Nicholson Books

The vast majority of historical books about the common man are surveys of great swaths of humanity, general histories of the masses. Reader's settle into the comfort of their reading chair with a history book, and as they read they rarely feel the strong emotions that we associate with narratives. They read a tome about WWII and the six million Jews killed in the Holocaust, and although they feel horror at the murders of so many, the horror is mitigated because six million is a gigantic number, a statistic, and we can comprehend it only as a number. Would we feel much worse if it had been seven million murdered or much better if it was 4 million? We naturally depersonalize numbers. The diary of Anne Frank, however, stirs our emotions and we react with strong pathos to the narrative of this one young girl. The lesson here is that we only feel for things that are intimate, close by. We fall in love with a co-worker, dislike our next door neighbor, and we feel sad when we find out about the death of someone we knew.
In much the same way, Jonathan Spence's "The Death of Woman Wang" engages us, makes us feel for these 17th century Chinese commoners. It helps that the book has a penetrating style and uses forceful imagery. Spence notes in his introduction that he has set out to make the book more personal by focusing on the stories of individuals. Rather than limiting our scope, this choice brings the lives of rural Chinese more into focus. When history does individualize, it tends to focus on the lives of the great and wealthy, yet the stories of the masses go untold, lost to the annals of time. Here we have the raw lives of commoners, sometimes more desperate, always more difficult. Perhaps, as we later remove our focus, we will be able to better understand the pains of the multitude, and extrapolate the emotional contours of their lives.
T'an-Ch'eng is our local, a small, rural county that is quite ordinary in many ways. It doesn't have any heroes, no personages of great fame are from there, no battles of any note were fought there, and it more or less resembles the counties that surround it. It is, however, a very unfortunate place. In the last 40 years the people of T'an-Ch'eng have witnessed droughts, hails of locusts, marauding bandits, floods, Manchu invaders, earthquakes, and in their wake plague and famine. The population has been decimated, and those strong enough to leave have left. The ones who have stayed behind cannot protect one another. The weak and the old count their days. The youth have become dissolute, the people murderous, not able to trust others, cannibalism abounds and "close friends no longer dare walk out to the field together." What these people face, in the words of the country magistrate, is "one of basic survival--physical and moral--in a world that seem[s] to be disintegrating before their eyes.
As Spence notes in his introduction, it is ironic that the Chinese, who were meticulous record keepers, and compiled a massive, meticulously detailed historiography of the country, failed to preserve the types of local records which are the bread and butter of historical scholarship. The registries of birth, marriage and death, coroner's inquests, guild proceedings, and land-tenancy records that medieval European scholars, for example, rely on so heavily are rare in China. In order to conjure up an image of T'an-ch'eng Spence has chosen three alternative sources that overcome this obstacle adroitly.
Our first source is called the Local History of T'an-ch'eng, and was compiled in 1673 by members of the gentry elite, headed by Feng K'o-ts'an, himself a former magistrate. Feng played witness to the catastrophes of T'an-ch'eng, and as a result his Local History is exceptional from others (they were created by every county across China) in that it presents the travails of the county in graphic, harsh detail. He wrote of T'an-ch'eng, saying that it was as if "fate were throwing rocks upon a man who had already fallen in a well."
Huang Liu-Hung, whose writings serve as our second source, served from 1670-1672 as magistrate. As magistrate, he wielded enormous power over his community, serving as both chief legal officer, financial officer, and guardian of public security. Because he is a man of such prominence, we are given entrée into areas we otherwise might have been excluded from. His two works, our sources, are his personal memoir and a handbook on the office of the magistrate, which, fortunately, were written with painstaking accuracy and detail.
The last source is that of P'u Sung-ling, a man little known in the West, but in China a famed writer, considered one of the best of his era. He was an essayist, dramatist, and short-story writer, and his stories serve as a complement to the other sources, which are straightforward accounts. P'u Sung-ling's stories give us a window into people's inner lives, their hopes and dreams, and their fears. His stories are mystical or mundane, sometimes both, incorporating magic realism into normal narrative. Although not from T'an-ch'eng, he lived very close by in Tzu-ch'uan county to the North. The two counties were separated by bandit-infested hills, which would have made forays difficult, but he did pass through T'an-ch'eng in 1670 and 1671, and we can assume that much of what he wrote about would parallel the lives of people in T'an-ch'eng.
The Local History shows us that taxes were an especially onerous burden to these people who were living already under the yolk of misery. With the demise of the Ming dynasty and rise of the Manchus things did not improve much. There were two taxes, one for the size of the land you owned, and the other on adult males. Since commoner's hardly ever had the money to pay off their taxes all at once, the taxes were collected in several installments over the course of the year.
Compounding the problem, T'an-ch'eng was located on a main road that saw the passage of government officials, military supplies, and couriers. The county was expected by the crown to provide whatever was needed to help their passage: road maintenance, transport services, and care of official and their retinues. The government provided a stipend to defray the costs, but it did not cover them entirely.
Instead of making the tax burden less severe, disasters could cause the burden to increase. In the wake of the great earthquake of 1668, many died or fled the area, but the state did not reduce the number of adult males on its roles enough to cover the actual amount missing, yet the tax had to be paid, so the extra amount needed was divided equally amongst the survivors and paid. We can only imagine the strain this put on them, these families that were scraping by. Even if the farmers could overcome their difficulties and had enough of a grain surplus to pay the taxes, they still had to run the gauntlet of assayers, unscrupulous men in town who converted the farmer's copper cash into the silver form required by the government. And then there were many landowners who exploited the farmers. Huang Liu-Hung went after one of them with the arm of the law, but the landowner managed to avoid conviction by intimidating witnesses into silence.
The Local History offers much advice in the form of biographies. For women these biographies were designed to be moral compasses. For example, one "show[ed] how - with determination and strict moral purpose one could survive as a widow, make a living, and bring up one's children to be either worthy scholars or loyal wives in their turn." The women who were "loyal" or "virtuous" were considered paragons of upright social behavior. In the great majority of the cases the women were married. Apparently it was difficult to secure your spot in the pantheon of virtuous women if you didn't have a man to please by your actions. The virtues of "chastity, courage, tenacity, and unquestioning acceptance of the prevailing [read male!] hierarchy - unto death if necessary," might get you a mention in the hallowed Local History of T'an-ch'eng. Disfiguring your face after the death of your husband (in order to avoid potential suitors) didn't hurt your chances either.
Despite the bleak picture painted by immense suffering and turmoil, the "The Death of Woman Wang" doesn't wallow in its tears. Pithy vignettes of hope and country justice are speckled throughout, among the tragedies.
P'u Sung-ling recounts the story of Hsi-Liu, a young widow with two boys to care for. The older one is lazy and doesn't study. The younger one is "incredibly stupid" and lazy as well. Hsi-Liu reforms them both, in what we have come to recognize as the salient characteristics of the wise-ones in parables: wiliness, fortitude, and intelligence. The older son becomes dutiful and makes good by attaining the highest civil service degree possible. The younger one follows suit, only he becomes a successful merchant, making "tens of thousands in trade." This struck me as a paradox, considering that he was "incredibly stupid," but then it occurred to me that merchants were at the bottom rung of the occupational totem pole in Ming society.
The book is speckled with stories that impose their view of correct female behavior, especially how to act towards one's husband. P'u Sung-ling, however, an observer of the full spectrum of human activity, writes sympathetically about the plight of women. One story is about a young woman who is thrown into a terrible marriage, and the revenge she wreaks on her husband. Her husband is lazy, dissolute, and gambles away all their money. Once bottomed out, he sells her as a concubine. Fortunately, the girl comes from a very wealthy family, and they rescue her from sexual slavery. In fable-like manner, she flaunts her wealth in front of her ex-husband - what could have been if he had been a virtuous - more wealth than he could have ever imagined.
Last we come to the tragic story of Woman Wang, who runs off with another man in defiance of her husband and social convention. Surely her story, since it ends in her murder by her husband's hand, was included in the Local History as a warning to other women who might consider the same thing. Transgressions committed by women against the moral order were persecuted severely, as evidenced by stipulations of the legal code. For what she had done, Woman Wang "was classified as a fugitive and subject to a punishment of one hundred blows." We are told also that her killing would be considered justified in the eyes of the law if Kao was to catch her in the act.
We can imagine her, laying next to her husband, wondering what life might be like with another man, or at least not with her husband. She is surely desperate - why else would she risk so much? We feel true empathy for her once we learn that she has been abandoned on the road by her paramour. She has betrayed her husband, yet the betrayal by her lover seems more contemptible by comparison. Not only has she lost her lover, she has lost her life in the process. What hope could remain in her heart?
With nowhere to turn she makes her way home in fear. Once there, she can't bring herself to confront her husband, Kao. Instead, she finds shelter at a local temple, until one day her neighbor and Kao show up one after the other. The neighbor and Kao quarrel, and the neighbor slaps him, and we know that this slap will somehow figure into the rest of the story. Kao allows Woman Wang back, and they live with one another for several months. One cold Winter's night he strangles her to death in brutal fashion, forcing his knee into her abdomen and crushing it. Kao attempts to place the body near his neighbors house in order to frame him but is foiled by some night watchmen who scare him off. Despite his failure to implicate the neighbor, Kao goes before the magistrate and accuses his neighbor of the murder. Huang, our memoirist magistrate, quickly sees through Kao's lies and finds him guilty of the crime. He sentences Kao to a severe beating, and forces the neighbor to pay for Woman Wang's burial costs. Her burial is expensive and elaborate, done in order to appease Woman Wang, so that "her lonely spirit would be pacified."
We have tales of woe, and hardship overcome. The people of T'an-ch'eng needed both. Some of them serve as correctives to people's errant behavior, the others to show them that life is worth living, that despite all their suffering, there was some justice in the world, and hope.

In The Death of Woman Wang, Jonathan A. Spence wrote about a rural place in China named T'an-ch'eng. Using the compilations of The Local History of T'an-ch'eng, the memoirs from a scholar official, and third, the works of an essayist known as P'u Sung-ling, Spence informs us about the ways of the government (or lack thereof), agriculture, circumstances and situations of several characters, and most evident, the portrayal of women in China at the time. Indeed women were considered of lesser value than men, but there is much more to be found in that belief. There were certain elements that made a woman "virtuous and honourable," along with many other things expected from them . To be considered a success in her feminine role, a woman would have to do many things; if she was unable to surpass such challenges, the laws and customs of Chinese society were enacted.

Although the women in 17th century China were considered inferior to men, some women were also thought to be superior to other women. The superior woman, or ideal woman, was she who was "virtuous and honourable." The correct female behaviour included the virtues of "chastity, courage, tenacity, and unquestioning acceptance of the prevailing hierarchy - unto death if necessary" (pg. 100). First there was great emphasis on the loyalty of the wife, before marriage and even after the husband's death. Before a couple was married, the girl would have to live at her future in-law's house, which would give an extra helping hand. On the other hand, should a woman lose her husband, she is encouraged to remarry. Many women were quite loyal to their first, and so refused to remarry. Women would commonly run away, disfigure their face, or even commit suicide in order not to be disloyal to their first husband. Women were expected never to commit adultery, and could be severely punished. Men, however, were not shunned as women were. A wife's body was sacred to her marriage; along with not committing adultery, a woman was also expected to use her intelligence to outwit the "voracious soldiers" and bandits from taking and raping her body (pg. 104). Intelligence was also part of being an honourable woman, such as when a young widow leaves her own son with husband's family to return to her won widowed mother and bring up her brothers (pg. 62).

To be considered prevailing at her feminine role, a Chinese woman was expected to overcome many obstacles. With a deceased husband, the husband's family would encourage the widow to remarry so that they could regain his possessions. Relatives would sometimes "strip her home and family to the bones" (pg. 70). Despite the challenge of greedy relatives, some women, like woman Kao (pg.71) were able to overcome it. Woman Kao certainly struggled, but the harder things were the more upright she was; her son in turn was also brought up principled like her. Raising her children was another challenge by not having the father to bring in not only income, but also to bring up the sons to learn how to run the family's business affairs and to help them pass the examinations. In bringing up her boys, one a step-son, Hsi-liu was a determined wife as well as a determined mother. So that her boys would learn from their mistakes she gave up her reputation. Public opinion was weighed heavy on many women, and the people around Hsi-liu thought of her as cruel. Her boys turned out quite disciplined in the end (pg. 68-70).

Chinese society placed customs and laws to punish women if they were not successful at overcoming such obstacles. Despite not being content in a marriage, women were expected to remain loyal to the husband and to stay with him. Should the wife run away, like Woman Wang, she would automatically be considered a criminal, she "was classified as a fugitive and subject to a punishment of one hundred blows" (pg. 120). A husband was also considered justified if he was to kill his wife or the adulterer if he caught them in the act. If he waited and did not kill them immediately, the husband was not justified. If the wife returned after running away, the husband was to entitled to keep her. In the case of Woman Wang, her husband Jen took her back, but brutally killed her. Because Chinese society placed so much power in the hands of one gender at the expense of another, tragedies like the cruel death of Woman Wang were inevitable. An illegitimate child was greatly shunned, as much as adultery. In the story of the girl Tou and her father's friend Nan, Nan falls for her and swears his eternal faithfulness to her. Since she was a peasant and Nan was offered a rich wife, he took his words back. Tou became pregnant, but Nan denied to her father that it was his. Her father beat her and kicked her out of the house. Betraying her, Nan didn't let her into his house, so she died with her baby at his gate (pg. 107-109). Lastly, should a woman commit suicide because she cannot overcome her challenges, she was believed to be cursed in becoming a ghost, hence being an unpeaceful spirit.

The Death of Woman Wang painted a picture of life in rural China, connected with the death of a woman who ran away from her husband, was returned to him and then was killed by him. The story of the many female characters and Woman Wang serve as an illustration of the place of women in this society, the nature of the law of the time, and the social structure which allowed such things to happen.

I really did not care for this book and I thought it hard to follow at times and it was not keeping my attention.

A little hard to follow sometimes, and the author could have artfully trimmed it in a couple of places -- after all, it was written for a lay audience, so an excess of historical details can be distracting. Still, it provides a glimpse into a little-known portion of history, and it's comprehensible to a general audience. As I say, imperfect, but worthwhile.

Woman Wang is a piece of work that one can read to get a sense of life for women in China during this time period. However, one should take this book with a grain of salt, since women were not always as powerless as Spence tries to argue. (In fact Woman Wang does display some of her power simply by breaking the "rules"). While factual in presenting more of the well-known facets of Confucian-ruled society and its effects on women, including the legal system, much of this book is speculative and sentimental. It often reads more as historical fiction than a work by a professor of Chinese History at a prestigious university. It does not flow smoothly, pulling the reader jerkily from third person narrative of woman wang to analysis of documents and explanations from a historical/sociological perspective and back to narrative again. For an advanced student of Chinese culture, history, etc., if this book did not get a glance in her/his early years, it will not provide much insight. He has performed better in later works. Still, it remains a neat, compact work for a neophyte, and to this day retains its use in introductory classes on Chinese history.

This has to be the longest poem I've ever finished, and yet it still wasn't long enough. It's compulsively entertaining, touching, funny, exciting, and life-affirming. You don't have to be an academic to appreciate it. And even if you don't finish it, you'll appreciate what you do finish for its own sake.

I'm writing this to specifically respond to the remarks made by another reviewer condemning Byron for forced rhymes, self-conscious commentary, and the lack of a good finish.

WARNING: This poem is intended to be funny! Byron delighted in using the jangly sounds of feminine rhymes in the most outlandish fashion possible, and his digressions are what truly make this poem enjoyable; that voice is the center of the poem, not Don Juan's actions. As for the lack of a finish, I think I'll excuse any poet who dies mid-composition while training troops in the war for Greek independence.

I'm sorry to say it, but if you're looking for this poem to be a serious narrative in the traditional epic manner, you're bound to miss the boat. This poem is *designed* to be hilarious, and as far as that is concerned, it succeeds.

I struggled with the forced rhyme. I struggled with the story itself. I think the rhyme scheme got in the way for me. I was so lost and uninterested so frequently. I will put it away, and I will pick it up later some time. Maybe I'm not "there" yet.

"When I want to know the news, I read Byron"
-- Frank O'Hara

And when you REALLY want to know the news, reach for "Don Juan" (pronunciation hint: 'Juan' is spoken as 'Joo-wan,' i.e. it rhymes with 'tear him a new one.')

This, sports fans, is the original Thing Itself: not only is it caustic, sharp, and hysterically funny (remember that, readers -- it's meant to be FUNNY!), but Byron dictated a lot of it out loud while he was shaving in the morning. I'm not kidding. Read this brilliant stuff, and imagine a guy just making it up as he goes along, in the bathroom while he's shaving. (Yup, the original freestyler -- unbelievable.)

It's worth reading the whole long thing just to come across gems like:

"Her first thought was to cut off Juan's head;
Her second was to cut off his... acquaintance."

And as to its enduring relevance, well, consider Byron's razor-sharp two-line appraisal of women's rights in Muslim countries...

"I speak of Christian lands in this comparison ---
Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison."

Kick back, relax, and have yourself a Lord Byron: ice-cold, pure, and bottled at the source.

You know the poetry. The kind the older generation uses for birthdays and farewell luncheons ("We hope that God will bless// You with good health and happiness!"). You hate it, the forced rhymes and imperfect metrical structure (indeed, what metrical structure?). My mother-in-law used to write like that - volumes and volumes of such tripe. Sadly, she has departed from us, but not before leaving tons of this stuff all over the house, and a half-finished vanity press run of 100 copies (anybody want one?).

Now I know where she got the impetus for such poetry - Lord Byron! All of that generation's worst excesses of bad poetry come from Byron, I think. Embarrassingly forced rhymes, self-conscious commentary that frustratingly impedes the flow of the narrative, arch cuteness that threatens one's sanity - all there!! And he couldn't even finish it off properly.

Truly, a work only an academic could love - or find any value in. If you are attracted to this book, protect yourself: Try reading it aloud and making a stop at the end of every line (sing-song-like) so you can at least get the sense of the rhymes. I found the Penguin edition serviceable (as Penguins usually are). And don't bother with the footnotes, just let it flow. Now stop being so hard on the older generation.

McCann has probably already written better books. In this one, which reads throughout like thinly disguised autobiography, he retraces places of his parents' marriage. The story is told mostly in flashback as he visits his dying father in the ramshackle Irish hometown and broken down house where he grew up. Mom (Mam) has long since and wisely fled for parts unknown and based on the description of the old man here it's hard to tell what she saw in him. Intoxicated by his craft and his mastery of words, McCann rarely lets the story tell itself. Once he learns to rein in his tendency to pose on the page, I suspect he'll be fine. Check out his later work to find out, but you can miss Songdogs.

Mr McCann portrays a young man, Conor Lyons, visiting his ageing father Michael during six days in Mayo, Ireland. During these six days - they seem like the days of the Creation indeed - Conor retraces his father's epic life from his early childhood after the first World War when he was just a bundle of abandoned skin and rescued by two Protestant ladies who raised him. Later, when the ladies died, Michael sold their property and developed a strong passion for photography. He sold his prints to various newspapers. In 1939 he went to Madrid and subsequently to Mexico where he married Juanita. Obsessed with the beauty of her body, Michael took hundreds of pictures of her in various stages of nudity. These photos became a strong point of discord between them in later years and they're the probable cause for Juanita's vanishing 11 years before Conor's account. After that they moved to California, Wyoming and New York before finally returning back to Ireland.
It is the impressive tale of a son retracing his parents' long journey in order to try to find his mother again. It is also the story of a son witnessing the physical decay of his old father rotting in his own dirt and whose sole preoccupation in old age is fishing. A formidable novel by the best contemporary Irish novelist.

One of the only novels I've actually reread immediately because I didn't want it to end. Would make an amazing film.

A tiny bitten over-written at times and yet ot still manages to be profound and beautiful and even, on occassion, harsh. The last 50 pages are pure classic. Truly unforgettable. Someone should make a film of this novel.

In "Songdogs: A Novel", Colum McCann is stylistically closest to Cormac McCarthy's critically acclaimed novels set in the modern American West, but unlike McCarthy, he has crafted a tale that is not as rich emotionally. Without question, McCann's most redeeming trait herein is the fine quality of his lyrical prose. But still he tells a fascinating tale about photographer Michael Lyons, his wife Juanita, and their son Conor within the span of a short tome that's more a novella than a novel. I agree with at least one other Amazon.com reviewer who has noted that McCann has probably written better fiction - for me the most obvious example is his fictional tribute to dancer Rudolf Nureyev in "Dancer: A Novel", but "Songdogs" is a fine start to a promising literary career that is still unfolding.

If John Morris never wrote another book, his AGE OF ARTHUR would have to be described as a lifetime achievement. I bought this book because I've been fascinated with King Arthur for some time, and this book is THE history of the period before, during and after Arthur. Only about one-fifth of the pages in the book are about Arthur's life, but Morris convincingly describes Arthur's time and his lasting effect on the cultures and governments of the British Islands. He also makes a convincing case that history is not predestined.

THE AGE OF ARTHUR covers a period that has been condescendingly labeled the "dark ages" by some. Morris suggests this age is not so much obscure as it has been overlooked. (Or was at the time he published his book. Many new "early Medieval studies" were published in the 1990s). Morris demonstrates that scholarship about this era can be carried out by using annals; lives of the saints; law codes; land grants and religious charters; "histories" such as those written by Gildas and Bede; graffiti and tomb inscriptions; poetry; chronicles; wills; genealogical records; archeological evidence from cemeteries, burial mounds, and barrows, houses, villages, encampments, battle fields and other sites; and linguistics analysis. He has done a magnificent job of identifying and synthesizing much of the extant material. His book is loaded with suggestions for scholars who want to continue investigating this era. I doubt you will find a better book for an overview of this period or for research leads.

Among other topics, I was intrigued with the various ways the Welsh (Angle for foreigner), Irish, Scots (Latin for Irish), and German peoples including the Angles of Arthur's age dealt with everyday issues. Their social and legal problems were not so very different, but the Irish and the Welsh (Roman Britains) appear to have been somewhat more practical and humane. They were much more concerned with compensation than revenge or punishment and more than once Morris refers to them as early humanists. For example, an (adulterous wife) was expected to compensate her offended husband by paying him "face money." Some of the old laws from this age are still "on the books." For example, the notion that seven years cohabitation by persons of opposite sex creates a "common-law marriage" is at least 1500 years old and is the law in places such as the Commonwealth of Virginia which follows English Common Law.

The trouble with writers who can write good English is that they can present bad arguments attractively. Let's face it: John Morris was a crank, a very learned, impressive crank, but a crank. My copy of his work is dotted with pencil notes that question his sanity; and while that was the immediate, unmediated response to the impact of a first reading, a subsequent and more placid view does not really mitigate the effect of some of his enormities.
His worst feature was a complete inability to tell the difference between legend and historical fact - understandable, perhaps, in a novice, but incomprehensible in a man who had spent all his life in scholarship. It is typical of his methods (to dignify them by that name) that he should take seriously the Kentish legend of Hengist and Horsa (as related by Nennius), in spite not only of its obviously legendary features but of the fact that it plainly contradicts everything that our best properly historical source, Gildas, has to tell about the first Saxon war. Gildas tells us that the war was a blitzkrieg caused by the sudden fury of starved barbarians; the legend makes it a long-prepared plan. Gildas tells us that it reached as far as the West Country; the legend restricts it to Kent. Gildas tells us that it was bloody but swift; the legend makes it last ten years. How does Morris get over these hurdles? Why, by a simple and airy remark: "accounts of the war north of the Thames have not survived". He should have said not only north of the Thames but west of the Medway; but let that pass, since at any rate it shows the level of his critical intellect. This sort of thing is highly damaging, not only because it legitimated the destructive scepticism of the currently prevalent Cambridge school of David Dumville and his followers, but because it has a lethal fascination for the unprepared reader, impressed (as some of the earlier reviews show) by the show of learning, and by the cohesive picture offered. The learning is not fake (although on a few occasions, especially when dealing with Rigothamus and Brittany, Morris leaves the impression of having invented sources, or at least read them very "creatively"); but learning is not enough, and a poorly grounded overall picture is worse than none at all. I have written myself about this period of British history, and am continuously surprised at Morris' blindness to obvious fact when inconvenient for his theories.
This book escapes getting only one star for two reasons: first, its genuinely excellent prose style; and second, that in the middle of the scholarly ordure there are a good few diamonds. From time to time, Morris comes up with genuinely brilliant ideas and insights (such as his argument for the existence of an individual insular idea of Empire, or his defence of the currently unpopular early dating of St.Patrick). But these are too widely scattered among a fluent tide of nonsense to be a reason to recommend the book. Though addressed to lay readers, this book is dangerous for them; it should be restricted to those who, having as much learning as Morris himself, are able to judge and condemn his arguments.

John Morris's The Age of Arthur is an excellent reference guide for anyone interested in the historical Arthur, or the Dark Ages in general. It's as old as I am and I found it in a used book shop. At more than six-hundred pages, it is incredibly detailed and a bit hard to read cover-to-cover, but you can get the gist of it with some judicious skipping.

Some historians may have trouble with the conclusions that Morris draws. He relies heavily on folklore as his source. His thinking is, if there's smoke there's fire - if all these chroniclers write about a King Arthur who lived during the time of their fathers, then there's probably some truth to it.

As far as I can tell, the majority of historians (including Simon Schama) believe that there was a warlord named Arthur - he was the last Brit to fight off the Saxon hoards. The details of his life and the character of the man are unknowable. Morris would agree with that - he doesn't give us details of Arthur's life. There are snippets provided from historical writings - some of which portray Arthur as a tyrant. There is a Vortigern in this book, but no Merlin. Who knows how true Morris's assertions are, but in all fairness, like Herodotus, he does provide his source materials so you can make up your own mind.

I, for one, am happy to see this work back in print. As others have noted, Morris weaves a grand tapestry from a few threads; but what a tapestry! He guesses, he extrapolates, he leaps, over evidentiary chasms at which more cautious historians blanche, to conclusions. Bully for him. Read it together with more cautious historians such as Salway and Wachter, and have fun.

Morris's "Age of Arthur" is a scholarly work on Dark Age Britain, and the tribes it comprised. As anyone reading the history of the first millenium will realize, the quality and extent of reliable sources on European history drops off in a major way, following the collapse of the Roman Empire, and much of Morris's story relies on archeological evidence and pieced-together fragments of local annals. For this reason, this is not a terrific work of narrative history, but on the other hand, it is a solid survey of what went on in pre-Norman, post Roman Britain.

The title of the book refers to the Arthur myth, to which some (but not all) of the book is devoted. Morris's thesis is that the Arthur legends are traceable to a real-life British king, who brought the disparate British (i.e. non-English, non-Saxon) tribes in a coherent political unit, and whose reign was much venerated in the following centuries, when the British peoples became fragmented and vulnerable to invasion. In his treatment of the British and other tribes (e.g. the Scots and Picts) Morris is slightly susceptible to the tendency to find proto-nationalistic traits, when perhaps there were none. Still, a useful and coherent reference point for Dark Age Britain.

If I could recommend a particular edition of the "Interesting Narrative," it would be the Penguin Classics revised 2003 edition. I much preferred it to this one. The Penguin edition has far more explanatory and textual notes, and it includes many letters Equiano wrote. (Which the Modern Library edition does not do.)

Saw the wonderful movie Amazing Grace & this man was a part of the real history of that time & wanted to read more. Excellant transaction. Thanks

This book is not for those with a passing interest in history. This is a book about a man who was trying to change his time. He did so by sharing his life. It is really good. But it is not that easy to understand.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It does not speak as much about slavery as I thought and speaks a lot about ship life. There is a wonderful chapter on his faith. I recommend this book to those who desire to know about life during the late 1700's especially for a black man.

I can't help but think there's some bit of embellishing on the part of Equiano here, which calls the veracity of everything into question.

As a semi-fictional account of a freed slave at that point in history, it's an interesting book, I suppose.

There are probably more interesting and inspiring books related to Olaudah, Wilburforce, and the entire Abolitionist movement, although after reading this and a sub-average book on William Wilburforce, I lost steam on the topic.

Get yourself a DVD of Amazing Grace, accept it at face value, and don't slog through Equiano's work in a tedious exercise of cross-checking facts, that quite frankly makes you look terribly pedantic, fella.

Full score is clear and reasonably accurate and easy to read. Words for vocal parts don't always line up clearly, and the choice to place German on top, with Italian below and italicized was a poor one. Reading the original language musically is thus a challenge, and non-German or Italian speakers won't have a meaningful translation close at hand either as there is no english through the score.

The score is very clear printed and contains reherasl numbers. It's definately a good edition to have.

This complete musical score to one of the greatest works of art by mankind comes in quality paper and print that I find quite satisfying. The lack of an English translation is no problem for me personally, because I have separate libretti with translations I can refer to when needed, and I use this book when I want to follow the musical score and sing along with the original Italian verses. One disappointment is that the German verses are in normal print, directly underneath the musical score, while the original Italian is in italics and under the German (therefore harder to read and follow), almost as if the book is intended more for people who want to follow the German, not the Italian. Since the opera is originally in Italian, it makes more sense to me that the German text and Italian text should be switched in terms of location and font. Nevertheless, I'm highly satisfied with the overall quality of this book, and it is definitely one of my favorite books within my music-related library.

The performers in this opera are excellent, as well as the orchestra. The problem lies in the fact that the "recitativi" are missing. As a result, you are not actually listening to the opera, but rather a series of highlights from the opera. It is very difficult to follow the opera as it develops, since the recitativi provide the opportunity to develop the plot line.
If you are interested in hearing highlights from this opera, then you will be pleased with this CD and booklet. However, if you would like to listen to the complete opera as composed by Mozart, please look elsewhere.

As a newbie to opera I was looking to be educated by a publication that was attractively presented and informative.
However, I was sorry to find that the recordings - described as complete - are in fact NOT what they seem.
The recitatives are missing.
For a newbie this is quite disconcerting, when trying to follow the libretto(which is complete).
You find yourself racing over pages, trying to just keep up with the arias.
Aside from that, the concept of book and cd is good. I also have Tosca and that is great.

The hype on the back cover, from the publisher, likens this book to the "literary bestsellers" of Watson and Thomas. However, the great shame is that this book won't last. Ultimately, the book is quite exasperating, not for the conceptual challenges it poses, but for the sloppiness of the writing a key junctures: often it is impossible to understand what is meant from what is written. On at least three occasions, I am certain that Osserman used inappropriate words. I entirely blame the editors for this failure. It is a shame because it ultimately renders the book incomprehensible to the non-specialist. I would recommend Brian Greene's recent book over this one, though the subject matter differs somewhat: Greene takes in string theory and the unified field challenge, while Osserman focuses on multidimensional space and cosmogony. Maybe it is worth reading Osserman to get a sense of the art of such books, to appreciate the quiet brilliance of Lewis Thomas. Sort of like drinking bad wine in order to really appreciate the good.

This is a charming book, with a graceful pace and engaging illustrations. The transparency and accessibility of this book are a gift to the reader, who is brought through complex material in a gentle way. I suspect that technically advanced readers may find some of the material fairly elementary, but may still find pleasure in the beauty of this book.

I should here confess that as a math major I took a course from Professor Osserman on linear algebra about 30 years ago. His teaching style then mirrored his writing style in this book--calm, understated, confident.

Additionally, I probably never thanked him at the time for giving me a great math experience during that course. (For non-mathematicians who haven't had such an experience, let me assure you that there is exhilaration in struggling with an initially complicated mathematical idea that suddenly becomes crystal clear.)

So, belatedly, if you're reading this review, Professor, THANK YOU!

I had the feeling while reading this book that Osserman had simply taken upon himself something that couldn't be done: describing the entire universe in 170 pages with sufficient clarity so that any layman could understand it.

Being one of those laymen, I must admit that I learned quite a bit from this book. Nevertheless, Osserman's jumpy writing style with frequent digressions makes for a sometimes frustrating read. I also noted a certain effort to make the "story" of the book conform to the title (which should have been something along the lines of "Curvature of the Universe").

In any case, for those (like myself) with a passive interest in cosmology and very little prior knowledge, this book is not a bad starting point. Having finished the book, I at least know where to begin looking for more information about the topic.

This is a marvelous little tour through the development of geometry and its ties with our ever-evolving conception of space. In fact, what tickled my cortex most here was Osserman's adeptness at conveying the strength of this tie. One feels a definite Yin-Yang interplay here, an enlightening example of how ideas are born of real-life problems, the solutions to which beget further physical inconsistencies that in turn spawn further ideas, and so on, and so on. And after being guided through the history of this mathematical development, it becomes easily clear as to why it is so difficult (in fact practically meaningless) for us to visualize a shape for our Universe. You understand why it is pointless to use conventional three-dimensional thought (what we all live with day-to-day) as a lever to comprehend the bigger picture. All of this is sewn so well into this neat little pocketbook, that it is practically a reference you wish to carry with you at all times. He misses the mark in at least one place when he stretches his discussions to include and touch upon other branches of science. His comment that our ability to see in a narrow swatch of the electromagnetic spectrum is a "quirk of physiology" is an air ball demonstrating his ignorance of photochemistry. But such shortcomings, which are extremely few, do not taint the grand picture that he has painted for us. The style is very approachable and I would highly recommend this work to anyone who seeks to grasp the whole enchilada.

This is a story of shape and form. The Poetry of the Universe answers two related questions: What is the shape of the universe and what do we mean by the curvature of space?

During the great period of global exploration the Europeans placed rigorous demands on maps, demands that stretched the capabilities of mathematicians. Robert Osserman offers a striking parallel between that endeavor and our modern efforts to unravel the form and structure of the universe.

Osserman's description of the evolution of abstract geometries is fascinating. We learn about the remarkable contributions of the combined genius of Euler, Gauss, Lobachevsky, Bolyai, Riemann, Minkowski, and Einstein to our new understanding of cosmology. Gradually, Osserman brings us full circle from the problem of representing a spherical (or elliptical) earth on a Euclidian flat map to the more difficult problem of representing an expanding universe characterized as a hypersphere.

This is a good little book and I can recommend it to a wide audience. Osserman conveys the beauty and excitement of mathematics without delving into equations. In parallel, he provides expanded footnotes in an appendix for the mathematically inclined. I suggest reading the appendix after completing each chapter, mathematically inclined or not.

In keeping with his title, he offers pertinent, often poetic quotes in each chapter such as: Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas. The most distinct and beautiful statement of any truth must take at last the mathematical form. (By Edna St. Vincent Millay, Albert Einstein, and Henry David Thoreau.)

That may be true for most books, but it's doubly true for this one.

This book appealed to me because the author and I share a common interest (though in the case of Baker, it's more like an obsession) in the form of Updike's writing. Even so, it must be said that I agree with the negative reviews; many of them are right on. This book is often frustating and exasperating, particularly in the way Baker focuses on himself, his insecurities, his worth as a writer, and the way he does and doesn't hold up next to Updike. Not to mention the fact that several times he seemed about to, yet never does, come up with an explanation for why Updike's writing is so memorable and his words and images so long-lasting in the mind of the reader. I found myself wanting to read Updike more and Baker less...probably not the intended result (and, for the record, if Baker's own reading list is accurate, I've read way, way more Updike than him...which I found strange and unexpected, considering).

Still...Baker's writing, about Updike's writing, is often dead-on. When he focuses on that topic, he more or less succeeds; he is insightful and intelligent, and there is something entertaining in the way he struggles, strains, and sweats to dissect an author whose own writing is so often effortless.

Because it is hardly about Updike at all. And if you read it because you like Baker, I'd wager there is a very good chance you will like him less afterwards.

Baker comes across as a smarmy, smirking, egotistical, overreaching, worrisome irritating twit. Maybe this is supposed to be funny; well, it isn't. He came up with a stupid idea for an essay, and despite its shortness, it is stretched out and completely empty.

I read this book because it came to hand, and I am interested in Updike. I finished it because it is so slight and quick a read, and I gave it numerous chances to turn around. Certainly I should have known enough to stop when he announces that writing novels is really the purview of women and homosexual men, and that he and Updike succeed only despite the fact that they are heterosexual males. Well, here's your opportunity to learn from my mistake: skip this thing.

This is a truly horrid, pointless little book.

Nicholson Baker's semi-demented account of his Updike fascination begins from perhaps the slimmest premise a writer ever attempted to build a book upon. He admits that he hasn't even read most, or even half of Updike's work all the way through, and yet he can't help measuring his achievement against Updike's. Which, when you look at the imposing bulk of Updike's work against the handful of slender volumes that is Baker's, seems fair enough, at least if you think quantity is a virtue.

Yet Baker writes so well, not just about the nuances of his quasi-Oedipal relation to Updike, but about Stuff Generally, that we keep reading. When he says that a particularly sarky remark of Samuel Johnson's "merited a shout and a thigh slap", the economy of that phrases reassures us about his own talent; likewise his description of a hamburger as "substantial, tiered, sweet and meaty" makes you want to go out and chow down straight away. This is not only about Updike - although it's very good on Updike - but chiefly about Baker, and his own determination to wring poetry out of the everyday.

Perhaps Baker's real direction, if the manic momentum of "U and I" is anything to go by, is more towards the torrential worry of a Thomas Bernhard than the Olympian repose of an Updike. I only began to read Updike years after I'd read this book, and I find him a bit of a let-down. But Baker has gone on to do some entertaining things with sex, some excellent essays and a kid's book. He has demons far more volatile than Updike's; I think he should let them roam a little more freely.

Nicholson Baker is reputed to be a miniaturist. In Baker's opinion Updike's obituary in THE NEW YORKER for Nabokov was a model of its kind.

In the opening pages a crisis arises when Baker reads an AP story in his local paper that Donald Barthelme has died. He strives to compose an obituary of Barthleme for THE NEW YORKER. Baker's obituary comes out eventually in the 'Notes and Comments' section of the magazine. Baker considers working himself up to a fanatical receptivity of Barthelme's work, but then thinks to himself that Barthelme would never know. The intellectual surface given to the dead writer's work changes in texture and chemistry. In the dead, autobiographical fidelity in the work becomes less important. Baker comes to feel that Updike is more important to him than Barthelme, particularly because Updike is still alive. Baker resolves to make a book about his obsession with Updike.

At first Baker seeks to write a commissioned article on Updike. He contacts THE ATLANTIC. Baker, 25 years younger than Updike, notes that older writers are wary of younger writers. THE ATLANTIC responds. An editor says the results could be good or creepy.

Nicholson Baker started reading Updike at Christmastime, 1976, when he was on leave from college. Like the rest of us, Baker's actual coverage of Updike's works is spotty. Both Baker and Updike have psoriasis. Baker offers up the facetious suggestion that book reviews, not books, are the engines of intellectual change. In wonderful fashion, Baker teases out the meaning of, and circumstances surrounding, an Updike observation made pursuant to reviewing Edmund Wilson's journals that a set piece on a sunset would clog, would break the momentum in the writing of a novel. Writing involves an unbelievable amount of memory. A prolific writer works to avoid reapeating himself.

In the end THE ATLANTIC runs an excerpt of the author's essay on Updike. Belittling the Franklin Library, the author states that Updike teaches even in his transgressions. The book is a marvellous piece of writing and encompasses many writerly concerns.

Baker has a gift for writing very funny pieces about subjects that are usually dry and serious. Nominally about John Updike, U and I is mostly concerned with how young writers are influenced by the "tradition" of past writers. He's anxious, for instance, about "The Anxiety of Influence." Has Harold Bloom covered the same ground already? Baker doesn't know, because he hasn't read Bloom, and now refuses to do so, for fear that the book will "take me over, remove the urgency I feel about what I'm recording here." His vague ideas of Bloom's argument have come second hand. "Book reviews, not books, being the principal engines of change in the history of thought." That doesn't stop him wildly speculating about what Bloom would say, and then sheepishly confessing to some of the books that have directly influenced his own work in progress, such as Exly's A Fan's Notes and Barnes' Flaubert's Parrot.

John Updike, in an interview that appeared in Salon, praised the book himself. "It has done me a favor, that book, because it's a book like few others. It's an act of homage, isn't it? He's a good writer, and he brings to that book all of his curious precision, that strange Bakeresque precision."

For anyone interested in Tudor England and the Reformation, this book provides an excellent history of a young man largely overlooked because of his minority status and early death, prior to the reign of Mary. This is a very readable book for nonhistorians and is well referenced. This is a fascinating story of palace intrigue and battles over the Protectorate. Edward VI, despite his young age, was quite influencial regarding the continuation of his father's efforts to establish the Anglican Church in defiance of the pope. This book is recommended for those who wish to grasp a better understanding of 16th century England, explaining events leading to the reign of Mary, then Elizabeth, both half-sisters of the young Edward VI.

Chris Skidmore's biography of the Tudor boy-king, Edward VI, takes a lively and well-researched look at the court politics that surrounded Edward's six-year regency. While viciously infighting to increase their own power, titles, and wealth, Edward's ruling council also managed to set the course of Protestant reform in England, and to prepare the young king to assume power in his own right (cut short by Edward's death from tuberculosis in 1553, at the age of 15).

Edward was an intelligent and able boy, keenly Protestant in religion, and inheriting the Tudor temper and love of ostentation; in other words, he was a lot like Elizabeth. Skidmore argues convincingly that Edward was, at the time of his death, already assuming power; thus, for example, Edward's notorious "Devise for the Succession," that disinherited both Mary and Elizabeth in favor of Lady Jane Grey, was the product of Edward's own wishes, only reluctantly supported by his council (who lost their heads over it anyway, once Mary came to power).

Above all, "Edward VI" explains the complex politics of the time in a very clear and interesting way; it is a model of expository writing. Extensive quotes from contemporary letters, diaries, and poems immerse the reader in this fascinating world. The book also includes a quite helpful set of capsule biographies, geneological tables, notes, bibliography, and index. Most people who are interested in Tudor England will probably want to have this book in their personal library.

Packed between the glamorous, Hollywood friendly administrations of Henry and Elizabeth, Edward (and Mary) get little attention/glory. This first time author succeeds in explaining why Edward's reign is significant.

The book is more of a history of the reign than a biography. While it speaks to Edward's youth, education, governing, etc., there is much more text devoted to other key players and the politics of the time.

I don't understand this recent fad of book jackets for historical biography using cut off portraits. Here are some examples from my recent reading ... you can see many more in bookstores and libraries. Fallen Founder: The Life of Aaron Burrand John Donne: The Reformed Soul: A Biography and The Pirate Queen: Queen Elizabeth I, Her Pirate Adventurers, and the Dawn of Empire. Female subjects sometimes have only the bodice and a piece of their chin: Catherine the Great: Love, Sex, and Power and Elizabeth & Leicester: Power, Passion, Politics.

Edward VI, son of Henry VIII and Jane Seymour became King of England in 1547, aged 9, and died in 1553 aged 16. Edward's reign is often viewed as almost incidental in the Tudor dynasty: most of his regnal period was influenced by self-serving advisers.

Edward was not merely a cipher. His role in the work of government was limited, but not non-existent. Henry VIII had originally intended that England be governed by a council of regency during Edward's minority. As a consequence of the struggle for power, as Henry was dying, Edward Seymour emerged as Lord Protector. In a court riven by factionalism, Seymour dominated until he himself was forced out and subsequently executed, by John Dudley (later the Duke of Northumberland). While it is difficult to catch significant glimpses of the boy behind the king, Mr Skidmore does provide images that show that Edward was not always sickly, and had considerable promise both academically and athletically. There is also evidence that Edward's influence on the religious change taking place was quite profound. Henry VIII's reformation was driven purely by expedience and was institutionally based. Edward, by contrast, was influenced by reformers and the 1552 Prayer Book marked a shift from doctrinal conservatism to a Church of England which was more fundamentally protestant.

I'd recommend this book to anyone interested in knowing more about the short reign of Edward VI, the reasons why he named Lady Jane Grey as his successor and the development of the Church of England. Edward's reign cannot be looked at in isolation: far too many of the dominant political figures featured in the previous reign. However, reading Mr Skidmore's book sheds new light on a significant period of English history.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith

This book ia a wonderful read for those with a true interest in Tudor history. I found it to be facinating, extremely well researched and rich in detail. I gained a wealth of knowledge of not only Edward VI but of those figures that surrounded him that were key during his brief but none the less important reign. I look forward to any further works by Chris Skidmore.

I loved Barbara's book on Bette Davis...so I thought I'd read her book on one of my other favorites...Rita Hayworth. It was soooooo good!!! I had to take time away from watching TV and downloading internet porn to keep reading! I could not put it down.

said her second husband, Orson Welles, of their marriage, "imagine what the rest of her life had been!"

According to the material written in this biography, the Misery Index of Rita Hayworth's life made that of Judy Garland, Gene Tierney, and Vivien Leigh look like Sunday afternoon in the park.

The author, Barbara Leaming, has also written a biography of Orson Welles. That book was written in the year before his death, with his full cooperation, including interviews and access. One thing most chroniclers of Hollywood agree on, don't depend on anything that Orson Welles said. He was notorious for telling interesting tales - whether or not there was any truth to them. On this dust cover of this book about Rita Hayworth there are plenty of blurbs touting the author's biography of Welles. I haven't read the Welles' bio, but this book, about his second wife, feels like an after thought. Almost as though, with all those interviews from Welles (and one shocking revelation), why not write a book about Rita, too?

In this book, Miss Leaming becomes the only biographer of Rita Hayworth to bring up allegations that the actress's childhood and adolescence were scarred by incestuous encounters with her father. This revelation is based on hearsay that Rita supposedly confided to Welles during their marriage. The allegation may be true, but who knows? Neither of the parties involved are alive to speak on the matter. There are no other accounts of it. Rita never mentioned it elsewhere apparently. None of this stops Miss Leaming from accepting Welles' version as the truth and shoehorning all remaining known facts of Rita Hayworth's life, from childhood on, to fit the model of "the incest family." It seems like that subject is raised at least once every two or three pages as the reason behind this behavior or that decision. A good bit of this book reads like a very dry clinical psychology text.

Another issue that I have with this book is that there are almost no quotes from Rita Hayworth herself, and very few from people who knew her or even had casual acquaintance with her. It reads like a collection of facts culled from public records, newspapers, magazines and, maybe one or two shopworn Hollywood anecdotes thrown in. The author tells us Hayworth was quiet, liked to keep to herself, wasn't much of a Hollywood party girl. OK - but isn't there anyone still alive who knew Rita Hayworth that the author could have interviewed to make her subject's life seem a bit more vivid?

Whether or not she enjoyed the experience, Rita Hayworth had an interesting life. She was a trained, professional dancer in her childhood; she became a close friend of Hermes Pan; she worked with Fred Astaire on a couple of movies. She was also a 1940's movie star, and The Hollywood Love Goddess, with all that entails - good and bad. She was married and divorced five times in her life. She once was married to a Prince and became the mother of a Princess. For a few months she lost custody of her children to a state court for "neglect." She began to suffer early onset Alzheimer's around 1960, yet went undiagnosed until 1980. Still, somehow, this woman never manages to come to life in this book.

Let's hope the definitive work on the subject is still waiting to be written.

This is a wonderful biography of Rita Hayworth my favorite of all the biography's oh her. I think Mrs. Leaming did a wonderful job on the people she interviewed including rare informantion from Rita's second husband Orson Welles which she also wrote a biography on. I recommened this book to every Rita fan.

A great biography on one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the screen.

This is a wonderful biography of Rita Hayworth my favorite of all the biography's oh her. I think Mrs. Leaming did a wonderful job on the people she interviewed including rare informantion from Rita's second husband Orson Welles which she also wrote a biography on. I recommened this book to every Rita fan.

A great biography on one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the screen.

If you ever find yourself wishing that you could live someone else's life, or thinking that celebrities have an ideal existence, read this book biography of Rita Hayworth. Barbara Leaming meticuliously researched the actress's life, from her traumatic childhood as her father's dance partner and incest victim, her mother's alcoholism, her crippling shyness, and her deep insecurities that affected her relationships, her career, and finally, her tragic descent into alcohol abuse and Alzheimer's disease. She was forever after identified with her signature performance in "Gilda", defining an image that would last a lifetime, and from which she was desperate to escape.
Her choice of husbands often reflected the controlling traits of her father,
and her sad estrangment from her late daughter, Rebecca Welles, are just a few parts of this compelling, poignant biography. As this was before abuse was discussed and therapy was made available, Rita hardly could have been expected to live a demon-free life. Her youngest daughter, Princess Yasmin Khan, continues to raise funds and spread awareness for Alzheimer's research. We can only imagine the pain and anguish that Hayworth's loved ones and friends experienced as her mind deteriorated to the point where she did not recognize them. It would have been nice if the book had expanded upon her relationship with her five-time costar, Glenn Ford (who is only twice mentioned), with whom we now know she shared much more than a friendship. This book is a touching tribute to a woman who appeared to live everyone's fantasy life, surrounded by stars, wealth, power, success and public adulation, but in reality lived a nightmare of pain, abuse, low self-esteem and pathos. Peace and love to the lovely Rita.