Irish-American Books

Irish Cream, the continuing story of Nuala Anne McGrail and her family, is set in Chicago and Grand Beach, Michigan. As is common in this series, Nuala Anne must investigate two situations: one current and one historical.

The current situation concerns a young man Damian O-Sullivan, nicknamed Day, who has become the black sheep of his family. Nuala senses that his image is wrong and is determined to rectify it.

The historical situation is told through the diary of Father Richard Lonigan, parish priest in Donegal Ireland. Father Richard, a cultured man with a doctorate, struggles to understand and minister to the poor rural Irish of his parish. His efforts pit him against the "ribbon men", the Protestant Vicar, the English lord, and many of his parishioners. His attitude is "if they don't like me it is their problem."

There are two features that I especially like about this novel: the caring affinity among the characters, and the bits of wisdom Andrew Greeley puts into the dialogue.

The Coynes, Nuala Anne, Dermot, Nelliecoyne, Matthew, and Socra Marie are a delightful family. Nuala and Dermot are still in love after three children and several years of marriage. Nelliecoyne is a very bright young girl who is "fey" like her mother. Matt is all boy and quietly ignores his sisters. Socra Marie is a fun two year old who loves the doggies and most people. The loving relationship of this family makes the book.

Andrew Greeley provides some nice wisdom in this story. Bishop Blackie on Memorial Day asks whether "the tombstones or flowers are more ultimate"? Later Blackie is quoted as saying that "One does not waste one's time trying to figure out the plans of the Lord God". Father Lonigan says to one of his Irish parishioners that, I just follow the Instructions of the sainted Cure de Ars, Jean Vianney, and "never trouble the consciences of the laity." Nelliecoyne questions her teacher "You mean you can't live happily ever after unless you forgive?"

I recommend Irish Cream to those of you who like to celebrate successful happy marriages. I propose this story to those who might like to pick up some great Irish Catholic wisdom.

Quick read and formulaic for the series. Characters are so enjoyable, especially Nuala, that the formulas doesn't invade.

I have always enjoyed Fr. Greeley's novels - from the early ones (like THE VIRGIN AND THE MARTYR) through the Blackie Ryan novels and now the Nuala Anne and Dermot series. In the latest series, I especially like Fr. Greeley's portrayal of a passionately happy and happily passionate marriage.

That said, in IRISH CREAM I found myself more engrossed by the historical story of Fr. Richard than Nuala's modern day attempts to save young Damian O'Sullivan from his psycho/neurotic family. As in past books in this series, Nuala and Dermot solve a modern mystery at the same time they unravel some historical connundrum. In this case the modern story deals with John O'Sullivan, a man so determined to control the world's perception of his family that he frames his own son for a nelgigent homicide. Nuala and Dermot discover this miscarriage of justice and set to work righting it.

Meanwhile, Dermot is reading the transcripts of a diary written in the late 1800's by an Irish parish priest ministering to a poor community still suffering from the aftereffects of the Great Famine. Unlike in prior books, this historical tale does not relate in any way to the modern one.

I found Fr. Richard's story more interesting than the modern tale and wish that Greeley had given this fascinating character a novel of his own. I was also struck by the writing style in this section of the book - remarkably free of the Irishisms that can sometimes overwhelm Fr. Greeley's work.

Because I enjoy the relationship of Nuala and Dermot, I will certainly continue to read this series. However, I would love to see Fr. Greeley write something more in the style of "Fr. Richard."

I agree with most of the other reviews, good, bad or otherwise. You have to take this book for what it is, light hearted fare and entertainment without a lot of heavy lifting. SEXUAL ANTICS! Yes, lots of that, surprising that a priest can write all of this stuff. Must hear it in the confessional???????? Anyway, NOT BEING IRISH MYSELF gives me a different slant. Maybe if YOU ARE genuinely IRISH, this will be too much a caricature of Irish folk for you. However, for me, it was delightful, bringing to life the IRISH of the South Side of Chicago. Also, there is a portion of the novel that takes place in IRELAND too so there is a connection between the characters of their home in Chicago and their other former home in IRELAND. This thematic connective device is actually quite creative from a writing perspective I believe and quite ingenius as it helps flesh out the characters. There is one character though that is not well developed and that is the "Mick", the son of Nuala and Dermot. There are off handed references to the boy but you wont get the sense that you know him as a character as you do with the much better developed daughter characters. That is a minor complaint though.

Even if his first 3, Nuala Anne, Irish Gold Books were more than exceptional; This is an engrossing story combining some of the good Father Greely's best characters. And surely isn't his the Irish gift of spinning a wondrous story when given the best cast of characters. After Dermot, his precious 3 childre his arwesome fey bewitching Lady Nuala Anne, who not only is sexy but can sing along with the best Irish Folk Narratives, "Alive/Alive-Oh, and Sweet Molly Malone," there are two well trained Irish Wolf Hounds!

The counterpart Family, a well-known South Chicago Irish brood of John Patrick O'Sullivan starts as the breeding place for the scape-goat son as Damian (Day) Thomas O'Sullivan. The complex story is under-scored by a companion story of the yet-to-become famous of Father Dermot Michael. All-in-all Sullivan's young son Day becomes the surprising hero and budding artist who joyfully specializes in painting dogs and children in solo, duo, & trio!
Cheerfully Retired Rabbi/Chappy Fred W Hood

This installment of the adventures of Nuala Anne McGrail is particularly interesting to me. Usually Nuala Anne novels present both a current mystery and a historical one. In Irish Linen, the historical situation involves Germany in 1930-1945. I was stationed in Germany for 3 years so, for me that was like reliving parts of my experience. The current situation, the search for the runaway son of a prominent family, is set in Chicago where I was stationed three times. I like Chicago.
There are three elements that I will discuss: The development of the Coyne family, the setting and characters for the historical tale, and a few short references to the two puzzles.

Irish Linen immerses me again in the delightful Coyne family. Nuala Anne has gained some confidence in her abilities as a detective, an entertainer, and a wife and mother. Dermot is often as clueless with Nuala as many males are with their sweetheart and spouses. The children are rapidly maturing, with Nelliecoyne becoming mature well beyond her eight years, while "the Mick" is still a quiet boy. Socra Marie has blossomed into a very effective "terrorist" with the frequent energy of several people. The new edition, Patjo (Patrick Joseph in English) is a pleasant and cute child.

The historical tale tells the story of Timothy Patrick Ridgewood, his friends Claus Graf von Stauffenberg, and Annalise von Sternberg. Timothy, while studying in Germany, meets Claus and they become friends. Claus introduces Timothy to Annalise, an orphaned girl about 16, with the hope that he will fall in love with her and rescue her from life in Hitler's Reich.

Later Tim returns to Germany as the Irish Ambassador. The events of Hitler's arming of Germany and his strategy for war are told to Timothy by Claus and by Admiral Canaris, a German noble stationed in German Intelligence. Neither the Admiral or Claus believe in Hitler and his policies. The stress among the characters in Hitler's Germany make for an exciting story. Will anyone stand up to Hitler? Will those who are against the Nazi authorities survive? Will Timothy develop a meaningful relationship with Annalise?

The current mystery is an intriguing story of family dynamics. Is the son really missing or simply rebelling from his parents? Nuala Anne and Dermot interview witnesses who contradict each other and sometimes even contradict themselves. The resolution of the puzzle is rather satisfying to Andrew Greeley fans.

Irish Linen is a fine story in an exciting setting. I recommend it, especially for those who enjoy experiencing historical Germany.

Andrew Greeley is one of my favorite authors. His quirky characters live for me and Nuala Anne McGrail and her Dermitt and their children are some of my favorites. I have a real problem putting them down. I find the conbination of historical mysteries woven around a "contemporary" one fascinating. Please Father Greeley may I have some more.

Irish Linen is another charming interlude with the feisty Nuala Anne McGrail and her adoring husband Dermot Coyne. Dermot is researching the history of the Irish ambassador in Germany during World War II, and Nuala is trying to determine the whereabouts of a fellow Irishman from Chicago, Desmond Doolin, who has gone missing somewhere in Iraq and is presumed dead. The two parallel stories are unrelated other than the Irish-ness of the main characters, however both stories are interesting in their own right. I particularly enjoyed the historical background of the Irish ambassador in Germany. However, the fact that these stories are told in alternating chapters and are essentially unrelated seems to indicate that the contemporary story (the search for Desmond) is not meaty enough to sustain a complete novel in itself.

As in all Greeley novels in this series, the characters are charming and likeable, the language is peppered with Irish phrases, and there is an undercurrent of theology adapted to modern times.

Father Greeley is inarguably one of the most prolific writers of our time. Wikipedia lists 80 non-fiction and 60 non-fiction works. "Irish Linen" is the 10th in the Nuala Ann McGrail "Irish" series. The O'Malley clan is also featured in 6 other novels. I eagerly await each new publication, as it takes the writer into a world surrounded by the charm, luck, culture and language of the Irish, filled with intrigue and insights into modern issues and problems.

Fans now have their tenth novel following the lives of Dermot and Nuala, rich and talented Chicago Irish Catholics who solve mysteries in both the present and the past in each outing. If there is anything surprising here, it is the historical section, which shows us Claus von Stauffenberg, the man who tried to blow up Hitler and end World War II a year earlier than it actually took. This is timely, because Tom Cruise is currently in Germany making a film about Stauffenberg's tragedy. And the WWII love affair this time around is actually more interesting than what Nuala and Dermot are doing in the present. This series requires a suspension of belief, as all novels do, and an interest in Catholicism or Chicago or the Irish (past and present). As a person currently going through an unwanted divorce, I got emotional in a couple of places near the end, because the kind of love and marriage and family created by Dermot and Nuala is the idealized dream that many of us have not been able to sustain. In some ways, I am a sucker for sappy love stories, and I suppose that isn't macho, but this couple makes me envy them and covet their romantic skills.

This was a very enjoyable read although the story in the past, Irish Ambassador to Nazi Germany, had very little to do with the current problem of a lost person, I don't want to give too much away. Greeley is slowly joining his two main series, Nuala Anne and Blackie Ryan; this was very nicely handled and there was at least a hint in my mind of a future story back in Ireland.

Why has this author not written any other books? This book is a very good read, full of irish history and humor. This book had me r
iveted from the very first page. I must go to Ireland one day to see where my Mother and Grandmother were born ( in Co. Clare and Cork .)

I hope you write another book soon Francis

That attitude is also, by the way, a healthy one to take to Ireland. While there, I was simultaneously reading Nuala O'Faolain's "Are You Somebody? -The Accidental Autobiography of a Dublin Woman", which may have been unfair to Gannon's book, since O'Faolain is a fantastic artist with the English language (as spoken by the silver-tongued Irish.) Gannon is nowhere near the writer that O'Faolain is, but his account is still touching in its simplicity and lack of pretension. Gannon is who he is, his parents were who they were, and his book is what it is. Accept that, and you'll have an enjoyable reading experience.

On page 71 the author says that Irish is a Germanic language like English. It is NOT! It is a Celtic language very distant from Germanic languages like English. The author goes on to say, "The English language is very ancient in Ireland. Despite what people say, English as a language is not something that was `imposed' on the people by outsiders." That is the most blatantly false statement on the Irish language I have ever read. Anyone who knows anything about the Irish language knows what the author said above is absolutely wrong and damaging to the Irish language. These statements alone should tell you NOT to buy this book or even check it out from a library. After reading that I put the book away. Don't even bother with it.

I had never seen nor heard of this book or its author when I picked it up.I must admit, it didn't do much for me,particularly in the first quarter of the book.Like another reviewer, it also hit me as disjointed and in need of a lot of editing.As a matter of fact, I nearly gave up on it.That would have been a big mistake.After finishing it,I still feel the book gets a lot better,from every respect,the further you get into it.
I have been to Ireland three times and find it an absolutely fascinating country.The people,history,landscape,music,literature
and all, fail to amaze me.
Gannon is impressed with the Irish skill in the use of language as I am and he is a writer,and he should know.What the Irish can do with language does not come from a book,can't be taught in school;it comes from the soul--and as far as I can tell-it has to come from an Irish soul.
I was really taken by Gannon's concept of "thin places".He mentions several and made me think of some too: Sitting on the base of Molly Malone's statute talking to a couple of street people,Kennys Bookstore in Galway,A stroll up Fall's Road in Belfast,B&B at Trinity College,Blarney Castle,Grafton Street,Gogarty's in Temple Bar,Shop Street in Galway,Sitting in the Lord Mayor,s chair in Belfast,Joseph Plunkett's cell and the Chapel where he married Grace Gifford before being executed in Kilmainham Gaol in 1916,just to name few.
You'll surely enjoy this book if you've ever been to or plan to visit Ireland.

This book, which is not a travel book nor a psychological treatise although it has elements of both, will bring a feeling of recognition and self discovery to many Irish-Americans like myself. Gannon accurately reflects the upbringing in an Irish home where many things are left unsaid and much of family history is shrouded in mystery. His trip to Ireland to learn more about his parents and his forebears is a treat--enlightening, educational and very funny. It is also dead-on in its take on Ireland and the Irish. It is a fascinating trip that will keep the reader laughing and engrossed. Highly recommended.

When I saw some of the bad reviews this incredible volume received, I decided to add my opinion!

I've carried this book across 3 continents and loved it above all others. I've also bought it as gifts for all my closest friends in the hope of enriching their lives as this volume has enriched mine. In its 3rd edition, in 1985, it was prescribed as a set work in the 1st year of my English Degree at University. I've discovered many of the most beautiful poems in English literature and almost all of the famous poets within these pages. I keep discovering new poems, new favourites. I meet people who tell me their own favourite poets and poems and 99% of the time they are in this volume (and if the poem isn't, the poet is).

Here you'll find so many treasures; the Romantics (Yeats, Tennyson, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge), more feminist poetry (Adrienne Riche, A.D. Hope, Atwood), the modern poets (Cummings, Larkin, Meredith, Plath), other American poets (Longfellow, Whitman) ... even some of the ancients (Chaucer, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson).

If you love the art of poetry and appreciate the different styles and techniques over the centuries, buy this book. If you love poetry and want to find it all in one complete volume, this is the book for you! It's been MY close and constant companion for 18 years.

It's hard to assign an appropriate number of stars to a book like this, since of course many of the poems are great ones. However, as an anthology of poetry this book fails in many respects.

First of all, nearly half of the book consists of relatively mediocre 20th century poetry. The book could be cut in two at the middle, and the first half sold as a meagre anthology of poetry up to the 20th century, and the second as a comprehensive collection of 20 century poems. The 20th century is one of the worst in terms of the poetry it gave to the world. Many of the poets in the second half are practically unknown now, and will have been entirely forgotten fifty years from now. Although the book dutifully includes many of the great poems of English literature and is therefore not entirely useless, the selection is otherwise a very curious one for a book intended as a general survey of English poetry. A large percentage of the poems in this book could be cut out and it would be as good as it is now, only a great deal lighter and hopefully cheaper.

Another irritating thing is the footnotes. The editors seem to have assumed that they need to define and explain the simplest terms and concepts. For example, on page 215, they give a gloss for the word "clod," defining it as "Lumps of earth or clay." That's all very well, but "clod," a common English word, does not require explanation. It's distracting to the reader that knows it to have his attention called to the footnote. One's reading of the poem is thereby interrupted. Anyone who does not know the meaning of "clod" could perfectly well turn to a dictionary.

The selection of poems in this anthology, although it includes many of the great poems of English literature, is very poor. About a third of the book is devoted to relatively mediocre 20th century poetry, written by poets practically unknown now, who will be completely forgotten 50 years from now. The book could be much lighter and hopefully less expensive if it included fewer of these poems, which are not really appropriate in a book intended as a survey of English poetry (that is, poetry in English, of course). There must be better anthologies.

Another annoying thing is that the editors have given glosses to explain the simplest concepts and terms. These glosses interrupt one's reading of a poem, and for people who do not know the words explained, a dictionary would be much more useful.

This is more of a politically correct statement.
Why is it that some English academics see it as their job to display how politically right on they are regardless of the quality of the poetry? There are far too many twentieth century poets here who are of very little worth. There seems to be a quota for women poets and African-American/Native American/Asian American poets.
The implication being that John Donne is of equal worth to some obscure woman poet in the mid twentieth century just becuase women have been excluded from literature in the past.
This is an anthology for those who want to feel good about themselves about how tolerant and open minded they are.

I tend to agree with a number of reviewers who have suggested that the over-representation of poets of lesser distinction tends to deprive the anthology of its special value.
Perhaps this is to say that the art of constructing a good anthology means knowing not only what to include, but what to exclude.
The 'Norton Anthology' it is true aims to be more comprehensive than most , but in doing so it has sacrificed quality for quantity.

To quote Emily Dickinson (1830-1886):
"If I read a book
and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me,
I know *that* is poetry.
If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off,
I know *that* is poetry.
These are the only ways I know it.
Is there any other way?" [Emphasis added]

Ah ... Jeannette Winterson ... I know *that* is poetry.

i still not receive this item, i have wait for a month already!!

remember all those years ago when i first read sexing the cherry, and i couldn't beleive such loveliness could happen? and then the passion. i couldn't speak for days. i just couldn't. what was there left to say? remember? remember how i couldn't read anything for months? i do. and still i roll this one around in my mouth, too. still delicious. still amazing. still it bashes me upside the everything and causes my heart to shake.

I should explain the title. As Jeanette will explain within the pages, art not only /objects/ with our safe notions of what we consider to be good or normal to our perceptions, but also art is also an /object/ to be handled, manipulated, and explored by our souls, with all the effort we would put into whatever coporeal object our hands might hold and seek to understand.

Having told you this, that the title encompasses so much of the book, does not mean that it does not need to be read now. Much the opposite. Though almost every essay comes back to these points, some essays deal with the subject in regards to a certain book, or just the act of creating art itself. As an artist, as any writer/painter/poet/? is, I found this to be a call to arms, in a way, inspiring me by assisting my mind in delineating exactly what I wish to create. If you are creative, read this collection.

Jeanette Winterson, writes in a very lucid manner on a topic that can quickly become an extremely nebulous and splintered subject. She begins with a story of her travels to Amsterdam, where she is haunted by a painting in a window. This never happened to her before, as Winterson was always a wordsmith. The unexpected discovery-the idea that a painting has the power to touch her so deeply and so powerfully-troubles her deeply and she cowers initially, as if she saw a ghost.

This anecdote serves to create the tone of the book, an intense and honest meditation into art and art making. Winterson, weaves us through her meditation through a very readable style and by using very general terms. She simultaneously addresses the novice, to those well versed in the concepts of art history and theory of art criticism. I say this because the questions, what is art?, what is the fuction of art?, why practice art?, are basic questions that can be addressed by all levels of understanding-and it is those questions Winterson addresses. Though she begins with visual art she reverts to her expertise in the form of literature. But, the concepts are easily translated into the other art forms.

However, in her opinions of what is beauty and what is art, Winterson can seem a bit idealistic in her views of art and art making. She professes to be a little out of sync with current society(her confession)-which could be taken as a person who revers the past and therefore is a bit 'old school' in her approach to the topic, however, she does not pretend to be a final authority on the topic either.

But,the 'beauty' of this book is it can be a starting point and a gentle guide for the novice into the ongoing conversation of art and art history as well as an eloquent reminder of fundemental concepts in a splintered conversation of art theory and criticsm.

The review by "hopefulskeptic" is an accurate summary and interpretation of "Bible and Sword." I would like to add my opinion regarding Barbara Tuchman's approach to writing this book.

During my reading of "Bible and Sword" I developed the impression that Barbara Tuchman wasn't objective about its subject matter. To be fair, she admits this in the foreword. However, I was surprised at the extent of her bias regarding one topic. This was evident when she made observations about the apparent lack of success Christians experienced in sharing their faith with Jews over a nineteen hundred year period. I've read a collection of books which draws a different conclusion. The collection is called "A History of Christianity" and was written by Kenneth Latourette. Latourette's research indicates that Christians experienced a modicum of success in witnessing to Jews during this period, excluding the Inquisition. Tuchman indicates in "Bible and Sword" that Christians had virtually no success. In fact, she states she cannot find any evidence of Jews converting to Christianity beyond a small number. This defies common sense. Given human nature there will always be people who voluntarily renounce their religion for another; Jews for Christianity, Catholics for Protestantism, Protestants for Judaism, etc.

Further, Tuchman displays thinly veiled contempt toward Christians who share their faith with Jews. Her tone is smug and is based in her belief that Judaism is a superior religion that no intelligent Jew would forswear for an inferior belief system, i.e. in her words, Christianity. She exposes her contempt at several points in the book. She gives no basis for her claim that Judaism is superior to Christianity. You as the reader are just required to accept her view as fact. My opinion is that once she ventured down this path she obligated herself to making her case. Actually, she could easily have told her account of history without offering her opinion on this topic. It didn't add anything to my understanding of the salient issues.

On these occasions she diverges from rational, objective analysis to an emotional defense of her religion. She is no longer an historian, but an apologist. This may be the outgrowth of a sense of persecution, which is understandable, but not fitting for a historian.

Her unrestrained attempt to coerce you into drawing a conclusion about an irrelevant issue, without providing adequate substantiation for her claims made me question her veracity on other topics she covered in subsequent books. Prior to reading "Bible and Sword" I had read "A Distant Mirror", "The March of Folly", "The Guns of August", and "Stilwell and the American Experience in China."

I qualify my criticism by noting that "Bible and Sword" was one of Barbara's Tuchman's earliest attempts at writing history, and that her style improved in succeeding works. However, better style should not imply more thorough research or honest exposition.

Let the reader beware: read more than one person's account of history before drawing any conclusions. Each historical account I've read (including Latourette's books) contains analyses that are influenced by the author's preconceptions.

This book was a really great read. This starts with the history of who could read the bible (priests mainly) up to the translation of the bible so that common man could read it (under King James and Henry VIII). With such an empowerment, the people of England broke from Roman Catholicism (and the influence of Puritism and Lutherism started), and the English people took up the cause for Israel, and in the long run, it lead to the twentieth century push for Israel to become a state. The book also covers Britains strategic move to keep conflict amongst the Turks, Arabs and Jews by establishing Israel amongst them. This book was really good with so many facts of history and presented neutrally. This is not Barbara Tuchman's best writing but it a very good book to understand the political control that the Bible had over the shaping of the countries today. Very good book!!

Do you know someone who wants to understand the roots of today's conflict in the Middle East? There's no better introduction than Barbara Tuchman's Bible and Sword: England and Palestine from the Bronze Age to Balfour.

Tuchman published this book--her first--with NYU Press in 1956, dedicated to the memory of her parents Alma Morgenthau and Maurice Wertheim. I had not heard of it before it turned up in my Amazon search for a copy of her classic, The March of Folly: From Troy to Vietnam, which I had wanted to read again for perspective on the current Iraq crisis.

I can't say enough good things about this study, which is a careful examination of the role of Britain in the Middle East over the centuries, with special attention to the origins of the Balfour declaration. Tuchman writes with verve and gusto, bringing to life characters from Richard the Lion Hearted to Mark Sykes, T. E. Lawrence, Lord Balfour, and Chaim Weizmann. She's particularly good at describing the conflict in British Jewry between anti-Zionists like Montagu and Montefiore and Zionists like Nathaniel Rothschild. The Manchester Guardian and Winston Churchill come out looking good. Lloyd George is the villain of the piece (she basically calls him a liar).

For Anglophiles, as well as those interested in Zionism, Evangelical Christianity, or the Middle East--or those just wanting to read a brilliant history book...

Author: Tuchman, Barbara Wertheim.
Title: Bible and sword; England and Palestine from the bronze age to Balfour [by] Barbara W. Tuchman.
Publisher: New York, Funk & Wagnalls [1968, c1956]
Edition Date: 1968
Language: English
Notes: "Reprinted without alteration from the original edition of 1956."
Includes index.
Physical Details: xiii, 412 p. illus. 21 cm.
Subjects: Zionism--History.
Great Britain--Relations--Palestine.
Palestine--Relations--Great Britain.

This is an interesting and educational read, although not as riveting or effective as Guns of August or First Salute. Of course, the topic is not as riveting. To describe the relationship between Britain and Palestine through the ages is a great challenge, given the rather unexciting nature of that relationship through most of the time at issue. The story necessarily includes a great deal of behind-the-scenes material that pales in comparison to the monumental affairs of war and revolution.

That being said, the topic is interesting and her treatment is detailed and very helpful. One reviewer complained that she discounted the effectiveness of evangelism toward the Jews, but her description is accurate, historically, in that there was no mass conversion such as the evangelists sought and hoped for. The book certainly focuses on British and not Arab sources, but that is perfectly correct because the book is not about the Arabs, but about Britain and its relation to Palestine, which was never a major player in the Arab world.

The book is worth reading if only for the detailed description of British attitudes in the 1800's and the astonishing fascination for restoring the Jews which gripped Britain in that time.

Interesting story of a woman who is first generation American, with parents who came from Ireland. Her mother works for a theatrical producer, so the author gets involved in the theater world from early childhood. She makes a lot of friends in the gay community (though she is straight) and has a summer home on Fire Island. She contrasts this with her childhood visit to Ireland, her mother's experience in both Ireland and America and her eventual decision to move with her husband to Ireland. Well done, not too heavy on the angst and not too many stories of those endearing unreliable plumbers that we have seen in many stories about moving to Provence. As if we didn't have unreliable plumbers in the U.S.!

Alice Carey read at the West Side YMCA's Writer's Voice on February 18, 2005. This is from my introduction to the event.

For most people, what probably drew them, or will draw them to this memoir, this author, this event, is one word in the subtitle of this marvelous book: Ireland. Whether you are as Irish as the characters described within "I'll Know it When I See It," or have a last name that sounds more like...Raucher...for instance, the word Ireland still conjures up a multitude of images, of the place itself, its long, difficult and complex history, and how it is also interwoven with the myths and tales of this country. And many of those images have little connection to any reality about the place; but, nevertheless...the romantic image of Ireland persists.

But "I'll Know it When I See It" is not a soft clover travel guide; for one, we spend as much time in Astoria, Queens and on 55th Street right here in Manhattan as we do in County Cork. The events that take place not five miles from the spot where this reading takes place are as indelibly recalled, and as potent for our narrator, as any that take place across the Atlantic, on that verdant island.

But, to this reader at least, the key word in the title is not Ireland; it is something even deeper and more universal: Home.

In this moving yet remarkably unsentimental book, Alice Carey makes it clear that no one finds "home" without a cost, a reckoning of what is lost. Whether it is letting go of--leaving--what one thought was their "home," or coming to terms with simply letting go of what other people expect you to accept as your place in the world, "I'll Know it When I See It" tells a powerful and entrancing tale. One that, because of Alice Carey's expert hand and ear for the beauty and power of language, her ability to make her words come alive on the page, takes us right into the places she, her family and dear friends inhabit, or even only visit.

There's something about restoring a house that makes people want to write a book. Perhaps it's the epic nature of their undertaking and the growth they experience in the process. In this account, the house is in Ireland and the restorers are New Yorkers (with Irish roots). Pleasant enough reading, but nothing super-special about it.
The book includes tidbits about Broadway celebs, Fire Island and AIDs, and slight peeks into the Irish way of life.
Other books on home restoration or home building experiences that might interest you are Under the Tuscan Sun (Italy) or A Family Place (Nova Scotia). One I can't recommend is Turn Left at the Black Cow (Ireland).

A friend, whom I accompanied on my first trip to Ireland last May, lent me Alice Carey's memoir "I'll Know It When I See It," knowing how enamored I have become of things Irish. Alice Carey, as a clever and witty story teller, has a natural knack for sizing up situtations and characterizing people that seems to be an Irish trait. Having lived for a while in NYC, I was amused by her reflections on the city, its rapid neighborhood changes, and at the same time dismayed at the stringent life she endured in Queens as a youngster, made especially difficult by a father whose abusive anger was probably rooted in the frustration of economic and social deprivation in a city where extreme wealth so clearly co-exists with poverty.

Alice's salvation resides in her mother, "mammie," whom she adored and who adored her. By the author's literary skill, mammie comes alive and endearing. One example is the episode where she and her mother attended the Broadway opening of "Peter Pan" starring Mary Martin, -a tale told with vivid detail. In her account of her ambivalent search for her roots in Ireland, I very much appreciated the account of her and her husband's finding and rehabilitating the Protestant mansion and rescuing the Catholic cottage from the cows near Bantry where they settled before tackling the manor house. That tale of renovation and acclimation would be a fitting sequel. Perhaps Alice Carey will treat us to that tale. A delicious read that ended all too soon.

What a wonderful, funny, enlightening book. Please Alice Carey - write me another one. My Irish mother would also like to read the next... Bravo!

This book was a rollicking good time -- great summer read with fantastic, strong female lead. If you liked Ahab's Wife, you'll love this book!

As a lover of historical fiction, this one fills the bill although in a totally different way than most fictional looks at history. I had never heard of the pirate Anne Bonny or Mary Read, but they did become credible characters in this page-turner. At times I felt like I was reading a history book, at other times it became almost a farce, and at some points a touching almost erotic love story. It truly is a yarn filled with an interesting look at piracy in the Caribbean and at some very unusual lives with some unexpected twists.

Kingston By Starlight was a teriffic book about Anne Bonny and her life as a pirate. It deffinatly got me hooked on pirate books about Mary Read and Calico Jack, but this book in particular didnt have enough fiction for me. It must be hard to write a book on historical facts and still make it interesting, but just look around at the other pirate books about Anne and you will get an idea on how dissapointing this book was after I had read the others like it.

Anne Bonny, an actual person involved in a 1720 trial of Pirates in Jamaica, was a fascinating character born in Ireland. She is desperate when her father abandons her and her mother, and her mother dies on board a ship sailing for America.
She passes herself off as a young man named Bonn,and finds work on the William, sailing under the command of Calico Jack Rackam, a chaismatic pirate with a price on his head. Bonn is entranced by the sea, the ship's violent crew, and a mysterious swordfighter named Read, who has a secret of his/her own.
When Bonn, Read, and Calico Jack are captured, dark secrets are revealed and the book has a surprise ending.
It seems that no matter who you were before you joined the pirate crew, it no longer was important. You were one of the gang, the team, one for all, and all for one, even when the governor of Jamaica had a price on your head.
This was a hard book to put down, even for a 70 year old grandmother!

By my troth, this book sucked eggs! As previous reviewers have suggested, it is half dry historical tidbits meant to show of Farley's ability to research, and half trashy bodice-ripping erotica. His attempt at a female voice is laughable--literally, I rolled right off the couch when he suggested that young ladies get their period at the blossoming age of 17. Anne's voice in the novel was so muddled that at one point, I stopped to seriously consider if there were two narrators the entire time and I had simply missed it. Farley took an opportunity to have a passionate, sexy female lead and turned her into some weird boi-obsessed spinster. By the time Mary Read made her appearance halfway through the novel, I was only in it for the steamy girl-on-girl action, which was poor even by literotica standards.

I love Anne Bonny and Mary Read, and I really would've gobbled this book up even if it was bad like Michael Jackson--but it was bad like Anne Rice! You wouldn't believe the stuff he wrote! "A large bead of warm sweat dripped from Read's face into the hollow between my breasts. The perspiration mixed with my own and trickled down my belly, disappearing between my legs." When my friend asked me what was so funny, I couldn't even read it aloud I was laughing so hard.

This man goes way far out of his way to edit out the coolest parts of the Bonny/Read story, instead going for an overall less complicated narrative. The result was pretty much poop. The characters lacked complexity, and he went for the silliest, most salaciously trite plot twists possible. Mary Read is pregnant with Anne Bonny's hallucinogenic baby, while Anne Bonny is pregnant with Jack Rackham's baby, but Jack Rackham is dead and gay? Anne Bonny's fake father wants to kill her so she can be more dead than she would be if she were executed? Poop is a traitor? Nooooo, not Poop! Little Poop seemed like such a nice boy! Whoops, belated spoiler alert!

This book is hilariously bad. If you keep that in mind, it's like reading Plan 9...only with more lesbian pirates. I gave it a rating of two instead of one mostly because it only took me a day to read. If it had robbed me of any more time on this earth, however, I would've banged down the author's door and personally demanded my life back.

It is no small irony that Schmidt takes his title from his curmudgeonly Eighteenth Century ancestor, Samuel Johnson. The irony is that Johnson, while judgmental, was at least interesting in his thundering declarations.

I cannot for the life of me understand why all the other reviewers find this work daring or controversial. Schmidt says nothing new. He is, in fact, the most diplomatic of judges. And I challenge any reader to find an unequivocal take on any of the poets. He inevitably has both good and bad things to say.

A further irony is that the title of the book is a misnomer. Yes, Schmidt provides a few scanty biographic facts, but a better title might be The History of Metrics or something of the sort. The book is mostly concerned with the form English poetry has taken over the past several hundred years.

Above all, Schmidt hates exegetics. Don't expect in depth explorations of a poem's meaning or the evaluation of poet's oevre. Truly, this book reads like a hopscotch through the history of meter and rhyme. No wonder it only took him ten months to write the 900 or so pages. He didn't have to think!

Schmidt's history opens with an occasion on which he chaired a debate between Heaney, Walcott and Brodsky, contemporary giants - hence a portrait of himself in situ with the Gods - but its true opening scene is a typically more casual one mentioned in aside - where he tells us that his father disclaimed any further interest in his prospects when he announced his intention to publish poetry; he had put himself beyond the pale, made himself "a gambler" at best, and it is this chatty comfortableness along with self aggrandizement which holds the charm of this survey. Schmidt's paternal conference has the air of "Brideshead Revisited" as the painter Charles's father wonders aloud what became of a cousin who had run through his allowance early, gone off to Australia perhaps? Wherever possible in his account of the poets from Langland and Gower to his own stable of Khalvatis and Cissons Schmidt tries to give the impression that he was there, in spirit if not in person, and it is his identification of publishers' base motives not less than poets' fleeting visions which conspire to make this not so much a critical sourcebook as a story of how English poetry wound its roots into a tree.

Of the eighteenth century Tory publisher and clubman Tonson, whose Kit Kat club saw writers gathering with him to eat superb pies, he remarks that it was clever of him to gather writers round him so that he could pick off their completed works like berries ripened off the bush. It is just possible, he allows, that writers and publisher actually enjoyed each other's company socially. Of the printer who bought out Milton's copyright from his widow for an additional eight pounds after a total payment of fifteen, he observes that this was a good buy. The fathers of poets are viewed by Schmidt companionably as "men of substance", if they have wealth, and the sorry ends of poets who do not have such means or a career besides come to seem regular as passing calendar leaves. Spenser's work went up in flames, he ended very poor. Charlotte Mayhew, a favourite of Hardy's, consigned to a friend the copy of her poem taken in that great man's hand, and drank bleach. These, as well as the publishers' copyists, scribes and outgoings for paper are the cost of eloquence: a life in foolscap.

What emerges from the trawl of centuries is a generalism not common in this age of political axe grinders for critics: Schmidt sees that the ageing rebel turned conservative Wordsworth ("the silent muser had become the comfortable talker") echoes across centuries the radical turned arch-conservative Eliot, both critics in their age who turned their backs on ground broken. A half page on the dogs at poets' sides and what they tell us of their owners - Pope, Byron, Elizabeth Barret - is a gem. The readings of the poets are quirky but often fair: Browning left nine tenths of his work not worth re-reading, but that leaves a tenth that stands, a huge amount. Donne gets a quick seeing to - too clever and abstruse - Raleigh, with his deathbed nerves of steel, is "a man of flesh and blood". More often than not it is a chain of well chosen adjectives that makes Schmidt's prosecution or defense briefly and irrefutably - Johnson, despite his sloth, had "put so many projects into motion" that he achieved them, Dryden was happy to be top of his heap and did not "struggle with himself" to get higher. He quotes the great critics and sources so regularly - Aubrey, Wharton, Hazlitt, Eliot - that the intrusion of an occasional croney of his own - Cissons, Donald Davies - draws you up short. We had come to believe Schmidt was ensconced there in the Mermaid Tavern, what does this latter day vaingloriousness here? In these bowings to others' views he sometimes loses his tone - at his best he either lifts great critical cases outright or makes his own gruff motions to the jury, often digging up a soul long lost to view in the dungeons of posterity's Old Bailey.
It is a vast book. I have still not reached the twentieth century, though those I've browsed of the contemporary listings do not retain his scabrous touch. Pity. He leaves to other publisher-writers the honour of regaling us with tales of chicanery in his own poets' contracts. Or he reveres too much his comfortable perch with them to risk scaring his own poets from his own pie shop. Still. It's not possible to skip while reading through his earlier centuries. His greatest achievement is to make English poetry live like a story you do not wish to miss parts of - you never know when Burns will echo Piers Ploughman, you do not know when Schmidt's map, like a three dimensional model, will let you see the Pearl poet peeping up at the bottom of the sea beneath a fishing trip by some contemporary craft.

Schmidt's boldness is nearly unmatched among literary critics. For this reason alone, his book, Lives of the Poets, is a stimulating read. Of course, there are problems with the book. He spends nearly a third of his book on the last fifty years, after swiftly encompassing the rest of English poetical history in the first two thirds. A few glaring omissions are almost unforgivable, such as James Merrill and A.R. Ammons. One must remember, however, that Schmidt is a publisher by trade, and not really a literary critic. Even Samuel Johnson wrote about bad poets, though it may have been his advisors who pushed for such a shift of emphasis. In the end, one is often refreshed and enlightened by this book.

A great value, this book contains lots of fax 'n' info about the important and not-so-famous poets. Schmidt combines chronology with history and attempts a kind of psychobiography or mentalistic theory to try to get inside the minds of the poets. This approach, though it strikes me as somewhat culturally German, is I think quite effective. Schmidt is not a scholar but an enthusiast of poetry whose love of the material is overwhelming. And I also think Schmidt is an excellent teacher. He mentions that Spenser was highly influential up through the first half of the twentieth century, and from my recent browsing in the tradition, I could confirm this statement for myself. He also points out that Shelley is a great guide for budding poets, and I think that this is the kind of specific generosity that brings out the best in Shelley. Recently I've been reading Dryden's poetry and prose on the strength of Schmidt's recommendations. As for one reviewer's umbrage at the description of Spenser as small hands, etc., well so what? It's just--gasp--friendly irony at best, Germanic sarcasm at worst. Nobody thinks any less of Samuel Johnson for being ole blood 'n' guts Dr. Johnson with big appetites and, like Schmidt, strong opinions--but unlike Schmidt, smack in the middle of the English tradition, probably never even spent a weekend in Cabo San Lucas. So there!

I can't believe I read the whole thing. You may find yourself saying the same thing too I you should so choose to tackle Schmidt's lengthy analysis on the history of English poetry. With that statement I suppose is the warning. Reading this book from cover to cover is probably not for the average reader. You have to really love poetry and not just the language but what goes into it, what resides behind the words in the fabric of each poet's life. The book is not without merit though for the casual poetry semi-enthusiast. It is also a pretty enjoyable read for quick bite analysis. Pick it up, turn to an era, poet, or genre, and away you go for a quick 10-15 minute before going to sleep read. I was reluctant to give this book 4 stars tending towards a lower rating due to the weightiness, but the fact that I made it through speaks to the entertaining value of Schmidt's writing. To make literary analysis readable is no small feat.

Michael Schmidt is not without opinions. You may find yourself vehemently in disagreeance or enthusiastically joining the choir and singing along. For instance, Schmidt pretty much holds low opinion of the likes of Alan Ginsburg and his use of mind altering drugs to create poetry with little form. "Ginsburg dropped on American poetry like a bomb; his generation outgrew him and American poetry has outgrown him." It's not so much that Schmidt has an opinion. Of literary criticism, that is to be expected. But instead, it is that Schmidt offers up his opinions as imperatives, absolutes not to be countered.

Reading Schmidt's book it's as if all of English poetry revolves around Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot. He is downright ebullient in his praises of the two. "After Pound we read poetry differently." and "In The Waste Land he demanded to be read differently from other poets. He alters our way of reading for good, if we read him properly." And so it goes in Schmidt's world poetic view of the ushering in of modernism. Elsewhere, Schmidt decries the loss of formal verse or at least verse that respects formalism. It is here that he finds the true poet's art. Again an opinion presented as an imperative.

Schmidt is in need of conciseness. He is self-critical is his choosing of format biting off too much swallowing too little. He spends precious pages to launch campaigns for regional poets, virtual unknowns, and underappreciates. These are pages, he could be spending making a case for his St. Eliot and St. Pound sainthood. If a poet caters to a specific culture with a specific language virtually unintelligible to the rest of the English speaking world, why be inclusive? Toss 'em out and save 'em for the regional anthologies. Sorry about the preceding colloquial language, friends.

With all this criticism, Schmidt's massive book is a treasure for poetry lovers. It is high brow in places, but when you finish reading the whole thing or just bits and pieces you will know more about poetry, appreciate more in depth poetry, and be indebted to the history and love of language that precedes us and will succeed us. Literary infinitum by good friends. Read on.

I have read all of Chai's books and found each one carefully crafted. Chai is articulate, and her commanding voice has an authority that sweeps the reader up and over the plains of rural Wyoming, a place of natural beauty and also a warped, ungenerous and unwelcoming social milieu which becomes Hapa Girl's crucible. Chai's rendering of a Chinese-American family's struggle to be recognized, respected and ultimately accepted is heart-rendingly believable, in many instances heartbreakingly sad, but finally redemptive. It's the sort of narrative that challenges the reader (could I manage these circumstances if I were the protagonist?) and ultimately shows us not that suffering is ennobling, but that there are survivors who have come through suffering's gauntlet and emerged with wise conviction and a formidable dignity. Five stars for this book and its talented, smart and wise author!

Maylee's gentle mastery at weaving words, memories and strands of her family's struggles into a rich and powerful tapestry of human experience held me captivated; I read her book in one sitting.
Don't mistake Maylee's memories as bitter - her message is clear to those who have eyes to read it and the faith to believe it, "Love Trumps Hate."

I could not put this book down... it was alive and witty and just plain filled with love of this girls family her mother played a very inportant part in this girls life , maylee since has lost her mother to breast cancer . the story was so wonderful deplicting how a family with different racial backgrounds . Maylee is outspoken and make the book come alife to me . thanks you for the wonderful story of part of my family.. always aunt susan

Reading this book, I was appalled at the portrayal of this terrible, small, South Dakota town where I, too, would have hated growing up. I feel very badly for the author's hardships she and her family endured during this time. Ironically, I did grow up in this town; moving there in 1966 at the age of 12 and eventually leaving eastern South Dakota in 1977. I am amazed at the dramatic changes that took place there in the 2 years between 1977 and 1979. This was not the town I remember in the least bit. As I read about overt violence in the high school while teachers looked away, rampant inbreeding, and widespread fear of being killed by Native Americans I can only conclude that there is a motivation behind the story that only the author can answer. Much of this makes for great fiction and hopefully, this has been therapeutic for her. I have spent the majority of my adult life in successful Engineering positions in the Silicon Valley as a result of my education at the schools in this town and colleges in the state. My two daughters are products of the California public school system so, believe me, I know about mediocrity in education. Most of the kids in this South Dakota community do not grow up on farms nor have aspirations of owning one, one day. It is quite natural for many kids in this university town to do as I did- continue education and go on to a professional career. I don't recall a lot of violence at school. My wife (also from this small town) and I could not think of any "cousin relationships" of which we were aware. Our parents would never have tolerated the disrespect and name calling described as rampant in the book. I don't feel we were the exception, either. I certainly hope the author has facts behind the story she tells of the circumstances around a young man who committed suicide; if not, shame on her. I will say that most South Dakota communities are predominately white and by and large fairly conservative. I am not necessarily surprised that it was difficult for this family to feel comfortable and "fit in". There are racists everywhere, though, and in my world experience I've never felt this community to be more so than most. Unfortunately, it sounds like there were mean spirited bullies who made life miserable for this author during adolescence. Because of the wild and reckless characterizations of certain things that I know to be untrue, the author lost most of her credibility while I read. My younger brother is 2 years older than the author. When I first heard of this book, I asked him about her. He didn't recall, went to his yearbooks, and recognized her as someone who had been a winner in the same Math contest as he during high school. Seems like an odd non-recognition for someone who was so "stared at", maligned, and the center of adversity. By the way, we did use baseball bats for baseball (not weapons that I ever recall). Much like the author describes of suburban New Jersey, there was a vacant lot behind our house where my brothers and the neighborhood kids would gather and play baseball and whiffle ball for hours on end. My apologies for a long winded review without comment regarding the quality of the writing, however, I felt compelled to raise concerns about the accuracy of the facts in what is intended to be a non-fiction book.

I am sure that Ms. Chai earned an A+ in creative writing class for her novel. I was in school with the author and her brother for a couple of years. In fact, I had my senior pictures taken at her mother's studio. She did a nice job and was a fun lady. I knew she was married to a Chinese man. I couldn't have cared less. It made no difference to me. I am sure that I speak for most of us in town. We had plenty going on in our own lives to get too worked up about someone elses ethnic background. There is no question that most of us were of European descent. With the Univ of SD in town, we were exposed to other cultures. It wasn't like we were the United Nations, but we were far from the 'dueling banjos' of "Deliverance." There are a few bad apples in our town-- like any town on the planet. It is certainly humbling to read of her experience in our town. The violence in the halls at school, locking all the doors to the school, attractive girls opting to get poor grades to date the cool guys, etc. Her creative juices got the best of her. Hopefully, this spiteful piece of half-truths/ fiction was therapeutic or lucrative for the author.