Irish-American Books

T.S. Eliot is a genius. The Wasteland is, by far, the best poem I have ever read. It is a bit difficult to get through, but I'm sure if you are thinking of picking up this book you are not looking for light reading. Also, of all the editions I've read, I think this one is the best. The notes on the reading are helpful and explain the text fairly well.

I think perhaps the wasteland has been to long interpeted as a lament, our a lecture, or even a statement about disillusioment. To me it seems to be the story of a non commital spiritualist lingering on the edge Nihilism, confused in pain and feeling empty as if no philosophy has prover satisfactory in his thirst for truth. I have known the morbid and dark mindstates Eliot describes, and I think that is what the wasteland is: a portrait of intense mental and spiritual torment, embellished with symbolism and shifting voices. But that is essentialy what it is, though each voice is distinct it seems to me that the torment of one man leaps between changing but always hinting that they are all his. It is in a way a dramatation of the utimate feelings of man between rationalism and Nihilism and hating both. Feeling that they are frauds and that the only truth is in the empty tired nothingness.

The Waste Land

From the listing this item appears to be a recording of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot, read by the poet himself; but it's not, it's a performance by another reader, and therefore it had (to me) no interest; it was not what I wanted or needed. I suggest that the product description should be made clearer, so that other customers do not make the same mistake.

This volume includes T. S. Eliot's Prufrock and Other Observations (1917), Poems (1920), and The Waste Land (1922), and thus provides readers with a fair introduction to the work of one of the twentieth century's greatest poets. The American expatriate was a genuine original, bringing forth a new Modernist voice at a time when the movement was at its beginning and Edwardian poetry still carried the day in England.

Clipped, dry, angular, and intellectual if still emotionally sensitive, Eliot's vision of deserted midnight urban streets, ever-present enveloping yellow or brown fog, doubt-obsessed social misfits ("Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?" "Do I dare disturb the universe?"), and city dwellers quietly ensnared in a mundane round of workaday routine had an enormous impact on the cultural scene of the period. If the poet doesn't strictly focus on the ugly, he does focus on the unadorned and mundane detritus of civilization in the immediate: "morning comes to consciousness / of faint stale smells of beer / from the sawdust-trampled streets." He speaks of "grimy scraps" of "newspapers from vacant lots," "broken blinds and chimney-pots," and of "raising dingy shades / in a thousand furnished rooms," as if the inexorable void of outer space was present in the next flat and steadily closing in. Even "the evening" "is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table."

Human consciousness and human nature are hesitant at best and deeply troubled, in any number of ways, at worst: sleep reveals "a thousand sordid images" of which the "soul" is "constituted," and the palms of "both hands" are "soiled." The poet states that "There will be time to murder and create," and 'Sweeney Erect' describes the act of sexual intercourse in desperate, awkward, unfulfilling, and bestial terms. In fact, nature in all its manifestations is largely repugnant to Eliot; 'Sweeney Erect' literally describes female genitalia as the vagina dentata: "This withered root of knots of hair / Slitted below and gashed with eyes / This oval O cropped out with teeth." Nor are the seasons a source of comfort: "April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire," he says, and suitably, most of the early poems speak only gravely of autumn and winter. The "soft October night" mentioned in 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' startles, since the image it conjures slightly betrays traditional associations of comfort and perceived beauty.

During the period in which the poems were written, Eliot was in the throes of a very troubled marriage to the mentally unstable Vivienne Haigh-Wood, which explains much of the revulsion and guilt-ridden despondency expressed. Eliot was projecting and transposing: history has shown that the poet frequently acted without responsibility and integrity towards Vivienne and their severe personal problems, and thus the vengeful Furies that appear among the dramatis personae in a later Eliot drama were real forces in the poet's psyche. Eliot's inability to cope with Vivienne resulted in moral and ethical failures on his part: the real waste land was Eliot's own perception of his life and reaction to it.

But in his later work, Eliot's fervent religious beliefs would blossom to the fore; much of that poetry would be underscored by a starkly expressed belief in Christian salvation and the potential resurrection of the spirit.

Eliot was not an admirer of the Romantic school, and thus his urban landscapes are neither post-Romantic nor decadent environments, but simply sterile cityscapes devoid of any quality that genuinely support the promise inherent in human existence. However, though Eliot decried the solipsism of the Romantics, his own early work is often pinched, parsimonious, and reductive to the point of constriction.

'The Waste Land,' which is accompanied by five dense author-imposed pages of tedious explanatory notes (which ostensibly insure that the reader understands the poem contains dozens of references to the Bible, Ovid, Sappho, St. Augustine, Dante, Milton, Shakespeare, Baudelaire, Frazer, and even Herman Hesse, among others) is particularly obscure, and therefore solipsistic in its own fashion: its intended audience was not the common man on the street by any means, but the clever, educated, well read, and competitive armchair intellectual of the kind that populated the literary circles in which the author then moved. Aptly titled, 'The Waste Land' is a tedious academic game and a triumph not of poetry but of marketing, with multiple lines like "Weialala leia Wallala leialala" and "Co co rico co co rico" that are guaranteed to lock its audience out.

Eliot may have shunned Romanticism, but he never escaped the powerful romantic elements in his own nature; this is apparent right at the beginning of his published work with 1917's 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,' which famously ends with "the mermaids singing, each to each" and Prufrock observing, "I do not think they will sing to me." "I should have been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the floor of silent seas" can also be interpreted in terms of romantic, even rebellious, longing: the tone is different from that broadly found in Blake, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Byron, but the desire for unrestricted freedom, even oblivious freedom, is actively present nonetheless.

Even if intended ironically, 'Rhapsody On A Windy Night' is romantically titled, and the later 'Marina' ("What images return...O my daughter"), 'Ash Wednesday' (1930), and 'Four Quartets' would be thoroughly suffused with longing, desire, and sense of loss. In fact, some may interpret Eliot's fervent Protestantism as the final manifestation of this restless trend in his personality.

Since in his early work Eliot's poetry is more satisfying on a line by line basis ("Webster was much possessed by death / And saw the skull beneath the skin"), a more complete portrait of the poet and his work is available in The Complete Poems and Plays 1909 - 1950 (1971).

I found this edition by Penguin to be very useful for a casual reading. The notes on the poems, in particular "the Waste Land," are detailed enough to give the reader a perception of Eliot's vast literary knowledge and its effect on his poems. However, the notes are inadequate if your purpose is to deeply understand the background of Eliot's complex and difficult poetry. So if you are looking for deep insights, I would recommend the Norton Critical Edition. For the normal reader, this is satisfying and straightforward.

What particularly struck me was James' lack of self-pity. I was constantly amazed that he was able to put his condition aside and imagine a better life for someone else. It was also a paean (sp?) to ICU nurses.

I've been disabled (temporarily, thank heaven) and was amazed at Moran's knowledge of how it feels to depend on others so totally. I didn't know until I finished the book that it happened to him, just this way. (His "dreams" were particularly horrific.)

Well done, without being smarmy or sappy.

I read a great deal and tend to read the works, particualry the earlier works, of an author whose work I have enjoyed ..This was the case with this book. I had read Anja The Liar (and have no idea how I got to it) but I found it quite absorbing and it covered, in an interesting way, a lot of new territory for me as far as the locale and the period it covers. And then I chose "The World..." which I found to be an incredibly involving but uncomofrtable read -- but, saying thta, I was quite moved by it and the plight of the patient, which I now understand is based on Moran's own experiences after suffering a devestating illness. It made me very aware of our own precarious sense of morality and impending disaster without warning or notice...and I really enjoyed the way the author introduces bit and pieces of "James''" previous life and experiences. It is a very sad book but it really takes you inside the head and body of this poor unfortunate man who has been stricken down and has lost all but a very limited connection with his increasingly diminshing world and perspective -- I won't say more but I do recommend it as a most compelling read.

Mr. Moran has taken his experiences as a patient and written a novel that reflects the hidden world of a man trapped in his own body. The story is moving and realistic, and quite touching. His interaction with the nurse is the vehicle for the novel, but I think he could have written it without other characters, and simply let the experience and thoughts of the protagonist flow to carry the book. I really enjoyed this, and passed it on to an Irish nurse who I thought would appreciate it.

James Blatchley, the narrator of Thomas Moran's second novel, "The World I Made for Her" finds himself in a terrifyingly real predicament: stricken by a minor childhood disease that leaves him unable to walk, speak, or breathe on his own.

Completely helpless, he is cared for by two Irish nurses--the bawdy, outgoing Brigit, who has a penchant for shooting up the narcotics meant for her patients, and the graceful, softspoken Nuala, nicknamed St. Nualala by Brigit for her demure behavior. James fixates upon Nuala and begins a love affair with her that exists only in his mind.

As the days wear on, James drifts in and out of consciousness, envisioning Nuala's daily routine, her past, and her aspirations and desires, as it soon becomes clear that Nuala needs James almost as much as he needs her.

The story is augmented by Moran's vividly straightforward prose and utterly believable characters. Told from James's point of view, the novel is also highly personal, as Moran himself fell ill with a minor childhood diease and spent five months in the hospital as the virus attacked his organs and nearly killed him. He recalls his own visions in hypnotic detail that underscores the redemptive, life-affirming power of love.

This is a small book, but one you'll never forget. It's like the work of Nicholson Baker in a way, but with even more heart. It made me cry and made my wife cry. I also loaned it to my friend, and he hasn't returned it, so this book has made me cry twice.

William Butler Yeats published his collected poems in 1933. Yeats continued to write poetry until his death in 1939 and had planned to include his later poems in an expanded edition of the collected poems. Fifty years after Yeats's death, Irish literature scholar Richard J. Finneran published a second edition of the Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats which he revised in 1996 based upon Yeats's handwritten notations and revisions to the manuscripts of the poems. Thus, this revised second edition is the definitive collection.

The Collected Poems separates the poems into two categories: lyrical and narrative/dramatic. The poems are arranged chronologically within each category and are numbered. Reading the poems in chronological order allows the reader to track Yeats's artistic development, to see the poems in the context of Yeats's life (the poems written during the final two decades of Yeats's life are quite different from his earlier work) and to appreciate the thematic connections in series of poems.

The book also features: i) an appendix containing Yeats's notes to the first edition; ii) music composed by Edward Dulac for five of Yeats' poems, iii) indexes of titles and first lines, and iv) Finneran's notes explaining literary, mythological, geographic, biographic and historical allusions in Yeats's poetry. Yeats was well-versed in Celtic lore and classical mythology and freely alluded to mythology, legends and folklore in his poetry. I find Finneran's explanatory notes exceedingly helpful and informative.

Yeats's poetry is among the most beautiful, stirring and haunting in all of English and Irish literature. This is as true for his earlier poems ("But I, being poor, have only my dreams; / I have spread my dreams under your feet; / Tread softly because you tread on my dreams") as it is for his later works ("Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say; / Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day; / The second best's a gay goodnight and quickly turn away").

If you only have room for a single volume of Yeats, this is THE book to choose.

I must admit that I have a bit of a family bias toward Yeats. My family is from County Sligo, where Yeats partially grew up and wherein he is buried. My grandfather even marched in his funeral, and I have visited his grave in Drumcliffe several times.

With that confession out of the way, I'll make my contentious claim, that Yeats is the best poet of the 20th century. I cannot claim to have read all the poetry of the century (none can), nor even all of the greats, but I have read enough to feel myself at least partially justified in this claim! :)

His poems have a wonderful power to them, weight in the emotional and the lyrical senses, those two factors on which I judge poems most primarily. They flow wonderfully, display the full beauty of the English language, and contain a depth of thought not seen, some would say, since Wordsworth (I say since Keats or maybe Tennyson, but I cite the former claim from Harold Bloom).

Take the following, one of his earliest poems and, though good, not his best:

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

There is obviously a powerful Romanticism in this poem, and it is not his most original nor his most deep, but it is a wonderful poem nonetheless. Just speak it aloud to yourself; listen to how well it flows. Think of it emotionally, as though you yourself were the woman reading it, or you were the one writing it to your lover to be read after your death.

THE WINDING STAIR AND OTHER POEMS is his best book overall, and it is included in its entirety here, but almost all of these poems retain some value. Highly, highly recommend; besides Keats (no, it doesn't rhyme with Yeats! :)), Blake, Milton, and Shakespeare, I'd have to say he is my favourite poet!

A Further Recommendation:
If you are a fan of Yeats--and even if you are not--I highly recommend visiting Co. Sligo and his grave in Drumcliffe. The graveyard wherein he is buried and the surrounding area is the most beautiful, tranquil, and wonderful place I have yet seen on this planet, and I don't suspect I'll ever renounce that judgement. If you go there, walk a short way from the graveyard toward the main road, across from the round tower, and there is a road to a little creek with a pathway running along it. Walk down it, and think of the poems of Yeats and of things you love, and I promise you an unforgettable experience :)

Cast a cold Eye
On Life, on Death.
Horseman, pass by.

Yeats' poems should not be questioned, thus I do not.

Good about this edition is that it covers a great scope of his works. I think there's almost everything. Nice typeface used, font is nor small nor huge (exception for appendix). It is good to read, easy to find.

Bad thing is: paper. Yes, its paperback and this sort of books is always cheap. There was no hardcover available at the moment nor any book of such size either. Not to speak of any choice in Russia (Translations? No, thanks). Still, paper is roughly cut and, what makes things worse, I won't give a penny on whether this edition will survive more than 30 years. I'd get a better book later.

This book contains all of Yeat's published poetry and I believe alot of his dramatic writings. Yeat's has to be one of the best english poets of all time. I put him up next to Shakespeare. His poems are full of mystery, and alot of romance and polotics. It's really great stuff.

The short space that is offered here for reviews is nowhere near sufficient to review the life's works of one of Ireland's and the world's greatest poets. However I must at least try to describe the beauty that is the poetry of William Butler Yeats.

Perhaps Yeats is at his finest when reflecting on love, usually unrequited. Yeats manages to produce love poems that have a genuine passion that is surprisingly rare in poetry, specifically that of the modern day. Perhaps Yeats is representative of a type of romanticism that is moribund in modern literature, this is surely a tragic shame.

However Yeats' examination of the human condition is not restricted to the romantic. In 'What Then?', Yeats examines the frantic and vain human search for an ultimate meaning or significance. He manages this in a far more poetic and succinct way than many poets who have gone before him. In 'A Man Young and Old', Yeats runs us through the gamut of human experience in a wonderous,yet harrowing manner.

These are but a handful of examples of this beautiful poetry that demands to be read by any lover of literature.

In our era of "reality" TV and "cop shows" where both are driven by good writers and "bigger lie bigger buy" mentality comes this simply excellent book. What is striking throughout is McDonald's superb writing ability and diligent research. His ability to keep the reader interested on what is otherwise ordinary lives. His writing power is further distinguished by an absolute avoidance of cop cliche, which on a book like this is like going on an Easter egg hunt and telling the story of the journey...the people...the experience... without resorting to a redundant "and then I found this Easter egg."

Mostly, what I loved is the powerful taste of NYC through troubled times and good. The peoples experience of this fine city. Being a cop in the 70s. A cop under Tammany. A cop standing on the seam of this city as it is ripped apart under stress and sewn back together again. And the pure grit of cop families that never fall through and in the end the ones that mend the chasam again and again.

I was disappointed in the book. Unless you are interested in the political history of the area as it relates to the police department, you will probably be bored. It needed way more cop stories.

I read this book in one day. Brian hits all the points. I hadn't remembered the experience of sneaking into my dad's top dresser draw to lift his gun and being surprise by its weight, until I read the book's opening. My great great grandfather became a NYC Central Park cop upon arrival from Ireland in 1865. Since then, we always had at least one cop in the family until my father's death on St. Patrick's Day 1997.

My great grandfather responded to the General Slocum disaster; my grandfather (a Fordham Law graduate) was a detective who investigated Murder Inc. and other organized crime families; my father was the target of bricks during the 1960s, and I remember being terrified watching the Black Panthers calling for the execution of all cops; and one of my uncles battled the gangs in China town.

This book not only covers most of those events, it also made me remember police picnics and clam bakes, and hanging out as a kid watching my father play pool in the local saloon. Although my family moved "up the line" to northern Westchester, and not "across the river" to Rockland, my family's closest associations were with other cop families.

I have three brothers and three sisters. All seven of us have enjoyed this book.

Furthermore, as other reviewers have noted, this is a well written book.

I urge anyone who grew up in a cop family, as well as anyone looking for a great read to read this book.

I came to appreciate the difficulties of being an honest and good NYPD cop.
This book helped me realize that all the heroic things cops do are ignored by the media, while the few mistakes are constantly highlighted.
Since 9/11 the media and the liberal left have improved somewhat, but not enough.
The courage and selflessness required to be a NYPD cop are amazing. While the NYPD is not above criticism, I think much of the criticism is misplaced, misleading and a result of misunderstanding.
I dare Al Sharpton to read this book -- maybe it could expand his world view a little bit more.

As a member of NYPD, I have heard alot of talk on this book. also living in Rockland county,(also where the author lived) I can relate to differents points of interest in the book. I living a civil service family life, can compare the different aspects of "the job". My father being an officer of FDNY, me being the first cop. This books goes from the changes in the dept. through scandals and also working now shows what things havent changed. I highly recomend this book to anyone not just cops, it puts in perspective a cops life and what the family endures also. Once you start reading it is a hard book to stop reading, it isn't hard reading the book flows very smooth. I am not reader and for me to read a complete book is good.

I've had many of these poems for many years. This was a nice addition to the family library. I now have 3 of the leather-bound volumes, and intend to buy several more. (each family member will get one of these TREASURES.

My Mother read these poems to us as we were growing up. I also memorized many of these poems at school. Reading it again was like visiting an old and familar friend.

This is by far the best collection of general heritage poetry I have come across. Classics when originally compiled that are still the standards for Americana poetry as well as a summation of our cultural history.

I ordered this book for Christmas for my 12 year old daughter who recently has gotton into poetry. After I ordered the book it shipped very quickly, was here within a week. The book itself is great, a large hand held book that and is packed with poetry from the worlds famous poets. I think it's a great starter poetry book.

As a child my mother read from this book to me and to my father. She need
not have read much as she memorized many of the poems and can recite them
now, though well past her 90th year. I have given this book to many of my friends and consider it a gift of love and inspiration.

Fantastic short and to the point essays about the greats of poetry along with the ability to hear them read in their own voices - invaluable asset to the serious poet or poetry fan.

What a joy it is to see/read poems and be able to hear the poets read the poems to me, the reader. Poetry is breath and life and as the poet reads, and I read back, the exoerience between the artist and the audience is a unity.

When PBS ran the poetry series, Bill Moyers talked about how when we read a poem from another it's like our breath echoing theirs.

I feel this when I listent to these CDs and read the poems.

We all need more poetry, but we need more poetry both written AND spoken.

This volume is wonderful.

The poets in this volume were listed in another review. I am here simply copying the list. Lord Tennyson; Robert Browning; Walt Whitman; William Butler Yeats; Gertrude Stein; Robert Frost; Carl Sandburg; Wallace Stevens; William Carlos Williams; Ezra Pound; H.D.; Robinson Jeffers; John Crowe Ransom; T.S. Eliot; Edna St. Vincent Millay; Dorothy Parker; e.e. Cummings; Louise Bogan; Melvin B. Tolson; Laura Riding Jackson; Langston Hughes; Ogden Nash; W.H. Auden; Louis MacNeice; Theodore Roethke; Elizabeth Bishop; Robert Hayden; Muriel Rukeyser; William Stafford; Randall Jarrell; John Berryman; Dylan Thomas; Robert Lowell; Gwendolyn Brooks; Robert Duncan; Philip Larkin; Denise Levertov; Allen Ginsberg; Frank O'Hara; Anne Sexton; Etheridge Knight; and Sylvia Plath.
There is a great deal of great and inspiring poetry in this volume. There is also mediocre poetry. And I agree with one other reviewer who said that many of the poets read surprisingly poorly. They all should have listened to Dylan Thomas and learned from him. The power of his voice and the range of his feeling move greatly.
I also was not overwhelmed by the various poetic appreciations. They seemed to me too subjective and did not add greatly to the knowledge of the poets under discussion.
Yet with all the complaining the reading and listening to much of this poetry inspires to poetry. It lifts the mind and heart to another dimension in which there is a depth and a beauty to words which can be found nowhere else.
This anthology has enough of such great poetry to be truly worthwhile.

Once in every 100 years a book is created which captures, both in written and spoken word, the ongoing development of an art form. Poetry Speaks is one such book. Glancing at its cover and size, some people will conclude it to be a 'coffee table book', impressive to look at but hardly ever read. For those persons whoread the smaller print: Hear Great Poets Read their Work from Tennyson to Plath, they experience a pregnant pause ..'Tennyson to Plath'...Tennyson?? It is then book's pages have called and the reader/listener are absorbed into its binding. Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Walt Whitman and Robert Browning, were all 19th century poets who died in the late 1880s - 1890s. Yet, because of wax cylinders and the wizardry of Thomas Edison, his desire to capture the human voice, and his love of poetry,1886,he recorded each. Nearly 120 yars later,we are able to listen to these poets reading selections of their own writings. We are invited into the studio, hear their puzzlements, frstrations aw well as triumphant celebration, after recording and hearing,for the first time, their own voices.

Poetry Speaks not only has selections of writings, it includes three CDs. Narrated by Charles Osgood, listeners are escorted through a century of recorded voices and explains how recording itself changed the way poetry was presented when read out load. Within the book's pages, each selected poet is introduced with a brief biography, explanation of th poet's style,as well as how outside events and societal changes and influences shaped both poet and poetry. Some presenters include handwritten copies with lined out deletions and revisions. The study of each poet is an educational find.
The collection is a treasure. Whether you enjoy poetry, find it a bit
intimidating or just what to share something a very special for a very special person...such as yourself, Poetry Speaks will let your spirit soar. You will need to take it from the coffee tabe, open its pages, and read along with its authors.

Margaret C. Barno

The Poetry Speaks collection features works and readings by 42 of the greatest poets ever.

The book itself is rather weighty (literally), but the essays and poems themselves are organized in such a way as to make even the non-poet appreciate them.

The one complaint I have about the collection is the narrator's unbearable way of trailing off mid-sentence. The "introductions" to the poets and their works were bearable enough--- as I said, the book is very user friendly and is a good intoduction to the world of poetry to those who dont know Donne from Shelley--- however, not saying the whole sentence (whether for theatrical effect or simply to save CD space) leaves listeners frustrated. For example, in the introduction to Robert Browning: "At the end of the historical recording, Browning..." Browning what? We know that Browning apologizes for forgetting the words in "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix", but with simply "..." Browning could have hit Thomas Edison over the head with a phonograph for all we know.

Mysterious narration is not a good enough reason not to get the book however. The joy of hearing Whitman and Pound and Plath far surpasses even the most irritating introductons.

The solution: import all the audio files onto your computer, delete the introductons, transfer the files onto your iPod and voilà. C'est parfait. Find a nice shady tree to sit under, balance the book on your knees, switch on your iPod and experience history.

Having been a fan of Barchester Towers and The Way We Live Now, I expected more from this novel. I found the characterizations disappointing--particularly that of George Vavasor. It simply does not ring true. He develops [or unravels] from a likeable, quirky character to a deranged one for seemingly no other reason that to be a plot device. Alice Vavasor did not capture my interest, and no, I cannot forgive her for her lack of vision and resolution.

John Grey was lovingly drawn--perhaps too lovingly--and Palliser was successful as a multi-dimensional aristocrat. I enjoyed both of these portraits. Without going through the copious list of personages, I will wrap it up and say that this novel was not as well-constructed as I was accustomed to from Trollope; nor did the plot grab me. I preferred He Knew He Was Right.

Trollope is no Charles Dickens, but he has insights into human life that Dickens seems to lack completely. Trollope deeply understands that women have their own interests, needs, preferences, and ambitions. He also understands that women cannot always count on the men in their lives to provide financial security. He understands these things not only on a sociological plane, but on a deeply personal, psychological level.

Unfortunately, he does not let these realities reach their ultimate conclusion. The women you care about in his books are typically left comfortable and happy, because they are lucky with their men. Like Dickens, Trollope is ready to accept the social reality of women as he finds it. Unlike, say, the women in George Eliot's novels, Trollope's women are rescued by men, or by their patrimony, so they are not left in poverty and despair.

But, nonetheless, Trollope is a great and addictive storyteller. I read this novel in a week, and I can't wait to read the next book in the Palliser series.

This was the first book I read by Anthony Trollope and I found it to be one of the best books I have ever read. Trollope combines a subtle sense of humor, rich descriptive imagery, and easy-to-understand writing style to create a book that tackles many of the same human, emotional, moral, and political issues that Tolstoy writes about. However, because the writing style is so much more accessible, you can relate to the main characters and the dilemmas they face so much more effectively.

This story is particularly relevant today as it was back in England. Today we are still trying to answer the question "what should a woman do with her life". While women today have more options -- we still struggle between trying to decide whether we should do "what society expects of us" or "do what we really want to do". Even Hillary Clinton is struggling with many of the themes of this book -- how to be a feminine figure but worthy of respect; how to be a good wife without being a doormat; how to balance her need and desire for power with societies fear of a powerful woman.

If you are looking for books that echo many of the issues we face today while providing a rich environment to escape to that doesn't include minivans and modern minutae, Anthony Trollope is an excellent author. This book is a great introduction to his philosophy and stories, all written with intelligence, humor and class.

I suppose it's not fair to pick on authors who are no longer alive to defend themselves, but I think that there is good reason that Jane Austen has enjoyed a renaissance and Trollope has not.

I've been told over and over again that Trollope is for people who love politics. I've always found this to be a bit of an overstatement since it strikes me that the "politics" involved sound pretty much like politics everywhere; that of the machinations required to get elected (or get a seat in Parliament, in this case). Just like today. Big deal. There is usually just enough politics to confuse people who have zero background knowledge but not enough to tell anything new to people who have read a few Victorian novels or have any concept at all of politics in general. (I don't even pay a lot of attention to politics and I've never learned a thing from Trollope).

This is a good novel that should have been half as long. There is almost no actual plot--the characters are mainly shuffled among extended visits to one another and trips to Switzerland--and there is too much dialogue for what actually needs to be said (contrast with Austen's conciseness). The characters are delineated pretty clearly as they are introduced and, while some of them do grow, they don't grow enough to fill out almost 700 pages. Alice, in particular, persists in being tiresomely stubborn, reserved, and wooden until the end; even as she has been won over again by John Grey she protests that she is "not good enough" and resists the expectations of levity and celebration that come with her wedding. She is an interesting depiction of a very independent-minded woman (which must have been something of a novelty in 1864) but it is not really convincing that she is as intelligent as it seems she should be, or she might be better at self-reflection.

I think Trollope meant for the reader to see Grey as Alice does--colorless at first and then expanding into something more vital and interesting--but he doesn't quite accomplish it and Grey never really gels as a character and never really seems to merit the admiration paid him by other characters.

In an unusual turnabout for a Victorian novel, we have here three cases of women being very uncertain about their men -- to the point of, in one case, jilting a fiance and, in the other, with threatening to abandon a marriage by running off with an infamous ne'er-do-well. Also, we have Anthony Trollope's most dastardly villain, the ambitious and egoistic George Vavasor, with a visible fault line through his face for expressing rage.

In a Trollope novel, everything is not as it seems. The institution of marriage, in particular, comes in for some hard knocks -- all from the point of view of the women involved. Alice Vavasor, Lady Glencora Palliser, and Arabella Greenow come from the aristocracy and the upper middle class. All three women in the course of the novel grow and change before our eyes.

As the first novel in the six-book Palliser series, _Can You Forgive Her?_ also introduces us to the world of high politics. Sir Plantagenet Palliser is about to become Chancellor of the Exchequer; and George Vavasor dips into his fiancee's fortune to run twice as a Member of Parliament for Chelsea. Trollope had always wanted to become an MP himself, and ran once (and lost) for the borough of Beverley. His bad experiences were the stuff of some masterful election scenes in novels, notably the much underestimated _Ralph the Heir_.

Other Trollope set pieces include a fabulous fox hunt in Book I, in which the author himself appears under another name. There is also a dispute over an inheritance; fascinating legal trickery in George Vavasor's borrowings from his fiancee; and the typical Trollope developing of his characters' weaknesses until they pop.

While over 800 pages in length, I felt as if this was less than half that. Yes, reading Trollope requires a commitment; but his books are intriguing enough to reward it. This is one of my favorites.

I listened to this audio book, I have to say I think I enjoyed it more that I would have if I had just read it. The narrator does an excellent job with the Irish accent.

I enjoy the crime genre, I have gone through the entire (almost) Sandford Prey Series. In many ways this book and the main character Michael Forsyth have a lot in common with the Prey books. Think of Michael as the anti Lucas Davenport. But as the anti-hero, he is very likeable. Very much a victim of his environment trying to make the most of it.

I found the detail about living in New York City the best written parts of this book. The author really captures the mood of the city, especially the influx of the crack cocaine. This part of the book reminded me a lot of the non-fiction book In Search of Respect by Phillipe Bourgios. Great book, I hope the series can continue at this caliber.

Wow! Adrian McKinty's "Dead I Well May Be" is a blistering rogue of a novel; an intelligently savage novel as melancholy as it is brutal - a fatalistic tour through upper Manhattan's mean streets which are pale and gentle against a Mexican prison's brand of hard-time.

Michael Forsythe flees native Ireland reluctantly but just ahead of the law to work for Darkie White, head of the Irish mob controlling the drug flow in one of Harlem's burned out hoods in the Wild West Days of David Dinkin's New York. Michael has not yet turned 20, but he already has a lifetime behind him: a failed stint in the Army and veteran of Belfast's "Troubles", young Michael finds himself strangely at ease meting out violence to transgressors without discrimination to creed, race, or religion, while finding enough time for hard drinking and loose women. But what could have been just another simple - if well told - tale of drugs and drug runners shooting each other up in the city takes a furiously unexpected turn down a desperate path of betrayal, survival, and vengeance in an Odyssey-like journey that has the reader hanging on by the fingernails as McGinty lurches through twists and corners, each more shocking than the last. Where Homer's Odysseus faces Scylla and Charybdis, young Michael has Dominicans and sadistic prison guards to deal with; Homer's Sirens are Micheal's Bridget, Darky's irresistible moll who launches Michael's voyage into Hell. True to the fabled warrior-poets, McKinty's pen spins, despite the viciousness of the storyline, achingly beautiful prose. Michael's fever-fed, hallucinogenic escape through the hurricane is poetry as a raw, open wound. But this is hardly Homer - it is much more readable and infinitely more disturbing - the kind of stuff the IRA likely reads for bedtime stories.

In young Michael Forsythe, McKinty creates the likable, flawed hero - self educated and deeply literate, wisdom honed by days and nights on the streets - the learned thug who brings "War and Peace" - in audio form - with him on a stake out. Masterful foreshadowing leads the way but only makes the anticipation greater, and while the climax comes as no surprise, the redemption is no less satisfying.

Part Cormac McCarthy, part Ken Bruen, with a hint of Charlie Huston and Dennis Lehane, Adrian McKinty is the most talented author I've never noticed - till now. This is powerful fiction - unrepentant and unapologetic - and certainly not for the easily offended or feint of heart. For me, can't wait to dive into the next two installments of the Michael Forsythe trilogy. Bravo, Mr. McKinty!

Lots of insight to the emigres of Northern Ireland. Too much graphic gore, but action keeps the pages turning. If his character could show a bit of remorse for his formulaic killings, the product would be better.

I've owned this book since December of 2004, which makes it quite pathetic that I'm just now writing this review for the book. But with Adrian McKinty's new novel seeing its release in just two more months, I figured that this may help with the build-up of that new Michael Forsythe vehicle.

Speaking of Michael Forsythe; typical young Irishman coping with the political and religious hardships in Northern Ireland, out of work and shipped off to New York for a dire means to an end; his own survival. He didn't want to work for Darkey White, but when opportunity knocks...

Darkey White's caste-level system crew of Irish mobsters run the rackets in Harlem and the Bronx, reluctantly sharing the streets in a nefarious relationship with rival Dominicans. Michael is young but he's poised, the only real leader among the low level paddy mobsters, a rag tag crew found in Scotchy, Fergal, and Michael's new mates. Living in a tenement and attempting a mum's the word relationship with the boss' number one girl, Bridget, Michael gets in over his head, and not even his monumental skills with a Belfast six-pack will keep him from what awaits.

A passive-agressive reprimand of the deportation sort.

Michael must overcome the Mexican heat, shanks, hallucinations and depreivation and torture, only to see that the light at the end of the tunnel is a return to life that led him blindly, in the city that took him in and spit him back out. Once on the warpath, heads roll and loyalties are revealed that Michael and his six-shooter must learn to cope with, setting personal feelings aside and digging into what he's endured, and who has forced him to do so.

Knick-nack, Paddy whack, crime fiction will never be the same. McKinty's writing is clever and nothing short of inspirational to writers of the genre. Michael's voice is naive but then again seasoned, shaped in Irish slang and Belfast lilt. Told tough and noirish, Dead I Well May Be serves up gritty revenge stone cold, leaving you full and famished for more of his stylish work. Buy into McKinty's whole catelog. I did.

I bought this book primarily because it was a recom either here on Amazon or from someone who had read Declan Hughes' novels. I can't remember any longer. But boy, I am ecstatic that I ordered this book.

McKinty has a gift for both dialogue and plot movement. In this, the first of the Michael Forsythe series (I believe there are two other books in the series, both of them even now waiting for me in an Amazon box at home, if package tracking is to be believed), the reader follows Forsythe on his journey from Ireland to New York to Mexico and then back to New York.

He leaves Ireland because he has no options available to him; he can not afford to stay there and has prospects in New York. Upon arriving in New York, he becomes a very low-level gangster whose life hardly sounds much of an improvement over what he had in Ireland. McKinty does a sterling job of showing us what Forsythe's circumstances are (think mega cockroach heaven and continued poverty) at the same time that he develops Forsythe's character through the descriptions the first-person narrator provides.

This novel is done in Forsythe's voice, and that's a plus. Not only do we get to "hear" him speak to others, thereby getting a sense of how he communicates; we also get all the action filtered through his humor, intelligence (in many things, but not all--the boy simply can not pick a good woman to save his life), and philosophical bent.

I found several parts of this book particularly fascinating. The one that sticks out most in my mind at the moment is the part of the book that takes place in Mexico, after Forsythe has been jailed in a truly horrific Mexican prison. (Don't hurt me! I'm not revealing anything that's not on the book jacket!) I absolutely loved getting into Forsythe's mind here; he created movies with which to occupy his intellect so that he would not die both mentally and physically. He literally reconstructs wars and childhood events, creating "films" that allow him to survive the days when he is chained to the ground for 23 out of 24 hours.

Forsythe is an appealing character even when he is at his ugliest, and he can be ugly indeed. He's no hero, not really. He's capable of doing terrible things because they seem right to him at the time or even because he doesn't see an easy way out of them. But he's also got a conscience (even if it does seem a bit convenient) and a sense of honor that help balance the other side of him. And he's utterly hilarious. You'll find yourself snorting laughter at odd times.

You'll love the view you get of a New York that isn't quite so obvious any longer. This is the New York that existed before different areas got "cleaned up" and the crime rate began to go down. It's a New York you'd be hard-pressed to want to live in. And Forsythe's circle of "friends" is one you'd never want for your own. Hell, you might not want Forsythe anywhere near you or anyone you loved. The man has serious issues.

All in all, this is a wonderful first novel in the series. I can't wait to read the other two.

This is an engaging and, considering its length, remarkably wide-ranging book. It would have to be, to live up to its subtitle -- "Understanding Middle-earth" -- as Middle-earth was the life work of a remarkably productive man. But Dr. Birzer has done a fine job. He has shown us the key, I believe, to unlocking the true richness, value, and depth of Tolkien's work. And he has put together a strong argument for Tolkien's place among the most significant Christian writers of the twentieth century.

When I first approached this title, I was afraid it might be like "The Parables of Peanuts," the well-known work that grafted more symbolism than Charles M. Schulz probably ever intended onto his classic tales of Charlie Brown and Snoopy. Or, even worse, that book (the name of which escaped me years ago) which tried to interpret "Star Wars" as a Christian allegory: Luke Skywalker = Protestant Christians; Han Solo = Catholic Christians; and so on.

Imagine my relief to discover that Dr. Birzer's work is richly grounded in Tolkien himself ... both his published works and his unpublished notes, manuscripts, and private letters. Much more than Birzer's own interpretations, what we get here are *Tolkien's* own meanings, interpretations, and intentions. That makes reading this a richly rewarding experience.

In my experience, the best books are the ones that I complete having compiled a new list of other titles I need to read too. "Sanctifying Myth" definitely fits into that category. It's a pointed reminder of all the other Christian Humanists I need to read, not to mention the (*ahem*) parts of the Tolkien bibliography itself I haven't yet read. And Dr. Birzer himself being a fine stylist as well as scholar, his name is on my list too.

Whether you're a Tolkien fan looking for new windows into a beloved world ... a Christian wondering whether hobbits and Elves are compatible with a Biblical worldview ... a literary critic seeking new insights ... a skeptic wondering what all the fuss is about ... or any combination of the above, I predict you'll find this a satisfying, even eye-opening read. I sure did.

One of many novels ingested during Cross Training through a running injury, this book was a most fulfilling read. Having been a Tolkien fan for years, I always look for opportunities to find a deeper understanding to this genius' work. This book offered me a deeper reflection on Tolkien, taking some themes which I have already read of and seen myself and deepening the development of them.

The primary importance of this narrative is its support of the true myth-based nature of Tolkien's work. It seeks to interpret the author's writing in relation to his view of myth and its ability to show forth the nature of man the subcreator, heroism, evil, and how the world is today. As Tolkien did not believe that allegory is a proper form, this does not try to assign meanings to his work in an exclusivist, specific manner. Instead Birzer examines Tolkien's works for the mythic applicability of the themes in his works. It is a reflection upon the general, timeless nature of these themes and how they speak for and about mankind in particular.

This is an excellent read also for those who have perhaps tried to use Tolkien to justify extremism, be it environmentalist, pseudo-religious, or otherwise. It tempers such extremism with a moderate tone.

I sugguest this book for all who have read at least the Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion. However, knowledge of the Lord of the Rings should be fine, even if that is only drawn from Peter Jackson's three films. Nonetheless, I hope that if you have only seen the movies that reading this book will drive you to read J.R.R. Tolkien's two greatest works (and the Hobbit too!).

This is a deep, and deeply satisfying book of philosophy. Reading it was an intellectual journey through unfamiliar territory for me. J.R.R. Tolkien was a man for whom myth was a reality. He lived in the modern era but his mind was fixed forever in the Middle Ages.

Birzer demonstrates convincingly something I could not have gleaned from Lord Of The Rings on my own, namely the Catholic origins Tolkien's tales of Middle Earth. Tolkien swims in the deep divine sea of Medieval Catholic mysticism that is all but incomprehensible to the modern mind.

Tolkien's fount was language - deeply understood. He was born a philologist extraordinaire. As a teenager JRR Tolkien learned Welsh, Gaelic, Old English, Gothic, Old Norse, Spanish, German, and other languages in their modern form. Then he learned their history and origins. Finally, bored, he began to make up languages, fully formed, fully logical. He created Sidarin and Quenya which would become his Elfish language. These languages were possible. They had consistent roots, sound laws of grammar, and inflexion. From these languages sprang his mythology - or was it vice versa? As Tolkien said himself "your language construction will breed a mythology." For Tolkien myth, born of the folk-soul, was the basis for language.

Tolkien created a world where monotheistic Truth contended with polytheistic relativity. For Tolkien there was good and evil in the world and Good always had to win.

This book is a theological and philosophical page-turner.

My initial reluctance to read books that might equate Tolkien's work too directly (read allegorically) with any religion, philosophy, world event, or social order was quickly overcome by the approachable `readability' of this book. Quoting myriad sources, the footnotes and bibliography for which account for 71 pages of this slim, yet rewarding volume, the author provides a convincing analysis of the spirituality of Tolkien's work.

Initially, as I read he author's preface in which he cites "nuances" within the story that he had missed when he'd first read the book as an eleven year old, I very nearly put down the book. The author claims some of those nuances as "the Ring representing sin, lembas representing the Blessed Sacrament, and Galadriel representing the Blessed Virgin Mary" (page xvi) it all seemed to go directly against Tolkien's insistence that the work was not allegorical. For whatever reason, I continued to read it, and I realized that the author did not mean these things were allegorical representations, but rather were influenced by these experiences and beliefs in Tolkien's own life. Tolkien's strong belief in God could not help but come through in his work though Tolkien himself admitted this was "subconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision" (quoted within the text, page 45.).

The author makes a persuasive argument for the influence of Toklien's Catholicism, and indeed, makes it hard to understand why so many critics of the time asked Tolkien directly about the absence of God in his books. Tolkien's replies to such questions are certainly worth reading, as is his answer to the seemingly innocuous question, "What makes you tick?"

Well-written and engrossing, the text never becomes overly dry or scholarly, and the reader will find it hard not to reach for a copy of The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or any other quoted work in order to reread key passages.

If you have never thought of the Lord of the Rings in this light, this book will make you wonder why.

I've deliberately shied away from trying to read works which emphasize the religious aspects of Tolkien's work, merely because I haven't found them too helpful in the past in describing Tolkien's thinking, but instead, using his work as a means of justifying their own religious views. However, Bradley J. Birzer's "J. R. R. Tolkien's Sanctifying Myth" is a refreshingly different, indeed, almost novel, look at the man and his writing, drawing more upon Tolkien's actual correspondence than his fiction. To his credit, when Birzer does describe Tolkien's Middle-Earth mythology, he does it without sounding heavy-handed, by offering ponderous analogies between aspects of "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy with Christian belief. Instead, such examples are used to show persuasively that Tolkien is part of a Catholic Christian humanist tradition that falls squarely in line with the likes of Dante, among others. Birzer's brief tome is a captivating, insightful look at how Tolkien viewed Evil, Grace and the nature of the Hero, among others. Without question, it will appeal to Tolkien fans and anyone else interested in religious symbolism in contemporary fantasy.

What a fabulous book! McLarty's "Traveler" is a book rich in character development. Every character is fully drawn, flawed in some way, and totally real. The setting and era in which this takes place -- Providence, RI, in the mid-60s -- is as much a character as any of the people. The depiction of the place and the mannerisms of the people is outstanding, and quite accurate.

Without giving too much away, the story revolves around a 50-something sort-of actor, struggling to find meaning in his life, who comes home to mourn the loss of a close old friend. While he's there, decades-old secrets are revealed, and Jono Riley's memories will never be quite the same. As with all books with such wonderfully rich characterizations, the choices the characters make -- which are often not the best choices -- make perfect sense from their point of view. An absolutely brilliant work of character fiction, wound together with a terrific story. IT'S A MUST READ!

Ron McLarty has developed a deep sense of place with his setting as well as deeply developed characters. I love his writing. He is truly gifted with all the elements that make writing great. His distinctive and appealing writing voice is all the more compelling on the CD. Am looking forward to, hopefully, another book soon. McLarty is the type of fully developed artist, others wish they could emulate and would like to get to know, in the hope SOME of his talent would rub off on them. Five Stars Ron McLarty- You've done it again. Such a compelling story, compelling characters and WOW! What a sense of place.

This book was disappointing. It read more like a series of short stories with new characters and situations introduced without interesting continuity. Corny at times.

When Jono Riley hears that his childhood friend (and secret love) Marie has died, he decides to head back home to East Providence, where he confronts his past and, by doing so, considers where he has come. The novel alternates chapters between stories of his past and his current Providence experience. Currently, Jono is an actor of one-man shows for whom five audience members is a good night, but he is most remembered for his commercial spots and part on a medical drama where he plays an autistic patient, who is mute so the show could pay him less. He makes his living as a bartender.

After providing some ample reminiscing/exposition for the audience, Jono finally arrives in Providence, and we are slowly introduced to his past, particularly childhood friends Cubby, Billy, and Bobby. As Jono explores his former home, we explore his childhood life: his love for Marie, his life with his friends, and their individual lives. Jono tells of how 12-year-old Marie was shot in the shoulder while they were making snow angels, the event which ultimately drives the plot of the novel. When it is revealed that Marie died from a "traveler", a lodged bullet suddenly moving in the body, sometimes fatally, the novel turns into a murder mystery, to find the man who only killed Marie decades after the shot.

McLarty succeeds on several accounts, the most impressive of which is his wonderful narrative voice. He paints a poignant and powerful picture of East Providence as a town where all old things are dying and the atmosphere is thoroughly working class. McLarty's writing comes to resemble what may be called "working-class poetry," a language rich in detail that flows like music, but concerning the hardly poetic subject of New England working life, which even Manhattanite Jono cannot escape. Some of the prose is simply fantastic, perfectly capturing the great difficulty of Jono confronting the town:

"I felt it seemed to be the perfect time to ask myself what I was doing here. Rhode Island. East Providence. The bartender/actor sinking in memories and mysteries. Threatened by aging mondos, seeing shadows of assassins. I would be the first to admit to a few strange notions of the world, nut I remain essentially a child of the working class, seeking at the very least a modicum of order. But where is the order in priests with trunks of guns and ex-cops obsessing about tap water. I needed [my bar] Lambs and my fifth-floor walk-up and especially my wonderful firefighter [girlfriend]."

The amount of time devoted to Jono's exposition in this novel serves as a wonderful platform of McLarty's highly-capable, winning prose. It also means that Jono's characterization is excellent; with language like this, full of nuance and detail, it becomes difficult to not portray the first-person narrator well. McLarty also wins points for his presentation--alternating the past and the present sculpts the humorous, melancholy, pain of returning home. And where Jono feels at home is in many ways the core question of the novel, as his memories battle his sensibilities and current livelihood. The moment when he comes to understand the proper place of his memories in his life is a beautiful moment.

Traveler receives such a mediocre rating because its successes only slightly outweigh its failures. While Jono's character is well done, development of the rest is spotty. McLarty's narrative gifts are wasted on Jono's girlfriend, who is only described as "amazing," "wonderful," etc. Only through her dialogue is her personality allowed to show through, and while this isn't her story, she is interesting enough to merit more space. As a kind of foil for Jono, she could have been an excellent way to develop the theme and Jono's journey. Marie is only portrayed as a distant beauty and angel, and though Jono calls her the love of his life, she only occasionally appears in the story. Of his childhood friends, the only one who is reasonably fleshed out is Bobby, who is given his own mini-narrative towards the end of the novel. Cubby is mainly the brother of Marie and the son of Big Tony, who unofficially adopts Jono when his father dies. Billy just seems to be there as filler to make more plot elements work, like Jono's war experience. As a whole, these other characters are mostly boring, and drag down McLarty's rich narrative world which begins and ends with Jono. And while they are his memories, it would be a cop-out to say that makes it okay for them to be flat.

But by far the greatest problem is the story may best be described as "mushy" and "heavy". The elements of the novel do not form a succinct whole, and in absence of this, McLarty's great efforts feel uncoordinated. Jono begins talking about the parade of women he has lived with, a lengthy non sequitur that contributes nothing to the rest of the narrative. The memory chapters lack a continuity of characters and theme, and while some are good in their own right, their contribution is mainly to add weight to the plot, stretching it in too many dimensions and making the focus fuzzy and unclear. The narrative in the present fares only slightly better.

While this is certainly a novel where plot is not of supreme importance compared to character development, this book is in dire need of one. The unfocused plot makes wanting to carry on somewhat difficult: while the prose may be a reason to do so, it cannot stand as a reason on its own. Toward the end of the novel there is a greater amount of clarity and Jono's resolution shines through. But it is too little too late, and worse, the resolution hardly feels like it comes from the whole of the experience, but rather simply from the murder investigation, as if reading the first half were optional.

McLarty is a highly capable writer with a superb voice but shoddy plot skills. Traveler is an ambitious novel that demands a skill of narrative complexity, and sadly that need is not met. While it undoubtedly will please many thanks to its strengths, its merits as a work of fiction are deeply flawed. This is hardly meant to sound like distant critical nonsense; on the contrary, it made reading it a difficult, drawn-out, even sometimes boring experience.

[...]

Ron McLarty has done it again.

Ron McLarty, author of The Memory of Running, writes of wonderfully human protagonists whose lives and experiences resonate with the reader. Jono Riley is an aging bartender and part-time actor with a wonderful girlfriend and a fear of commitment. The death of Maria D'Agostino--Jono's childhood friend and first love--compels Jono to return to his childhood neighborhood.

In chapters alternating between present day and the past, McLarty paints a vivid portrait of growing up in an East Providence, Rhode Island neighborhood in the 1960s. The Traveler is the story of a man's quest to understand how a specific incident in the past creates ripples that travel with a person to effect life even forty years later. Though the description of this book is necessarily vague (it is hard to give a good description without giving anything away) the book is compelling.

I especially enjoyed the details--the way Jono chafes at being defined by his acting rolls, the feel of Jono's childhood, the love of and for an old friend that doesn't fade no matter how many years and miles separate them.