Showing posts with label classics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classics. Show all posts

Death on the Installment Plan Review

Death on the Installment Plan
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'Death On The Installment Plan' is a raging animal of a novel that eclipses even Celine's own 'Journey' (though, it must be said, not by much). Structurally it's a shambles, but the unbelievable energy behind each & every sentence is enough to propel the reader straight through the 600-odd pages. What few of the other reviews have pointed out is how gut-bustingly funny this book is. A laugh a line with Celine and no mistake...More than that, 'Death...' contains absolutely the funniest sex scene ever written, bar none. While 'Journey' is tighter and harsher and the later works are more crazily surreal, 'Death...' is the shot of pure Celine that literature needed when it was first published and which the literate world could use another dose of now. And that's no Cambridge lie.

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Death on the Installment Plan is a companion volume to Louis-Ferinand Céline's earlier novel Journey to the End of Night.
Published in rapid succession in the middle 1930s, these two books shocked European literatue and world consciousness. Nominally fiction but more rightly called "creative confessions," they told of the author's childhood in excoriating Paris slums, of serves in the mud wastes of World War I and African jungles. Mixing unmitigated despair with Gargantuan comedy, they also created a new style, in which invective and obscenity were laced with phrases of unforgettable poetry. Céline's influence revolutionized the contemporary approach to fiction. Under a cloud for a period, his work is now acknowledged as the forerunner of today's "black humor."

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Eye-Deep in Hell: Trench Warfare in World War I Review

Eye-Deep in Hell: Trench Warfare in World War I
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John Ellis, a military historian, wrote "Eye Deep in Hell" to explain the daily routines of the fighting men of World War I. The title of the book comes from the poet Ezra Pound, who wrote an epitaph for the soldiers who survived and died on the mud caked battlefields. Pound's poem adequately reflects the true nature of trench warfare during this meat grinder of a war. WWI was not a glorious call to arms or a romantic charge on a horse between dashing young men; it was attrition warfare on a massive scale, killing millions with little movement on both sides. Unfortunately, WWI is largely forgotten today because most of the veterans are gone and the bigger death tolls of WWII overshadowed the millions killed during 1914-1918.
You will not find much here about the causes of WWI or detailed explanations about the movements of troops during battle. Ellis concerns himself with how the men survived on a day-to-day basis, in those times between the grinding offensives. What quickly emerges in Ellis's book is a vivid picture of the utter despair of life in the trenches, lives mired in rampant disease, hunger, violent death, misery, and inclement weather. How anyone survived this war with their sanity intact is a mystery for the ages.
Ellis covers every conceivable aspect of daily routine and life in the trenches by dividing his book into four sections. The first part of the book describes the type of trenches built along the front. The first trench line was where the soldiers charged the enemy when an offensive took place. Connected to this trench by shorter trenches were reserve lines where soldiers could retreat if necessary, and where supplies of ammunition, food, mail, and clothing where moved to the front. Attached to the front line trenches were saps, little trenches running out into no man's land where observers attempted to keep an eye on the enemy lines. Also built into the trenches were dugouts, or deep bunkers where the officers lived. The men slept either against the trench wall or in little dugouts along the trench lines. Of course, sleep was a luxury few could afford. When the men were not watching the enemy lines, they were putting up barbed wire in no man's land, helping to reinforce or dig trenches, or moving supplies. All of these activities often took place in deep mud, standing water, and piles of poorly buried corpses.
As if dealing with these conditions were not bad enough, there was the constant threat of violent death. Men died when shot by snipers, from shell fragments and stray bullets, from grenades tossed in the trenches, from chlorine and mustard gas shells (a horrible, lingering death), and trench cave-ins. There were a thousand ways to die in the trenches, and precious few ways to live.
Ellis's second section deals with combat conditions. Offensives were never non-stop operations, but usually had a lengthy buildup. Soldiers knew they were in trouble when the shelling started in earnest. The constant shelling was an attempt to soften up the trenches before sending the men across no man's land. Soldiers described the shelling in numerous ways, all of them unpleasant. Several people said the shelling was so intense that it actually took on physical solidity, a presence in the environment that many soldiers said they thought they could literally touch. After the shelling came the assault, a soul shattering experience for all involved. Most knew they would die, but for many of the men it was more embarrassing to expose oneself as a coward to his fellow soldiers; it was fear that drove the men over the tops of the trenches into the withering machine gun fire. The psychological pressures were unbelievable, often leading to cases of "shell shock," where men lost their sanity and most likely never recovered from the pressures of war.
The third part of the book concerns "lighter" topics. A big part of this section deals with food supplies. Predictably, the food on the front was quite poor. Biscuits handed out to the soldiers were as hard as rocks, bread was stale, stews contained more fat than meat, and field kitchens rarely worked. The soldiers did receive alcoholic beverages, especially French and German troops who carried wine on a regular basis. It was not uncommon to give the boys a tot of gin before they went over the top to their deaths. Better food and supplies, as well as entertainment, were found during rest leave behind the lines.
The final segment of Ellis's book concerns the attitude of the troops. It is here that Ellis examines the mentality of the military elite towards the war. Incredibly, most generals and field marshals believed morale meant more on the battlefield than modern weaponry. The men who actually fought held a quite different view about combat, and accordingly despised the high commanders who rarely visited the battlefields but made decisions that cost millions of lives. At the same time, soldiers did respect line officers. They recognized that these officers often shared the same wretched conditions as the common soldier. A good line officer rarely had difficulty getting his men to follow orders.
Ellis's book covers just about every angle one could think of about World War I. There are plenty of pictures included in the book, some of which are quite gruesome but necessary in order to convey the absolute horror of trench warfare. Unfortunately, Ellis only covers the Western Front, so information about the war against Russia and Turkey is missing from the book. The book also suffers from a shabby editing job, with missing and misspelled words appearing throughout the book. Despite these problems, Ellis is a great place to start for those interested in the Great War.

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Millions of men lived in the trenches during World War I. More than six million died there. InEye-Deep in Hell, the author explores this unique and terrifying world-the rituals of battle, the habits of daily life, and the constant struggle of men to find meaning amid excruciating boredom and the specter of impending death.

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Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (Persephone Classics) Review

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (Persephone Classics)
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Winfired Watson's little 1938 fantasy has become the bestelling reissue for the terrific Persephone Books imprint in the UK, and its not hard to see why. Basically a Cinderella story set during the 30s, Watson's novel concerns a dowdy governess sent by mistake by her agency to the home of a glamorous and dithering nightclub singer, who comes to rely upon Miss Pettigrew to straighten out her love life. Miss Pettigrew not only rises to the challenge (much to her own surprise), but undergoes a makeover and finds some romance for her own life as well. While undeniably slim (and purposefully so), the novel is just about irresistible: it plays upon the same fantasy as Jane Austen's MANSFIELD PARK, the fantasy of being not only loved but also needed. Curiously, the trappings of glamour in this novel come not from the world of the wealthy and titled (as per usual in British fiction from this era, as in the novels of Waugh and Nancy Mitford) but from a world envisioned in American film: the world of night clubs, self-made men, and cocaine-dabbling gigolos.

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Now a major motion picture starring Frances McDormand (Fargo) and Amy Adams (Enchanted)!

"Why has it taken more than half a century for this wonderful flight of humor to be rediscovered?"—Guardian

"The sweetest grown-up book in the world."—Sunday Times

"Everyone, no matter how poor or prim or neglected, has a second chance to blossom in the world."—Daily Mail, in reference to Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

A major film released in 2008, Miss Pettigrew Lives for Day is a delightful, funny, lighthearted novel. First published in 1938, it was reissued in the United Kingdom in 2000, complete with thirty-five original illustrations, and has sold over 22,000 copies.

Miss Pettigrew, an approaching-middle-age governess, was accustomed to a household of unruly English children. When her employment agency sends her to the wrong address, her life takes an unexpected turn. The alluring nightclub singer, Delysia LaFosse, becomes her new employer, and Miss Pettigrew encounters a kind of glamour that she had only met before at the movies. Over the course of a single day, both women are changed forever.


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A Mencken Chrestomathy: His Own Selection of His Choicest Writing Review

A Mencken Chrestomathy: His Own Selection of His Choicest Writing
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I really like this book. Mencken's prose and unflinching attitude is like no other author I have read. I don't know if they used the middle finger in the early 1900s but if so, then HLM was its personification. If you were to tally his word usage in the book I believe "idiot", "imbecile", "buffoon", "moron" and "mountebank" would be near the top.
This book contains one of my favorite essay and the single biggest reason to own this book, his piece on the critical process. It's only a 10 page essay but it's probably the most eloquent. For whatever reason he put it around page 450, but I would recommend reading it first. It puts a reader in the right frame of mind for reading Mencken's essays. He explains a worthwhile critic is not so much concerned with truth or detail. Instead a truly great critic takes the target of the criticism and uses it to develop his own original ideas. It separates those who would just be archivists with those who would be artists. Clearly, Mencken was not concerned with the former, he was concerned with art and he was an artist.

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Up in the Old Hotel Review

Up in the Old Hotel
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Joseph Mitchell may be the best writer ever to have worked on the 'New Yorker' staff (the other contenders would include Edmund Wilson and A. J. Liebling). Every story in this long book is worth reading, and re-reading; the later pieces, from 'The Bottom of the Harbour' and especially 'Joe Gould's Secret' are tours-de-force of reporting. Mitchell invests his characters with so much life that they take on almost mythical proportions, without ever sacrificing their humanity. Although Mitchell often chose to write about people on the margins of society -- a homeless beggar like Joe Gould, a bearded lady, the hard-drinking Hugh Flood -- he never did so in a patronising manner. He admires these people not because of their struggles or hard lives, but despite them: he sees them, and makes us see them, as fellow human beings, not social welfare cases. Mitchell freely admits that listening to Joe Gould was a strain, and that Gould could be, like people who own houses and property and know where their next meal is coming from, selfish and mean-spirited; far from making Gould unattractive, this serves to make him come alive - homeless people don't become plaster saints, and it's silly to pretend otherwise. A key component in these stories is Mitchell's own persona, which is much like his prose style: quiet, unassertive, but immensely attractive. It is a great pity that, for whatever reason, Mitchell fell silent for the last thirty years of his life; but any sadness can be assuaged by dipping back into 'Up in the Old Hotel', where Mitchell's brilliant handling of detail and character -- and his shapely way with the structure of a profile, always dovetailing to a perfect close -- can be sampled time and again.

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Nox Review

Nox
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"No matter how I try to evoke the starry lad he was, it remains a plain, odd history."
More an experience than a read, "Nox" by Anne Carson splices abstraction--definitions, quotations, lessons in ancient Greek history--with the concrete specificity of family photographs, handwritten letters, and personal recollections that attempt to contain a fragile and fragmented relationship. Carson's brother, who led a transitory and difficult life, has died in Copenhagen. And now Carson, in the manner of Catallus (poem 101), must go to see her brother's widow, the city where he lived, and the church he was brought to when he died. In words and images, and in words as images, Carson creates a landscape that mirrors memory--a continuous accordion-folded page that backdrops black and white snapshots, yellowing letters, cancelled stamps, and cut-out text. Most striking are the photos that include shadows, and texts that Carson repeats, strikes out, or blurs. Also haunting is the way this collage seems so very real on the reproduced page: edges of paper-on-paper look sharp and true, or wrinkled from too much glue; staples seem raised, shiny and cold; even the reverse-embossing of handwriting forces this reader to touch and expect to feel the raised imprint of a ball-point pen, as if, in feeling, the question is asked: is this real?
Carson explains, "History and elegy are akin." In questioning, "are these staples real?" or "who was this brother?" we share in the act of asking, of composing the story and creating history. In her distilled and disjointed--yet accessible--way, Carson compels questions, collects facts--or shards of them--and assembles a beautiful, tactile, white-space filled elegy that honors a brother who, later in life, she barely knew. "You have survived it, " Carson writes, "and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself." Carson has fashioned a thing that carries itself, a work of poetry and prose that stands on its own as book and non-book, object and message: an account of one's life as an extraordinary ordinary thing.


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