Scots language? For a smidgen of Highland Gaelic (which Scott barely knew)? To learn about doch and dorroch and the stirrup-cup? Through hundreds of details of what Scotsmen ate, how they dressed, how beautiful were their mountains and waters near Perth, Walter Scott brought Scotland to life in England and throughout Europe and in the USA.

WAVERLEY makes us take Scotland, the real Scotland of history, seriously. We see its educated Catholic Highlanders sending their children to study in France and Italy. Bonnie Prince Charlie lost only one battle of several, but it was enough to secure Hanoverians their throne. We sense that the transition, however awful, was inevitable from fiercely independent Scotland to an uncomfortable, demoted "North Britain" within a prospering, peaceful United Kingdom of middle-class shopkeepers. Walter Scott makes us ask what if any history has to teach us.

Not only is WAVERLEY the first historical novel. It is also the first political novel. We see dimly how a generally dismal set of rulers, the Stuart dynasty, could continue to win men's loyalty to a lost cause. In a later novel, also about Prince Charlie 20 years later, we read of a Scottish family named REDGAUNTLET whose fate was always to be on the losing side. What makes subjects or citizens alike glory in losing for political principle?

Mark Twain wrote as if all Walter Scott cared about were kings and dynasties, knights, beautiful high-born ladies and lost inheritances. But day after day in court in Edinburgh he heard argued cases of little people with religious and inherited passions and prejudices, not to mention superstitions. He remembered them all, along with the tales he heard as a boy and the ballads he researched for seven consecutive summers as a young adult. These little people live again in WAVERLEY and in Scott's 26 other novels as well.

-OOO-

The first 200 pages of "Waverley" represent an early zenith for novelists testing the patience of their readership.

After a lengthy introduction where author Sir Walter Scott mocks the romantic pretentiousness then abounding among novelists, he proceeds to introduce us to assorted personages we will never meet again before finally focusing on the opaque central character, whose name not only gives us the book's title but a sense of grating irresolution which comes to define him. The reader's feet start tapping.

Scott then throws up a detailed sequence of non-events. Young Waverley joins the British army, marches off to Scotland, and becomes the guest of every Highland warlord with a grudge against His Majesty. I may have left off a couple of incidents, but that's the sum total of the action for the first third or so of the book. "Shall this be a long or short chapter?" he teasingly asks at the beginning of his 24th chapter, nearly 200 pages in.

"Waverley" does eventually kick itself into a higher gear, not that it ever becomes a thrill-ride. But he imbues his mysterious Scottish landscape with an aura that swirls around the reader and, though hard to explain coherently, becomes not only quite charming but compelling, too.

Waverley, like David Copperfield and many other such heroes of 19th century fiction, finds himself torn between two women, and as his attempts at wooing one fell painfully short, I found myself cutting across the chasm of time and really identifying with the guy.

"The sensation of hope with which he had nursed his affection in absence of the beloved object seemed to vanish in her presence..."

Scott's remedy for such pining is also too good not to quote: "I knew a very accomplished and sensible young man cured of a violent passion for a pretty woman, whose talents were not equal to her face and figure, by being permitted to bear her company for a whole afternoon."

I wish I had the stomach to finish this book the first time I tried to read it, when I was a sophomore in high school. It might have saved me much misery.

The noteworthy thing about "Waverley," as others here comment, is that it plays off the romantic ideal of the day in a character whose inconstancy is a deliberate statement about how such all-or-nothing sentiments can be misleading, even injurious. Edward Waverley, introduced to us memorably (if at great length) in terms of the books he starts but doesn't finish, becomes a waterbug skittering across the waves of history, once a loyal supporter of the Hanoveran throne, then a rebel Jacobite, as his loyalties are played by people of varying moral hues.

"Well, after all, every thing has its fair as well as its seamy side," Waverley declares by the second half of the book, beginning to understand.

What makes "Waverley" a great book are the characters around Waverley more than the man himself, especially one rebel named Fergus who takes his measure of Waverley's indecisive character, and his station as the heir to a British title, in order to manipulate him. Scott does this so subtly we may feel ourselves as caught out as young Edward when he learns the score, but it works not only because it carries logical force within the ever-shifting narrative but doesn't turn Fergus into a villain so much as a man who does what he can with what he has.

For all the romantic stuff, well presented indeed, it's the relationship between Waverley and Fergus that carries the strongest resonant strain, since it isn't exactly a friendship or adversarial, but a bit of both with an undercurrent of tragedy that becomes more focused toward the end.

"Waverley" isn't a well-structured novel per se, given the sluggish opening and Waverley's pinball-like relationship to the politics around him. Readers of "Ivanhoe" will miss the firmer storyline of that work, not to mention comic relief in the form of pithy Wamba of that book rather than the windy, Latin-loving Baron, though the latter has his moments.

Everyone in "Waverley" has their moments, and they add up to a great book once the momentum gets going. It's a tough climb, but you'll be glad you made the effort when it's over.

Scott can be a ragged storyteller, by our contemporary standards (which are unfair to apply, since he showed the way to all future English novelists). Patches of WAVERLEY are ragged and rambling. Such humor as there is is not very funny, and sometimes when the action is meant to be sweeping, it is more nearly absurd.

None of this is without compensations. The English novel was still young and unformed, and Scott is alive to all its possibilities, with a freshness and boldness not available to later writers. He thinks nothing, for instance, of having his hero (here as in IVANHOE) sick or asleep while the action is conducted elsewhere by more vidid, nominally secondary characters.

But WAVERLEY is not just of historical interest. It accomplishes something unique in the Bildungsroman genre. In its time, and even now, it is thought of as a nonpareil romantic adventure, but the reputation is misleading, since it is mostly about the unraveling of Waverley's romantic notions. For a time we share them: how merry and noble the highlanders seem, how manly and swashbuckling their leader, Fergus; how accomplished and womanly his sister, the beautiful Flora. By the the end of the book, however, Waverley's cause has turned to ashes, the man he idolized is revealed as an unfeeling monomaniac, and the woman he thought he loved seems just a sour harpy.

The cold slap of reality is an experience common enough in life, the painful accompaniment of growing up, but you'll have to look far and wide to find it so cannily presented in fiction as here.

Mark Twain stated that Scott's writings had a "debilitating influence;" in fact drove the antebellum South "mad" with medieval notions of chivalry into the War Between the States. It's true, the popularity of Sir Walter at the time was unparalleled. Waverley, published in 1814, has the distinction of being the first historical novel; that is, where a heroic fictional character is set within an actual event in history. Waverley also stands out as a splendid example of the romantic trend in literature, where imagination is considered primary to understanding. Waverley is the first in a series of popular "historical romances" by Scott. The key event to Waverley is the colorful Jacobite rebellion of 1745, where Bonnie Prince Charlie, the last of the Stuarts, landed on Scottish shores to reclaim the English throne from King George II. 75,000 ex-Jacobites later immigrated to South Carolina following Prince Charlie's failure, no doubt giving King George III much to contend with, during the American Revolution. Over a hundred years later, South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union, by the Scott "crazed" generation. So, Twain's witty observation could have a basis in fact.
Scott published Waverley anonymously, giving the novel a thrilling mystique of historical authenticity; a romantic strategy ? for imaginative distancing or "negative ca