Sheridan Books

I am shocked that this book was even published! It is poorly-written and amateurish at best. The characters have no depth and the number of typos and grammatical errors was ridiculous. Was it even edited? Never reading this "author" again. Over-hyped garbage. I can't believe the number of people who said it was better than "The Da Vinci Code." Have you read "The Da Vinci Code?"

A very good read,Hard to put down make sure you have time to read because as i said before very hard to put down.

The story is exciting, and moves fast, keeps you suspicious of all the characters, if they are truly who they say they are, good guys or bad. I enjoyed the story line, even though politics isn't my type of story line. This had much more than politics, plenty of mystery.

I was thoroughly enjoying this book until the parallels between Dan Brown's "Davinci Code" and this book became increasingly clear and disheartening. However, i still couldn't put it down. The writing is a bit amateur at times, the plot convenient, and the typos numerous, but the "facts behind the fiction" make it compelling and worth the read.

Much of the material in the second half of Pandora Prescription appears to be a slightly paraphrased version of Edward Griffin's World without Cancer: The Story of Vitamin B17, put into the mouths of various characters. Either Sheridan lifted the entire cancer section from Griffin's book, or they both got the material from exactly the same source. If the former, Griffin should be given credit in the introduction. Credit where credit is due.

Sam Sheridan is an amazing man to say the least. A merchant marine, a Harvard grad, fire fighter, oil rig worker, writer and a fighter. They lists of this man's accomplishments alone are something to be looked up too. A Fighters Heart is a well rounded book that delves into all aspects of fighting and mixed martial arts. Sam starts off in Thailand training in Muay Thai and the book really draws you in because the way he describes Thailand is amazing from the people to the devastating art of Muay Thai you will be immersed in the story. Sam's book also leads him to Iowa to train with Pat Miletech, Tim Slyvia, Jens Pulver (who also wrote a great book about fighting) and many more eventually he even trains BJJ with Minotauro. This book to me is great because you get to learn about all of the fighters that you see on TV and you get to see what makes them tick but most of all it shows you the heart that they all have and what it really takes to be a fighter. Some chapters are lengthy and somewhat boring like the boxing chapter but all in all I think this book was well worth the read.

I'm into fighting so of course I had to read this. It's pretty interesting and easy to get into. It does get a little slow in parts but over all a good read.

Maybe my favorite book of the last 2 years. The only book I've given out as a gift more than once - to my martial arts teacher, and to a co-worker who appreciates MMA.

Highlights for me: Sam writes well. He's simply a clear, thoughtful writer who reminds me of Hemingway. Clear, simple - but with real insight and smarts, and toughness. The story is fascinating. Makes me want to retrace his steps though the modern gravity wells of fighting - Bangkok, Brasil, Northern California, NYC, the US midwest.

Read it if you enjoy the strategy dimension of MMA, and wonder what motivates these guys to test themselves in combat.

A Fighter's Heart by Sam Sheridan decodes the mystery of the pugilistic, roughhousing or mixing it up instinct, one I never really "got." There has been plenty said and written about the urge or instinct, but "Heart" provides a context, a ringside view in setting after setting, one fight then another, on one continent and then another, in the experiences the author (also a fighter) has in Eastern and Western styles, from the ancient, classic and traditional to the newer, Mixed Martial Arts fighting forms. If you never really understood why a person would as an amateur, a pro or for play start, join or continue a fight, then you'll be intrigued by this page turner. The reasons for the fight are more than "just meet me outside," more than we ever might have figured. On the home front, Sheridan gives us a look at the making of 2004 Olympic Gold medalist for the U.S., Andre Ward and his trainer, Virgil Hunter.

From the Mauy Thai training camps in Thailand, to the Jiujitsu dojos of Brazil, to Boxing and MMA gyms across the USA, Sam Sheridan goes on a mission of self discovery and lives the fighters life of training and competing in various martial arts. He makes you feel like you are right there with him in the ring, or on the mat training; but more importantly you get an insiders account of the misunderstood sub-culture of pro fighting, and a look into the heart and minds of the people that do it. A must read for any aspiring martial artist or anyone who has ever stepped into a ring, onto a mat, or has entertained the idea of doing it. If you are a fan or practitioner of MMA, boxing, or any competitive martial art this book is a must read.

This is probably the most truthful book yet; the truth hurts and attacks the heart. its no wonder this book is so controversial and given low rating by asian women and white men. As an asian man, i totally agree with everything the author has said... asians are still mysterious in the eyes of the west. I wish i was given a dollar everytime a white person asked me if i was chinese/filipino/japanese. NO! I was born in AMERICA! I was RAISED IN AMERICA! I served in the U.S. navy. My dad served in the U.S. Navy for 25 years. Anyone who equates american as white and black needs to wake up and stop watching HOLLYWOOD crap.

There is something about Asian women. It is one of those taboo subjects, like why African athletes dominate certain sports, that everyone is aware of but no one wants to talk about, for fear of breaching that all-important barrier of political correctness and possibly finding themselves on the wrong side. It all boils down to uncomfortable truths, things that are even though we don't want them to be. We would like to believe that race is not an issue, in both love and war, even though it often is.

Sheridan Prasso deserves full props for challenging this dangerous subject. In "The Asian Mystique: Dragon Ladies, Geisha Girls & Our Fantasies of the Exotic Orient", she honestly attempted to examine the ideal of the Asian woman as a sexual object, both historically and in modern times. She half-succeeded, and half-failed, but that is only to be expected. The issue is not so easy as to be simply encapsulated in a single book, and we all bring our own viewpoint to such a tense subject, especially those of us who are are Asian ourselves or involved with Asian women, and find ourselves either villains or heroes by Prasso's standards.

The first part of the book is an analysis of Asian women through the lens of Western media and history. She examines the relationship between Asia and sex that has existed since the time of first contact between the two societies. Here she lays out some uncomfortable truths for all of us, demonstrating how Asian women have been portrayed in Western culture for years as a sequence of stereotypes, either the Dragon Lady or the submissive Geisha Girl. Unfortunately, this is the weakest part of the book, as it is clear that Prasso has come to her analysis opinion first and sought only the evidence to support her claim. While she speaks of "Madame Butterfly" and "Full Metal Jacket", she ignores Oliver Stone's "Heaven and Earth". This section is also rife with factual errors, which are so blatant that one is tempted to dismiss her observations out of hand. It would be easy to do. She made a mistake as to who Lady Mariko's husband was in "Shogun", so we don't need to believe anything she says, right?

But then comes the second part of the book, which is a powerhouse. Prasso steps off the stage, and allows the women of Asia to speak for themselves. Here is when you begin to understand that Prasso is a journalist, not a researcher, and her true strength is in giving a voice to others who may not otherwise be heard. She assembles an amazing collection of interviews, from all walks of life. A Japanese woman divorcing her American husband, disillusioned and yet not destroyed. Mineko Iwasaki, the most famous of the Geisha of Gion, who was the basis for the popular story of "Memoirs of a Geisha". Nguyen Thi Hoa, a woman impregnated and abandoned by an American soldier during the Vietnam war. Several Thai and Philippine "bar girls", who see Western men as little more than a good time and walking wallets. These interviews challenge our world view and opinions more than any analysis of "Miss Saigon", because they are real and alive rather than just Hollywood fairy tales.

Unfortunately, Sheridan Prasso was not able to confront the uncomfortable truths that she herself brought to light. She huzzahs the sexual liberation of Asian culture, where women were historically allowed to have multiple partners of their choosing, where coming to your wedding as a virgin was considered an embarrassment, where women were ignorant of the concept of sex as something dirty and shameful. Yet with the same hand, she condemns the White men who indulge in this freedom, who freely offer money for services, as freely as the women offer services for money. The Japanese woman who falls in love with her husband for his Americanism is a hero, free from her social training. The American man who falls in love with his wife for her Japaneseness is a villain, a slave to his social training. A man who brings his wife flowers is generous and kind. A woman who washes her husbands back is docile and dominated. There is no room for understanding, for true appreciation, acceptance and love.

Through her analysis, through her interviews, the answer seems so completely clear. There is a relationship between Asia and the West and sex, and this relationship is reciprocal, and one needs only to connect the dots. This is not, however, a necessarily bad thing. But this truth is, I think, a little bit too uncomfortable for Prasso to go there.

One of the attributes I look for when reading non-fiction is "how much do I learn from the book?" With this volume, the reader could pick any four or five pages of text and discover more new information than by reading another entire book on the same subject. Throw away the rose colored glasses people. This first-hand, no-nonsense immersion in Asian culture and life is written by a very good woman journalist. She gained entry into what Western Culture has deemed "the Asian mystique" where most western men would not even be permitted to set their shoeless sock covered feet. One of the author's colleagues that had lived in and covered Japan for decades warned her that he had never been invited inside a Japanese home. As a woman, the author of this tome was practically made an honorary member of many Asian families. The women, who appear so exotic, mysterious and inscrutable in the eyes of western males, were delighted to talk about the real Asian culture with another woman.
When I pick up a new book, especially a four hundred page one like this, I sometimes open it in the middle, often where there might be some photographs and start reading at random. Once I did that process with this volume, I was hooked, returned to the book's beginning and knew that I wasn't going to get to bed without "knocking the length" out of the rest of the volume before dawn. There is literally so much enlightening information in this text that it is almost overwhelming and quickly begins to open one's eyes to the reality as opposed the almost universal myth of Asian Mystery.
The Orient mystique has been mis-reported and Romanized in the western world since Marco Polo. Hollywood has only expanded the myth almost beyond recognition. In my own case growing up in the mid-western United States where the only Asians we ever saw were the ones running the local Chinese restaurant, I fell in love with Asia when I first saw "The World of Susie Wong." The fact I was an artist-photographer type practically guaranteed that I would fall victim to that exotic, erotic, glamorized portrayal of Hong Kong. Now International social service organizations, companies, individuals and even governments who know a good thing when they see it, continue the myth. In San Francisco's China Town, during the 1930's in order to attract more tourists during the tough Depression Times, the local "tour guides had to work even harder to keep the dollars coming in. So they turned Chinatown into the `wicked Orient,' spinning tales of secret underground world of drugs, gambling halls, and prostitution, where Chinese and white girls alike were enslaved, according to Iris Chang's `The Chinese in America.' The Chinese built fake opium dens and leper colonies for white tourists--who were both horrified and thrilled to have their stereotypes confirmed."
"In New York during the same period, tour guides warned visitors to hold hands `for safely' as they walked down Mott Street, and paid Chinese residents to stage tension-filled dramas including knife fights between `opium crazed` men over a prostitute. In reality, however, the Chinatown neighborhoods of the 1930's were becoming safer. But selling the images of violence, sex and underworld mystery is what played to Western tourists.
"Casting Asia as sexual and dangerous is what has drawn the eye of the West to the East for centuries."
It would be impossible for me to even begin to convey all the fascinating insights that Ms. Prasso has packed into this wonderfully enlightening non-fiction book. A minor story that I found interesting was the trial of "real-life French diplomat Bernard Bouriscot, who, when posted to China in the 1960's and enraptured with his own fantasies of exotic Asia, took a Chinese lover (who then spied on him). The relationship lasted, incredibly, for eighteen years without Bouriscot knowing his lover was a man. The Chinese man, Shi Pei Pu, was able to manipulate Bouriscot sexually--usually in the dark--into thinking he was a woman, and the Frenchman accepted the differences as `Oriental'." I won't give away how this happened but the book describes the various French doctors' testimony to "how" during "the espionage trial of the two in the 1980's." Anyone who has seen the play or movie "Madame Butterfly" must have wondered about how this could happen and probably just figured it was good fiction?
If a person only reads one book on the subject of Asian Mystique, this is one of the best, if not the best. Be prepared to have your rose-colored eyeglasses cleaned and your Asian fantasies dashed.

Apparently, there are still Western men who believe that the East is an obliging seductress, mass producing an endless line of voluptuous women, whose laconic sexual pliancy is only exceeded by their desire to serve. This, according to Sheridan Prasso's new book, is a delusion that many Asian women are happy to cater to.

Prasso's observations are unsparing, but for anyone who has witnessed the transactions that take place between Western men and Eastern women in cities like Bangkok, even the holy city of Lhasa, will know they are wickedly accurate. On the topic of the hordes of middle-aged Western men who haunt the bars, brothels and matchmaking agencies of Asia, she concludes, " . . . any man can experience feeling attractive again - even loved. Old, fat, or ugly by Western standards, it doesn't matter. Anyone can be the Alpha Male and Lord Jim."

In the distorting mirror of Asian mystique, reserve can be interpreted as weakness, Asian women quickly characterized as submissive, obedient, obliging; Asian men emasculated. Such largely Western fantasies of the Orient are "antiquated, perhaps, but still shockingly influential."

Although Passo reserves a special vitriol for the male sexual adventurer, she deals a fair hand two ways, including both sexes in the collusive act of mystifying and marketing the East. In the chapter 'Screwing, Getting Screwed, And Getting Ahead,' Prasso portrays the alternatively nave and opportunistic behavior of Filipina prostitutes. In Angeles City, a run down flesh market, where solitary men, often victims themselves of failed relationships and expectations, wander the dusty, purgatorial streets "in search of tender rejuvenating skin, hoping that human contact may somehow restore their sensation, vitality, and youth." In this city of relentless transaction, there are women who are "aware of these Western perceptions of Asian Mystique and know how to play them to advantage."

Prasso cites Hollywood and popular musicals as key factors in the dissemination of misleading images of the East, from the early screen performances of the highly successful Chinese-American actress Anna May Wong, the screen adaptation of the novel 'The World of Suzie Wong ,' to the fabulously popular 'Miss Saigon' which, complete with the sacrificial suicide of an Oriental women, is nothing less than a modern day reworking of Madame Butterfly. TV series like M.A.S.H. get a predictable drubbing, along with the limpid images of women in more recent cinematic portrayals like 'The Last Samurai.'

Hollywood and literature have manufactured two enduring, but opposing images of Asian women: the enigmatic but obliging geisha verses the treacherous, but no less sexually alluring Dragon Lady or Martial Arts Mistress. This is done in the most complimentary fashion, a 1943 front cover of 'Time' magazine portraying Madame Chiang Kai-shek as the 'Dragon Lady,' a tribute to her power and charisma. Lucy Liu, known for her various roles as seductress, martial arts specialist, and dominatrix, is the contemporary, beefed up and decidedly more lethal, version of Anna May Wong. Clearly the roles provide a very good living, and neither Wong before her nor Liu now, one notes, refused to play the game of image compliance.

Inevitably, there is a degree of reviewing as Prasso revisits this well-trodden topic. We have the usual references to Pierre Loti, Kipling, to works like 'Shogun,' but Prasso also includes commentary on erotic Asian literature, from the Taoist 'The Art of the Bedchamber,' to 'The Golden Lotus,' allegedly Mao Zedong's favorite leisure reading, works in which the Chinese linked the pleasures of the flesh with physical and spiritual nourishment and longevity, an irresistible combination.

Prasso largely avoids the risk of being seduced by the subject and losing perspective, although the book cover, the upper half offering the cherry lips and white makeup of a geisha, sends an ambiguous message, as does the inside image of the author in full geisha attire , replete with wig and a cosmetic facial. Is this meant to be flirtatious, tongue-in-cheek, or is it just the publishers' idea of selling copies?

Addicted as we are to the narcotic pleasures of the East, to the willing complicity of having our senses pleasantly addled, Prasso's book serves as a kind of detox clinic. Once the mystery, the allure of the Orient has been removed, however, what are we left with? The answer perhaps, is a more mature view of the East, one consonant with our sadly more homogenized world, where many the tints have been leached out. It will require a new maturity to accomplish it, the connoisseur of the finer things of the East in us replacing the voluptuary, the thinker displacing the lotus-eater, but perhaps it is the learning of Asia, its palpable trove of experience and wisdom, that we should venerate above the promise of the exotic and sensual.

In divesting us of our illusions, the author has left us without yearning but with a new perception of the East. A very fair exchange I would say.

STEPHEN MANSFIELD
The Japan Times
Sept. 25, 2005

No one likes to be called out on his or her game. And this book calls all parties out on their prospective games.

Much as countless women (from a particular economic group) found a term to identify their discontent after reading Betty Friedan's 1963 book Feminine Mystique, Asian Americans will undoubtedly find in Prasso's book The Asian Mystique, a cohesive explanation of the strange behavior and perception towards Asians from the West.

Prasso does an excellent job documenting the visual etymology of the Asian Mystique in the popular imagination of the West, starting from Aphrodite, through centuries when China and Japan closed its doors to foreigners- forcing outsiders to "roll their own" and create a persona out of hearsay and thrice-removed tales - till present times, where Hollywood entertainment, mainstream media, and the Internet (including Amazon reviews) controls visual perception as fact.

Prasso points out that in the last hundred years , Asian actresses had only two roles available to them (dragon lady, or vixen prostitute (see Live Free or Die Hard for proof), but that's still one more option than what is available to the Asian actor. A chapter on the systematic emasculation of Asian men in the mainstream West deserves praise as this is something that has been discussed for many years in the Asian-American online community; actors like Jet Li, Jackie Chan, and Chow Yun Fat are allowed entry onto American screens and near Caucasian actresses, but are never allowed to kiss or touch any of them.

One of the most valuable items Prasso points to is the discrepancy between general Asian etiquette (that of "giving way to get your way") versus Western values (aggressive affirmation of the self as a declaration of individual need). This method of the East is often mistakenly perceived as a sign of weakness, giving rise to the sense of superiority among Westerners. (It doesn't help the Asian mystique that our culture often communicates through making a statement obliquely.) Prasso believes that the resulting false sense of complacency among Westerners will lead to dire consequences.

Throughout the book, white males with Yellow Fever (every single Asian American I have met in the US in the past thirty years have come across these men) and men who exotify and visit the lesser (economically) developed Asian countries for sex, are accurately portrayed as sad, overweight, balding, unattractive men who are well past their prime. These men, who are fed up with the strong, opinionated, materialistic women of the West find acceptance and adoration in young, attractive Asian girls who "see" them as being in a league with Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt purely because of their skin color. Personally, I feel this is an important aspect of the book; there are as many exotifications of the West (in the Asian perception) as there are in the inverted scheme. What is less obvious is the subtext of what constitutes "The Western Woman" today, and why they are making "The Western Man" (who wants to return to the "good ol days" - which in itself is an exotification- when he had more power) run in the direction of the economically depressed East. If these males, stricken with Yellow Fever, were to visit cosmopolitan Asian countries, Asian women who are financially well-off, and are tenfold more materialistic than Western women, would not even grace them with a glance. Prasso does state in the opening of the book that "it is as much about us as it is about Asia."

Along the way, the book explores historical milestones that mark Asian identity in the Western consciousness; the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act; the Japanese Internment camps in the US during WWII; and the evolution of Madame Butterfly from the original Madam Chrysantheme. An interview with Mineko Iwasaki reveals as much as the real Sayuri's bio, whom Memoirs of a Geisha was partially based on. A look into war bride Nguyen Thi Hoa's bio, the notorious concept of the "Cathay Ten," Thai working girls, Okinawa Koku-jo (Okinawa girls who exotify and fetishize black men), Bangkok, and Indonesia visits follow. A strong chapter on female politicians from Japan, Hong Kong, Korea, and the Philippines puts a reader in awe at life stories of individuals who have overcome odds and male oppression to attain success and visibility.

The book concludes with a somewhat misleading chapter. While I fully agree with the author in the observation that many Asians are guilty of reinforcing, utilizing, and cashing in on their mystique to get ahead, I felt mystified at the closing sentences. First, there is the sentence "some of the most successful, upstanding businesswomen of Asia know the game (utilizing mystique to their advantage) too....;You've got to use what you've got, right?' she said. Her sentiments are far from unusual." This implication indirectly diminishes the conscientious work and success stories presented in the previous chapter. Second of all, pointing out the vested interest in portraying prostitutes and sex workers as victims for the sake of funding seemed petty. Organizations created to help sex workers, regardless of what country they focus their assistance on, depends on the message of victimization for donation and sustenance. To say that organizations issue reports of victim-hood in the interest of making money is not merely defining the nature of the institution, it is negating the importance of abolishing violence and helping to regulate aid to the unfortunate sex workers in every country.

But I'll let these go. Because if I didn't, it would be like asking people to throw out a book just because a single Shogun reference was not accurate.

By the time that Michel Foucault published DISCIPLINE AND PUNISH in 1975, he had already made a reputation as the champion of the downtrodden. In his earlier pseudo-historian-fictional texts MADNESS AND CIVILIZATION (1961), THE BIRTH OF THE CLINIC (1963), THE ORDER OF THINGS (1966), and THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF KNOWLEDGE (1969), he had attracted a great deal of attention in France as one who offered a politically correct alternative to mainstream society's insistance that the locus of interest in any culture must lie in the center. Those who did not fit in this center--the outcasts, the insane, the incarcerated--must be relegated to the marginalized periphery of that culture where they would simply languish in a morass that the center insisted was eminently justified. Along came Foucault to state that the truest way to judge the ethics of any society was to examine how those in the center treated those on the periphery. In a not unsurprising conclusion, he asserted that the further one was from the center, the more likely it was that one would be first stigmatized as aberrant, then isolated, and ultimately reduced to a miserable self who existed only as the object of a dehumanizing exercise of power by those who symbolized this system. In fact, if you examine the entire corpus of Foucault, you will learn that he sees society locked in a bear hug of power exercises, with those in the center who have it and exercise it over those on the marginalized periphery who lack it.

Before 1975, Foucault was known mostly only in France where his earlier texts had not yet reached beyond the borders. When DISCIPLINE AND PUNISH was translated into English, Foucault became an instant celebrity. It seemed that every subgroup that saw itself as marginalized--gays, the insane, radical feminists, and the incarcerated--could directly and immediately relate to his premise that the exercise of power by the powerful over the powerless was not unlike Orwell's O'Brien from 1984 telling a tormented Winston Smith that power exists for its own sake.

Foucault saw a link between power and knowledge. Power could not be exercised without the knowledge needed to control inmates in a manner that had to wait until technology had advanced sufficiently by the Industrial Revolution to order the lives of inmates every minute of the day. It was no coincidence, he claimed that the predecessors of the prison--the monastic orders, hospitals, and schools--all were built around the same basic mold: identify each candidate by rank, isolate him, and reduce his capacity to operate as a free-thinking individual. The more advanced that a society became, the more likely that it would punish an inmate who persisted in his original world view--hence the "punish" of the title. When Foucault begins his text with the graphic dismemberment of the inmate Damiens in Paris in 1757, he makes it clear that penology was still heavily invested in torture for the sake of torture. It was not until a century later that wardens would use physical coercion for what was to them a higher purpose--to create a new and presumably higher order of human, one who was more moral for his incarceration. Foucault agrees that such an overly optimistic view of the efficacy of prison reform was nonsense. Released inmates were very likely to commit further crimes and hence return to prison.

What then do we today make of Foucault? Unfortunately, an objective view of Foucault shows numerous and grievous flaws in both his basic assumptions and methologies. He makes constant errors of fact, date, time, and place. Events that he assigns to one century happen in another. His bibliography is rife with sources that are so obscure and out of date that it is impossible to verify Foucault's veracity. Further, his personal habits of indulging in sado-masochism all too often crop up in his works to suggest that his true agenda is to bare his tormented soul rather than to explicate how the modern prison system came to be. Ultimately, his many readers are left with taking his word that it was only the interlocking relation between power and the marginalized that can explain the source of the marginalization. I do not take his word for it so I do not recommend Michel Foucault as a true and unbiased critic of anything let alone so complicated a system as the modern prison.

The historical exegeses are largely superfluous and distract from the points of argumentation.

There are many elaborate dilations of the main propositions which do little more than meander towards the next one(s), as opposed to elucidating their logical-historical connection.

Foucault gives political manifesto content-length propositions that are reasonably insightful, in a basically historical-novelistic theory fiction format. "We are less Greek than we think." --Foucault is more anti-Enlightenment than he realizes and less "Nietzschean" so much as a paraphrastic derivative thinker than he would like to be.

The description of power relations does not necessarily reveal the ideology governing it. In fact, it does much to mythologize an omnipresent non-entity of whom we see and experience only its effects. One suspects there are only effects of power, of ideology; consequences which cannotn be telekeniticized by any localizable 'gaze' but follow materially from human actions.

15. He who does not know how to put his will into things at least puts a MEANING into them; that is, he believes there is a will in them already (principle of 'belief').
(Twilight of the Idols, "Maxims and Arrows" epigram 15)

As Foucault ought to have known, there is no meaning to power except in the feeling of its increase. The only gaze that is belongs to "the Other". In this sense, Foucault has articulated the narcissistic element of power. On the whole however, he identifies with it since he cannot dissociate power from its celebration: the carnival event of discipline and punish, the panoptical voyeurism of the carceral gaze. Naval gazing social theory par excellence (Knowledge is Power and Power is Ideology, therefore Ideology is Knowledge.) The gaze is a fiction unless the alleged 'observed' sees that he is being watched, there is no subject without the choice presented by the Other; the neurosis of the subject hypersensitive to the Other withstands the hermeneutical uncertainty with horror, inevitably directed at himself, --that there is nothing to see. Foucault's text makes ideology power's Echo, when it is really ideology that echoes Power. Ideology is the ignorance and absence of Power that would be the knowledge required to suspend ideology for authentic choices.

The Birth of the Prison is the death of the social, the death of the Other, the fettering of the individual himself to ideology. One must ask, "Where is ideology?" Foucault offers merely the dazed "everywhere and nowhere," as the gaze without eye, the predicate without subject, Donald Rumsfeld's "known unknowns" which are nothing at all. Discipline and Punish does not address the lexical of 'known knowns' because the language of oppression, of ideology requires a counter affirmation of Power. One assumes power or renounces it, and one must be doubly strong for the latter. Given the current state of events, its disavowal is a gesture into a void: one has no power to renounce if one is not the State itself. "Je suis le etat." Since it has been more difficult to define the "Je", the sovereign, one speaks of exploitation as a structural and institutional function. This impotent anthropomorphism of theory merely compounds the problem of ideology. Exploitation is an action committed man against man, and these actions must be identified with what systems enable these impingements on the sovereignty of other men.

"l'ecrasez l'infamie!"

Foucault does not crush the infamy. He does reveal its ankles slightly however this will not titillate, unless one does not already see the pudeurs of the clearly unclothed emperors of the various reigning ideologies. Ideology abhors clarity. Read Foucault, then forget Foucault.

By examining the rise of prison systems in Western culture, Foucault demonstrates the ways modern nation-states exert their power to dominate their citizens. This is a great book for anyone interested in power formations as well as continental theory.

Other reviews have done a nice job of explaining the textual benefits of the book, so let me explain its practical benefit. I'll keep this short and sweet. This is an excellent text to trot out during a sociology or other social science class when you want to egomanically dominate the conversation for a bit. It provides such food for thought that you can really wax poetic on the power of punishment over the body and soul of the individual. I say this with all seriousness. So few people read philosophical texts that, if you enjoy doing so, it almost feels like an obligation to introduce these discussions in the classroom. This is not a light summer read by any stretch of the imagination, but if you enjoy the challenge of unpacking complex concepts, you'll enjoy this read.

This is one of Michel Foucault's most accessible books (though still pretty heavy going). If in Madness and Civilization, Foucault analyzed the birth of insane asylums and in The Birth of the Clinic the birth of the hospital, in Discipline and Punish, it's the turn of the prisons. The book starts with a gruesome description of the public drawing and quartering of failed regicide Damiens in 1757. Then he goes on to quote a benign prison system of the 1830s. What changed between the two dates? While other authors would consider the birth of modern imprisonment as a triumph of progressive ideals (in comparison with what went on before), Foucault saw this instead as one aspect of increasing social and political control. While greatly researched, one immediately asks itself what Foucault wanted? Did he care about any improvement in the social conditions of prisoners? Or did he believed we should do with prisons altogether? And in which case, what about dangerous criminals? I think Foucault never wanted to answer these questions. I think it's telling that towards the end of his life (after this book was written) Foucault was a fan of the repressive and theocratic regime of Khomeini in Iran. In this, he was similar to those communist intellectuals in the West who criticized failings in their own countries but overlook much worse abuses (and crimes) in the Soviet Union. Another quibble is that the book is so French-centric (with some analysis of developments in England): he takes the evolution of imprisonment in France as an indication of the whole world.

In 1921, Andre Gide published "The Immoralist" in Paris. In the novel, he examined the strength of the obligations put upon us by family and society to: study culture persistently, maintain a steady occupation, develop a stable marriage, and become responsible citizens. This process takes dedication and self-sacrifice that offers only minimal individual satisfaction.

It may take a life-threatening illness to show someone that his responsible life is an unfulfilling pose compared to his idealized life filled with unbounded and intense desires. Recovery from an illness causes him to take a new interest in the basic sensuality of life.

If society's moral code prevents the expression of the person's new found life joy, then he may become an immoralist. At first, the transition is a slow struggle that can lead to agonizing self-doubt. But once the free expression of desires occurs, he discovers, at last, his "special value." His prior responsibility and self-sacrifice were characteristics that obscured his reason for living. The main character, Michel described his driving force as "a kind of stubborn perseverance in evil."

The appreciation of art once satisfied Michel's driving force and he felt harmony with its symbolic presentations. When sensuality becomes his obsession, Michel does not know "what mysterious God" he serves. He wants personal experiences of "unimagined" forms of beauty, and he wants them immediately.

You can experience your own moral dilemma as your read "The Immoralist" and gain some insight into the consequences of breaking the bonds of duty and sacrifice. One of the most poignant lines in literature is spoken by Michel's dying wife as he leaves their hotel room in pursuit of his hedonistic desires. Close to death she speaks softly.
"Oh, you can wait a little longer, can't you?"

Andre Gide was always justly famous for writing tight little novels that presented unusual moral dilemmas that do not, as in real life, necessarily get resolved or resolved in a way that one would think. That is the case here with one of his early and perhaps most famous offerings. The story line centers on the bedraggled life of a consummate French bourgeois scholar who is going through a personal crisis after the death of his father and his unsought `shot gun' marriage in the early part of the 20th century. The couple travels to various outposts of French imperialism. Along the way he becomes sick with a life threatening illness but by an act of will, and the extraordinary care of his new wife, overcomes that crisis. As a result of her loving efforts she in turn gets sick (during her pregnancy). The scholar, in the final analysis, permits her to die by his self-centered actions.

Now that he is strong the scholar believes he is `superman' a la Nietzsche and therefore consciously or unconsciously becomes the agent of his wife's descend into greater illness and eventually death. Quite a dilemma, to be sure, but he is not crying over it. The real question here is whether in a hard world that it was his duty to thoughtfully care for his wife or whether his need to take actions to `understand' himself was paramount. Some other moral questions concerning his role as landlord in his inherited rural estate pop up along the way, as well. Also, just a hint of homosexual tension in his dealings with the young Arab boys in the neighborhood hovers in the background. This is a subject that then was almost always covered in discreet language so it is hard to tell the full extent of the attraction.

I would note that this theme and the book itself at the start of the 20th century may have been somewhat scandalous but reading it after some of the harrowing events of the last century has cut deeply into the impact that it was intended to have. Still it is a great book and a quick read. Any lessons to be drawn about the dark side of human nature take a lot longer.

It is a generally sound practice to not conflate the author with this work, but, after reading this I am reminded of the quote by Martin Buber: "They [the French] are too superficial for a reevaluation of all values." The Immoralist as "a confession of French modernity" tediously outlines how and why, and as such it accomplishes its aim fair well. Otherwise, this novelette is overbearingly boorish apart from brief, but dull flashes of (dis)illumination all of which can be traced back to doppelgängers of Nietzsche. The plot itself is a gross caricature of certain biographical datum from Nietzsche's life, with strange mix of sentimentalism in self-pity and self-love with a certain subconscious homosexual overtones imparted by the author. The main character is womanish and sickly, though apparently brilliant. Synchronistically, he might be considered Raskolnikov's ill turned out patrician son, for whom the shadow of a murdered god weighs too heavily to have hope, or a good conscience.

There are better books than this by French authors and even Gide himself, find them and skip this one, because it is probably not what you are looking for and morbid curiosity never fails to avail little vindication for itself in these cases.

Andre Gide's The Immoralist is a lethargically slow, tedious work. Somehow I don't really care about the "journey" the pompous, spoiled, dullard Michel goes through. None of the characters are interesting, they are all upper class French bourgeoisie who do nothing all day but drink wine, dine and frolic with little Arab children. Andre Gide is writing about his own debauched "life" in Africa, but it isn't "shocking", just trite and shameful because it is just as hypocritical as the upper class French bourgeoisie.

Andre Gide's small confession is a key work of French modernism. In a way this novel is a precursor to Camus' Stranger, though it is much more elegant and subtle than the latter.

Michel is the titular Immoralist, a man determined to live life fully without the arbitrary constrictions of religion or morality. He is recently married to a woman he admits he does not love; but when he falls ill to tuberculosis her loving comfort wins him over.

Together they travel throughout the beautiful coast of Italy, and later off of Michel's inherited farm and land. Gide's prose is both sensual and dark; we know through Michel's subtle ruminations and interactions that he is illicitly attracted to young boys. What is brilliant about 'The Immoralist,' is Gide's refusal to centralize this topic; rather, he constantly pushes it to the margins in the same way that Michel's unconscious remains obscure.

This work is an essential and very beautiful work of modern French literature; it will be read and studied for many ages to come.

I read this many years ago, and wondered then why Hollywood didn't make a movie of it. I still wonder, having enjoyed it a second time. Of course, you have to like the sea and sailing and be willing to go back in history a bit. The writing is beautiful, there is a lot of sea action, a bit of romance, and the mystery remains deep and suspenseful until the end.

Erskine Childers at his best. His book The Riddle of the Sands and the feature film starring Michael York only enhance each other. Erskines life in itself reads like a Indiana Jones story. He began sailing along the Frisian Islands in the North Sea in 1897. His experiences and imagination of the possibilities of an invasion by Germany would change the way Great Britain looked at it's defensive policies and the lack of realistic preparations of her coastlines. Did the book and it's warning influence and delay World War I? Was there a plan to invade Britain? Was it considered? Mostly like not, but we will never really know. The Riddle of the Sands and the warning changed how an entire country defended itself. Germany was at the time expanding her empire and particularly her Navy. Germany's only rival at the time was Great Britain. So....... The Riddle of the Sands is a particular insightful look at the end of the Victorian age and the dawning of a new century. A must read if you love historial fiction. Good reading.

Erskine Childers was shot by firing squad during the Irish civil war in 1922. According to Wikipedia, his last words were a joke at the expense of his executioners: "Take a step or two forward, lads. It will be easier that way."
His son was subsequently elected fourth president of Ireland in an upset election in the 1970's, sadly to die in office a year or so later.

Whatever the circumstances of his life and death, this story is a "cracking good read", one of the earliest novels in the genre of spy fiction. Don't be put off by the various maps and charts at the beginning of the book - it is entirely possible to enjoy the story without knowing anything about sailing (though presumably the fun of the story will be heightened for those who do have some knowledge of sailing and maritime affairs). The voice of the narrator is irresistibly charming, the story is an excellent one, tautly told. I feel almost ashamed to be discovering this story as late in life as I am. But better late than never.

I highly recommend this book.

Plenty other reviews give a synopsis of "The Riddle of the Sands" or place it in its historical context. I mainly want to add that while it is quite good in its own way and may well deserve the label "classic," it probably will appeal most to a rather limited and, with time, ever-shrinking audience.

While it is a noted early example (perhaps even the first) of the spy/adventure genre, I doubt that it will satisfy or fully engage most fans of LeCarre, McCarry, Deighton, and others of more modern ilk. The writing often is superb, but now somewhat dated; the plot (such as it is) unfolds at a very leisurely pace; and from the reader it requires close -- even undue -- attention to the esoterica of yachtsmanship and to ever so small details of the coastal geography, topology, and tidal patterns of the East Frisian Islands. For the avid small-boat sailor or student of spy literature, "The Riddle of the Sands" may well warrant five stars, but for the average intelligent reader of the 21st Century, I suspect three stars is more on the mark.

This 1903 novel is a spy story that includes a factual account of small boat handling in the treacherous waters off the Frisian Islands. The `Preface' explains this book as a record of the adventures of "Carruthers". The British government was warned, but little was done. So Childers decided to publish this story to warn the public of a possible invasion of Britain. In Chapter 1 Carruthers gets an invitation to go yachting in the Baltic sea. He accepts out of boredom. The yacht is a converted life boat, thirty feet long and nine in the beam. Arthur Davies can sail this boat without help. Then Davies tells what happened before he invited Carruthers (Chapter 8). Carruthers decided to go along with the plan. Davies talks of the ambitions and rivalry of Germany (Chapter 10).

The chapters describe sailing in a small boat in the North Sea. Cold, fog, and tides that imperil a small yacht. There is the story about the mysterious German, his young daughter, and his business associates. There is a mystery about a salvage operation on an old shipwreck by Memmert Sand. Carruthers has been called back to London. But in Amsterdam he disguised himself and doubled back (Chapter 25). Carruthers' suspicions are confirmed by a boat at night towing a lighter. There is a surprise in the last chapter. The `Epilogue' discusses the plan to invade and conquer Great Britain by surprise.

A similar invasion was planned in 1940 until it was prevented by The Battle of Britain. The difficulties of an invasion from sea were solved in June 1944. While a blockade of shipping can damage Britain, its internal resources will help. Only a successful invasion will conquer Britain [as in 1066]. There is no mention of the Territorial Army here. Some have claimed this was the first spy novel. "The Prisoner of Zenda" was published years earlier (political intrigue into a dynastic succession).

I'm a soloist- a singlehander. I really appreciate the way that being in tune with the sea and its environs is expressed in this book. So beautiful it almost brought me to tears. One feels the swell beneath while reading this book.
The last third or so discusses rigging, complete with diagrams. Not by any means a comprehensive guide to sailing round the world but a capable sailor can learn from it.
Buy this book.

This book allowed me to understand the trip and place myself into the position of the author.

There is an old and, these days, rather politically incorrect joke about the first [insert nationality of your choice] man to win of the Tour de France, who was so pleased with himself he did a lap of honour and hasn't been heard from since. The humour derives from the transparent ridiculousness of the scenario, but that's in essence exactly what Bernard Moitessier's did: this memoir, largely extracted from his ships logs, is the story of the Frenchman who, when leading the round the world yacht race and in the home straight, peeled off went round again. Only he didn't make it to the finish line first.

Now that in itself would be a pretty extraordinary story - a certified classic sea-dog's yarn of the 20th Century - but because it happened in the wake (if you'll excuse the pun) of infinitely stranger behaviour from fellow competitor Donald Crowhurst, it has only ever achieved the lesser status of an interesting historical side-bar. For Moitessier's unexpected change of tack (if you'll excuse the pun) crystallised an even more bizarre - and tragic - chain of events which had been unfolding aboard Crowhurst's boat, the Teignmouth Electron. None of Crowhurst's story is covered here, however (at the time Moitessier was ploughing around the Cape of Good Hope none the wiser, so that's hardly surprising) but those interested in Crowhurst's tragic tale are warmly recommended The Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst and the fine Channel 4 Film Deep Water, both of which also cover Moitessier's race in some detail.

This is nonetheless a highly readable memoir of an unusually solitary man and, at times, is a vivid articulation of his his view of his place on the planet and his relationship with the elements. Moitessier was a genuine romantic, an anti-modernist to boot, and interlaced his narrative of the long journey (all good Boys' Own stuff) with quite profound ruminations on God, Grace, the Planet and the Eternal Horizon. To my surprise I found the book became less interesting as it progressed, when you would expect quite the contrary. However enthusiastic he is about ruminating on the place of man in the cosmos, Moitessier doesn't really explain, or embark upon any deep inner analysis of, his reasons for unexpectedly opting for another crack at the southern ocean over a tearful reunion with his wife and children.

The treatment of that last part of the voyage is peremptory and the book finishes somewhat abruptly on an atoll in Tahiti. An interesting read, but I would recommend the Crowhurst story as a prelude.

Olly Buxton

Moitessier is a lousy writer. I read the Logical Route and was bored stiff. I bought this because I'm interested in taking up sailing and was intrigued why he gave up winning the race and sodded off to Tahiti instead. Unfortunately it's more of the same: dreary 'logical' daily accounts of boring sailing log details interspersed with equally dull, repetitive, shallow, wispy musings on nature. There's some soft rant against the 'machine' at the end. No depth. No passion. No excitement. No philosophy. No adventure. No LIFE.
If this is what Zen posing, bearded frog cross legged sitting on deck contemplating your navel, waves and stars 16 hours a day does to you I think I'll pass.

Moitessier's tale is a tale of the 1960s - of spirituality, of anti-commcercialsm, of anti-estasblishment, of yoga, of nature. Sailing solo tends to bring out one's deepest fears - understandably. Fortunately for Moitessier, he was a spiritual man, in tune with his times. And his times were all about the Anti-Hero, Man Against Machine, where winning is not an objective anymore, survival is.

So when Bernard said 'the hell with your prize and money', he shocked the world and sailed on to immortality. Note that another member of the contest, Donald Crowhurst (please read Donald Hall's classic), harboured different fears - which conspired against his sanity, resulting in suicide.

Read this book: it'll give you insights into sailing and the soul.

I was looking for a good true story about what is would be like to sail on a sailboat around the world. I have never sailed before. Though he doesn't make it around the world this is a great story about sailing an ocean. Surviving on a minimal budget he fulfills most of his dream. Some reviewers seemed to think the story was a little dry. I say it may start off a little slow but soon picks up the pace. The author can tell a good tale but at other times he can become completely poetic. He will go through danger, he will meet new friends, adapt to life on the sea. He has some good times on his trip as well as confict and uncertainty. He visits paradise and then some taking a few chances along the way. He experiences camaraderie and seamanship and makes the most of his journey. If you are looking for a story to sweep you out of the recliner and take you away to the middle of the Atlantic or to a warm beautiful place on a sailboat I think this will work. This is a true throw your life to the wind and hit the sails tale. I would have to say I will read it again.

Reading a book about long-distance sailing tends to make the reader a part of the crew, as one is at the mercy not only of the elements but of the moods and competence of the captain/author. In a well-written sailing account, the reader, like a crew member, has relished learning as much about the personality of the captain and other crew members as he or she has the sea and sailing. A lesser account is a different experience. Perhaps I have done John Beattie a disservice by reading The Breath of Angels directly after reading Tristan Jones' The Incredible Voyage, the latter work one that would seem to set the standard for what Beattie is trying to attempt. Jones has a charming irascibility, and his spirit and prose truly reveal why, even in the midst of great hardship, he relishes his life at sea and in various, well-described ports. Unfortunately, Beattie's early prose is stilted and, even after he warms to his subject and theme, never lyrical. While long-distance sailing produces many moments of wonder, we learn more about Beattie's glaring fondness for cheap wine and his dislike for his crew, an acrimony that becomes more discomfiting as the narrative progresses, than we do that which draws him to the cruising life. For anyone who has ever sailed even a protected bay, his naiveté in both human relations and the demands of nature on a boat seems disquieting. Perhaps in the sub-genre of books about sailors attempting both an arduous voyage and, essentially, learning how to truly sail, this would ordinarily be a welcome addition. There seems to be little joy in what Beattie does, though. Interestingly, by the time the reader reaches the moment that the author seems to feel ratifies his journey, he has been made indifferent by the tedium of Beattie's world. While we can be glad that he found much meaning in his daunting rescue of another sailor, it did not seem to lead to anything but a prosaic "revelation". If a book about long-distance sailing is desired, stick with Tristan Jones. If one wishes to read about the sometimes hapless adventures of a sailor learning to sail during a singular and dangerous voyage, read the out-of-print Tinkerbelle by Robert Manry, who sailed a 13-foot boat across the Atlantic. [And without wine!]

Not what I was hoping for in a sailing adventure narrative. I quickly tired of tabulating how many hand-rolled cigarettes the author smoked and how many varieties of music he enjoyed. I kept waiting for the essence of blue-water sailing to emerge in the form of vividly described sunsets and starlit skies. It was also surprising a person would take a boat with as many mechanical problems as the Warrior Queen out of swimming distance of the nearest port. By mid-way through the book the author was out of money and out of crew. This book is essentially a beginner's guide on how-not-to circumnavigate.

One of the most understated of adventures I've read. Beattie just brushes the surface of emotions that most of us would feel under some of the circumstances he encountered. In fact, most of us would have given up long before ever setting out to sea. I am a sailor and know many hardcore sailors who would see this tale as complete foolishness. They would never have persevered as Beattie did. Likewise, they would not have felt the rapture and reward that John felt once his troubles were behind him.

The amazing ending to this book is just too incredible for fiction. That Beattie only gives a one-page account of his life afterwards is testamant to how much of an impact it had on him.

If you're looking for a practical guide to sailing this is not the book to go for -- there are plenty of these around and most of them make dismal reading. Also, if you're after a "how-great-a-sailor-I-am" read, then give this a wide berth. However, if you want a rattling good story about long distance sailing, and all the ups and downs that this entails, then you'll be hard pressed to find anything much better or more honest than this. Funny and moving throughout with some beautifully written passages, it drives towards a terrific climax when the author comes across a shipwrecked, dying fisherman in the most amazing circumstances.

New evidence has now surfaced that Oswald was hired by Cuba to kill JFK in Dallas all those years ago. Now, character assassination is continuing from that area. John Seigenthaler was a close friend and supporter of the Kennedys: "I was a close friend of Robert Kennedy, and I worked closely iwith the president...helped to edit [Robert's] first book. We were close friends until his death and the most painful thing was to have them {Brian Chase] to suggest I was suspected of their assassination."

Chase, after being traced by Daniel Brandt of San Antonio, confessed that he created a fake online biography of Seigenthaler in May, 2005, as a gag "to shock a co-worker who was familiar with the Seigenthaler family." This was allowed to go global on Wikipedia. This is going on now on other web sites including these reviews, from Dallas. John Seigenthaler, father of the NBC journalist, was falsely accused of being involved in both assassinations of JFK and his brother, Robert. Character assassination is prevalent these days and must be stopped. Anybody can write anything about an unsuspecting person and put on their web page as indignities, as racial and ethnic slurs and worse.

The online cncyclopedia to which anyone can contribute used a false article which implicated him in the Kennedy assassination. The jokester, Brian Chase, claims he didn't know the free internet encyclopedia was used as a serious reference tool. Others, such as Daniel Brandt of San Antonio, has been "hurt" by an unflattering biography of himself. How many other Brians are out there doing their moral and unethical damage to the lives and psyches of others -- and allowed to continue.

Garrison believed the CIA, with the help of the mafia, Cuban exiles formerly involved with Operation Mongoose & the Bay of Pigs, and extreme right wingers in DoD killed Kennedy. He also believed Clay Shaw had a hand in it. Generally I think he was on the right track, but it is unlikely that CIA and DoD would have cooperated to such an extent. We know from ARRB releases that, unlike the later Iran-Contra and Tipped Kettle Ops, CIA and DoD were severely at odds with each other. CIA's emergence as an outlet for covert ops was seen as encroaching on DoD holy ground. Defense has perfected the art of the black op and black program with so many Sensitive Compartments, Special Access Programs, and Unacknowledged Units, that one has to admit they had a valid argument. The great black op success stories during the Cold War (success in terms of tactical goals, not whether I agree with their motives or means) were primarily carried out by either DoD (sometimes through the NSA, which is heavily connected to the military) or British MI6, acting on behalf of CIA. The agency rarely succeeded by itself on these matters.

We also know that DCI Richard Helms held high-level staff meetings on the topic of Garrison's investigation. CIA certainly did sabotage it, but according to Victor Marchetti (whose opinion I've learned to trust) it was clear Shaw had not been involved with the assassination. However, it also appeared from the discussions (and hush-hush nature of certain topics when brought up even in these meetings) that Shaw was more than just a domestic intell contact and that he & CIA were probably covering for someone after the fact. This was the same motive behind the agency suppressing their surveillance of an Oswald-imposter who had been trailing the real Oswald in Mexico City. Someone else had an operator there, not CIA.

The clincher was when Helms was called before Congress & the Justice Department and threatened during Watergate & the Family Jewels (intell ethics and black ops scandals like MK/ULTRA and BLUEBIRD). He walked out to reporters and said if Justice wanted to keeping playing hardball he'd be happy to open the biggest can of worms of them all. He implied this would not implicate himself or his agency, but other portions of the government. At that point Justice freaked and halted their strong-arming. Considering the pervasive spread of right-wing extremism in DoD at the time of the assassination (stretching all the way to the Joint Chiefs) the meaning of all this is fairly clear.

Some individuals with former CIA ties were likely involved, but the agency was simply forced to suppress this (and by default aid the conspiracy) in order to avoid their own false implication in the assassination itself. Certainly if Garrison couldn't keep this separate then the public couldn't be expected to not blame CIA when they found out a few of its former employees or contacts were involved. So Garrison was close, but he was a little too obsessed with Shaw and CIA to see the real picture.

I've read several books relating to the conspiracy surrounding the murder of JFK. This is one of the best. It's detailed and to the point, there is no sidetracking, like in many of the other highly recommended books (Jim Marrs: Crossfire & Ultimate Sacrifice).

The book is hard to get your hands on, since its no longer in print, but well worth the money. Everything in the book is fact driven, and when it's speculation, it clearly states so.

Alot in the book, that was interesting, and did not make Oliver Stones movie, as well, as lots of subjects in this book not covered in other books.

This is the best overall book Ive read relating to the JFK murder, however, its mainly focused around Garrisons investigation, so it's only 1 point of view, and it does not have ALL the facts.

The definitive JFK conspiracy book. Sober, well documented, rarely sensational. The focus is on fact, not speculation. Why has so much evergy been used to discrediting his investigation? Even if some of the conjecture is hard to swallow, it seems like you gotta work pretty hard to explain away most of this stuff. I'm convinced.

Jim Garrison's powerful book, "On the Trail of the Assassins," is important reading. In it, Garrison recounts his investigation into the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and a possible cover-up of the real facts of the case. It questions the validity of the Warren Commission Report, and provides startling evidence that the Central Intelligence Agency may have been involved, and that Kennedy's assassination was a coup d'etat. The evidence Garrison presents leaves little room for doubt.
If there wasn't a conspiracy involved to assassinate Kennedy, then why does the U.S. government, OUR government, withold information in connection to the assassination? I think that we have a right to know who killed Kennedy, why he was killed, and who benefitted.
"On the Trail of the Assassins" is a superb book. A great resource for those new to the conspiracy theories, and a great companion piece to Oliver Stone's "JFK." Grade: A+

(3.5 stars) Taking place at an English country estate during a house party weekend, Ngaio Marsh's first Roderick Alleyn mystery, written in 1934, forecasts the later success of her successful thirty-two book Alleyn series. Invited to the home of Sir Hubert Handesley, where they will participate in a "murder" game, the houseguests know that one of them will be chosen to be the "murderer" and that s/he will select and "murder" one of the other guests. In this case, however, when the gong sounds and the lights come on, they discover that one of the guests has actually been murdered.