Fiction Literature Books

The story begins with the very unlikable Kitty Fane. She is selfish, vain, and is bored with her husband. After an adulterous affair, Kitty travels with her husband to an area stricken by cholera.

Kitty begins to work in the nearby convent while the nuns nurse those stricken with the disease. During this time, Kitty attempts to repair her broken marriage. Just when she begins to make amends, tragedy strikes. Kitty is left alone to face her demons.

I enjoyed watching Kitty's character evolve throughout the story. I first noticed the change when she began embracing the orphans in her care instead of being repulsed by them. She begins to understand that, in the face of so much suffering, her problems are very small. Kitty begins to empathize with others and make better choices. In the end, Kitty is stronger than she realizes and her tragedy is really the beginning of a new life.

I was captivated from the first page to the last.

The Painted Veil pits amiable but unscrupulous fools against tormented souls, has a duly sarcastic starting-point, and is set in far-away, warlord-era China; in short, it has the ingredients for vintage Maugham.

The book begins in Hong Kong, with an adultery scene. Kitty Fane is beautiful, shallow, and calculating. She soon finds her match in Charles Townsend, a vain and cynical but popular colonial official - and in her own husband, the lover's very photo-negative, who drags her through plague-ridden country in revenge. The story is that of her spiritual transformation. It can even be read to show women's superior ability for moral elevation.

The Painted Veil is full of Maugham's innumerable human insights, and it is filled with danger, physical and psychological. This is an easy to read, absorbing novel. Readers expecting lush visions of warlord-era China to jump from the page, though, will need to look in another place. The "native" country is distant, dream-like and morbid, seen through the eyes of the heroine, whose preoccupations are elsewhere. It is only peered at from the height of a curtained palanquin. Indeed, the novel paints the superficial and self-centred expatriate community of Hong-Kong much more than it does labouring China; as such, it probably remained true to life until very recent times.

'The Painted Veil' is certainly a deceptive literary masterpiece. From a 30,000 ft view the story sounds a bit boring: spoiled British woman, circa 1920, hastily marries a total bore, moves to Hong Kong and gets into a bit of hanky-panky with married self-centered turd, then is hijacked to the boonies by hubby to help the misfortunate Chinese cope with a cholera epidemic. Yawn. And indeed the first third of 'The Painted Veil', while certainly quality literature, is hardly enthralling.

Thankfully the author is simply WONDERFUL in capturing raw human emotion and how the human spirit can change. Our bratty, slutty leading lady goes through hell and is eventually transformed in remarkable, and believable ways. No, she doesn't become a saint. But her maturation is remarkable. I am left in *total awe* at how the author got away with producing a real corker of a novel in so few pages with relatively little in the way of action.


Bottom line: a little known masterpiece. Brilliant.

After her husband discovers her adulterous affair, Kitty is forced to accompany him to a cholera-infested city of mainland China. Surrounded by death, Kitty recognizes her own poor character and undergoes a personal transformation. As her husband works to eradicate the cholera epidemic from dawn to dusk every day, Kitty is left with plenty of time for self-reflection. Eventually, she learns the benefits of hard work and comes to terms with her marriage. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel. The story was quick-paced, and I connected with the strong female protagonist, especially after she gained insight into her prior shallowness. I can see why some consider this book to be a feminist work. I also enjoyed the complex relationship between Kitty and her husband. I only wish Maugham had used his exotic settings (Hong Kong and then mainland China) to more effect. Interestingly, this novel has been adapted for the screen three times (in 1934, 1957, and 2006). Read this one.

I saw the movie first and loved it, then went out bought the book and read it. Hated the book!!!! It was nothing like the movie, relationships that you thought would be described better in the book did not even exist! If you have seen the movie and love it don't read the book it will ruin your experience. However, if you have not yet seen the movie then you will probablly enjoy the book.

If you like your history lite then I, Claudius is your book. Written as an autobiography of the life of Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, who became Emperor of Rome in 41 A.D., I, Claudius is actually historical fiction. As such, there seems to be no way to measure the accuracy of the accounts given in this first part of Graves's two-part series.

Nevertheless, I, Claudius is interesting - it reads like a novel - and reveals the sordid details of the lives and times of the Royal family from Augustus until the time when Claudius ascended to the throne.

I hate to be the one bad apple in the bunch, but to be honest, I was expecting great things from this book given all of the fabulous reviews. Perhaps because I've been pampered with books like Philippa Greggory's THE OTHER BOLEYN GIRL or THE RED TENT, I expected a read that would be quick, with snappy dialogue and luscious settings. What I got instead was something that felt very much dated, and very boring. Of course, this is just my opinion, and I see that many others here have different ones. But for fans of Greggory-style writing, I would give this a pass.

This book is a gem and is on my top-10 list of all-time favorites.

The subject of Roman Empire, and its culture, and its vast history, is huge and I am grateful when a couple of books by Robert Graves comes along. Roman history lives. It gives me a better handle on those times, even if imagined. Despite the fictionality of I, Claudius, I am drawn by its overt narrative and general historical accuracy and so what if Graves has a tendency to follow sources selectively from the Lyon Tablet to Suetonius. The fact that the real Claudius was a trained historian and was known to have written an autobiography consisting of eight books that were lost, that covered the same time period, is also good enough for me, and lends extra value to this story. Who knows how close Robert Graves has penetrated to the truth of the matter? What makes any fine work of fiction magical is the unique perspective of a talented writer like Graves. I am also drawn by the themes in this book, the conflict between liberty and stability of empire, the delicate balance between Republican liberty and Imperial stability which leads me to draw, mostly imagined, parallels with the United States today and its delicate balance.

There's not much I can say here or desire to say here that hasn't been covered by the other reviewers. Just to reiterate though: The character of Livia, as presented here in Graves's novel, is NOT based on any sound scholarship, new or otherwise. It's true that she COULD have poisoned her way to power as depicted here. But bear in mind that Claudius himself COULD have just as well done so himself, with this first person narration serving as a cover up. - Be it remembered that Claudius (the actual emperor) did write an actual first person Autobiography, now lost to us. - Who knows what ulterior motives he might have harboured in doing so? In any event, altogether too many untimely deaths of all sorts pile up to attribute to any one person. It also seems clear to me that Graves, in describing the Germans, was certainly drawing a parallel to the Germans he fought against in WWI.

But, laying historical accuracy to one side, this is a clever and interesting read. It is not, to my mind, the masterpiece some reviewers here make it out to be. But I enjoyed it. The impression one has on closing the book and reflecting on the murders, mayhem and madness that occur on almost every page leaves one feeling about the book as Claudius felt about the last, ebrious conversation he had with Livia:

"The conversation was like the sort one has in dreams - mad but interesting."

"I Claudius" was the first book that convinced me that history could be engrossing. Ridiculously fun to read - it delivers a thrill on a level with the first time you saw "The Mikado", heard the Saint-Saens cello concerto, Callas singing 'Casta Diva'. You get the picture.

It is a stroke of genius for Graves to choose Claudius, the drooling 'halfwit' among the Caesars, overlooked and ridiculed by his more ambitious relatives, as his mouthpiece. In a voice that is irresistibly gossipy and remarkably shrewd, he draws us in and makes the history completely and spellbindingly real. It's a stunning accomplishment.

This book, its sequel, and the extraordinary BBC adaptation for television, are high on the list of life's great pleasures.

We had this book as a gift, when our daughter was born...she loved it! It was used constantly!Just fades a little when you wash it. Great buy!

i purchased the cloth reindeer book first for my nephew when he was around 11 months old, and after my sister in law was still having to read it for him in march - i purchased all the other priddy cloth books for his easter basket. several months later these books are still his favorites. they are brightly colored with fun features like crinkly textures and flaps to lift up and explore. i hope new ones come out so i can add those to his collection!

My newborn was immediately attracted to the book. The colors are primary and exciting. I am glad I purchased it but you can't throw it in the wash like the Taggies book. The instructions on the tag are surface wash only.

I have no problem with the book - my daughter loves the characters in it - just the fact that Priddy Books has apparently eliminated two characters (Sally Spider and Fly to be exact). The only reason I know this is because I recently bought (and returned) Fuzzy Bee based on our enjoyment of an older version. The reduced characters/number of pages wouldn't necessarily be a problem except that Priddy Books is apparently trying to pull a fast one - the copyright date, ISBN, etc. are all exactly the same...only there's two fewer characters and pages than before. Perhaps there's a good explanation for it, but Priddy Books won't return my phone calls. So I'm giving Fuzzy Bee the lowest rating out of principle.

So I read all the reviews before buying the book and felt that I could wash this in the washer/dryer. We have a front loader one and I put in a laundry bag to make it 'extra safe'... I wanted to wash it before giving to our daughter since she loves putting these in her mouth... well it's now all crumpled and has dull lifeless colors. I try to get her to enjoy it but to no avail. If you get this my advice is to not wash in the washer. (Versus her "taggie" books like "Princess", we can wash and dry w/no worries, they just get softer and more fun to suck on!)

This book is absolutely terrible! Everyone's grandmother would be ashamed to know the language they use. It seems like a rated r book. A very disgusting read, so much talk about this person named Grendel who is portrayed as a cannibal. There is so much talk about blood and bones, ugh! Save yourself the effort and bypass this so called classic. I wish I didn't have to read it. If I could I would tell my teacher he was nuts for making me read it. Acutally what idiot made this a classic? My lord! Disgusting, absolutely awful. Save yourself in the name of classic books!

Excellent poem. It transmits through words very pure feelings and attitudes of men and societies already forgotten.

While going to school in the 70s and 80s, I never had to read any classic literature. I have decided to "go back to school", so to speak, and read the classics that I never did when younger. This was my first. I enjoyed it, and would highly recommend it.

The translation is easy to follow and read. I did lose the narrative thread at points toward the end. This may not be the translator's fault. There are beautiful passages scattered throughout.

The story is about a hero who kills monsters. Beowulf is proud. He brags about himself at the drop of a hat. However, he is the strongest and best fighter in the world. His search for fame for himself and his family is his purpose in life. There are great passages here about God, the world, and man's place in it. When he fights the dragon, Beowulf knows he is too old to defeat it, but yet he tries anyway. The pursuit of fame drives him. but he knows he is the best man for the job. The poem also gives great snapshots of life at that time.

The book is a great look on how the author viewed life at that time. I enjoy other epics better: this poem definitely drags at times. However, this poem is definitely worth the read for the stirring action, the examples of bravery, the world view of the people at that time, and Beowulf, himself, is a tragic character unmatched in literature.

This wasn't the complete Beowulf that I was looking for. I read Beowulf when I was in school and I was looking for that version which was a very big book and the full, long version. Yes, it was a somewhat difficult read, but well worth it in the long run and I've been wanting to reread it for some time. Reading the reviews I had thought that this was the closest thing to it, but this isn't even close. This is a small paperback that is quite short.

Sure, the Norse Gods book ends like an Eden, with the new men loving "The Almighty God". True.

I am one of those pagan/witch/Wiccan/Asatrus (whatever label you want to give me is fine, to me it's all religion). I got this book to learn more about the Norse pantheon in a way that stimulating to me via nostalgic childhood artwork. I love this book. I can bypass the Christian stuff in the front and back of the book (I mean, Christians are the majority religion in this country, so I assume most people are ok with how the stories are). What I am left with is a great group of stories I can enjoy and share with my kids someday. The more graphic bits are watered down as not to scare off younger kids (though they are Vikings and Thor is constantly warring with a giant or some other person or thing). Even the story of Freyja's necklace is written in a way where the main part of the story is intact without getting too suggestive for young kids.

I love the pictures and learning they were made with stones. I look forward to getting the Greek Myths in this series too. I think Christian and Pagan alike would get a lot out of this volume.

I've been reading this book to my kids each night at bedtime. My 7-year old loves it. A great introduction to the Norse Myths. Well written and great illustrations as well.

Along with D'Aulaire's Greek Myths, I checked this book out of the library every week. I absolutely adored looking at the pictures and reading the stories. A great, colorful book for any kid.

I frequently borrowed this book from the Harris Park Elementary library. It is as entertaining as an adult as it was as a youngster. Along with Edith Hamilton's book, these re-tellings are great for simply and concisely relating mythic tales to my high school students. The artwork is a bonus. D'Aulaires' book of Greek myths is also well done.

This book, the text, and the illustrations inside are the sole key to happiness. If you buy this book, open it, and are not immediately happy, then you're a God damn Communist.


God Bless America, and God Bless D'Aulaires' Book of Norse Myths.

I've read other translations of the Odyssey but Lattimore's is the most readable and clear. Fitzgerald's translation occasionally clarifies a point of two but for the most part I depend upon Lattimore's.

Since reading Lattimore's translation of the Odyssey this past summer, I haven't been able to read ANYTHING ELSE with the same interest and enthusiasm. Homer's Odyssey needs no endorsement from me. It sits at the very heart and genesis of the Western literary tradition and will forever continue to do so. If you haven't read the Odyssey, you should: it's an important part of our human heritage. It's also incredibly fascinating for its age. Almost three thousand years old now, the Odyssey transports you into another strangely foreign time, imagination, and culture.

The Odyssey is also a compelling narrative in its own right. It's simply an amazing and beautiful story, and this is certainly what accounts for its continued influence throughout history. The prose, beautifully and faithfully rendered in this edition by Lattimore, are captivating and rythmically satisfying. The world is rich, awe-inspiring, but not over-indulgently described. Odysseus is a hero in the truest sense of the word. Everything you want is there but not in over-abundance. The Odyssey is just sparse enough to leave you yearning for more, which is why I haven't been able to read much else lately. I figure Lattimore's translation of the Illiad is my next stop. I'll let you know how that goes.

If perused only ephemerally, or taken merely at face value, Mikhail Bulgakov's "The Heart of a Dog," is likely to give the reader a false impression of simplicity or childishness; however, if more carefully surveyed in light of the monumental political and historical context in which it was penned, the novel, formally seeming silly or fantastical, reveals itself to be a highly critical analysis and commentary of the Russian Revolution of 1917, as well as subsequent events. This fanciful tale of an unfortunate street dog transformed, against its own will, into a drunken and vice-laden human monstrosity, closely parallels the fitful and savage conversion of the Russian Empire and its peoples into the Soviet Union and its subjects. When said dog, Sharik, first makes his appearance in the tale, he is indeed a quite sympathetic and homely creature; battered from a harsh life on the streets and suffering from the wounds inflicted upon him by a well-to-do chef, Sharik is nonetheless capable of great empathy, as evidenced by his feelings of sorrow for an underpaid and overdependent typist. Although Sharik is initially much afflicted by his wounds, one can sense a decisive mentality of perseverance in this hapless and battered, yet overwhelmingly grateful and obedient, animal. Sharik, thus, symbolizes aptly the Russian people as they stood prior to the Bolshevik Revolution. Hungry, abused, and left destitute by a cold bourgeois society that cared little for their well-being, the Russian, much like Shark, nonetheless remained unbroken in spirit and consistently persevered through their difficulties while maintaining their unique mindset and wit. Yet, just as Sharik was pushed to his limit of persistence by his scalding, so to were the Russian by the hardships of the second World War; in both cases, these battered would would likely have perished had it not been for the arrival of charismatic and empathetic leaders, whom they, in their destitution, would follow blindly to their ultimate detriment. Just as many Russians rallied behind Lenin and his promises of peace, land, and bread, so too did Sharikov throw in his lot with Professor Preobrazhensky, a seemingly kindly doctor who took pity on the suffering dog.
Professor Philip Philipovich Preobrazhensky, literally "Professor Transformation" in the original Russian, presents a unique dilemma for the critic attempting to assess his character and actions; on the one hand, it is simple to view him in light of his charity to Sharik, while, on the other hand, his cold betrayal of the dog coupled with his questionable morality significantly blacken his character. Indeed, the Professor, who appeared at first to adopt Sharik simply out of some goodness of heart, had truly done so in order to use the poor mut as the subject of his experiments; after fattening up Sharik, the Professor quickly betrays his trust and sets about forcibly altering him. In this, one can discern a certain similarity with the behavior of the Bolsheviks, who upon gaining the trust of certain of the Russian people with their promises, ultimately brought upon them immense suffering as they attempted to force them into the Communist mold. The operation in which the Professor transplants a human pituitary gland into Sharik is depicted in such violent and grisly terms as to only be a criticism of the "operation" that was the Bolshevik Revolution. Just as the Professor "treacherously" cut and prodded Sharik in molding him into a man, so too did the Bolsheviks impose much bloodshed and carnage upon the Russian during the Revolution and subsequent civil war. Indeed, the entire gruesome operation sequence, combined with base nature and the resultant human Sharikov, speak loudly to Bulgakov's underlying criticism of the Bolsheviks hasty and brutal methods of imposing Communism upon the nation. Similarly damning to the character of the Professor is his seeming moral indifference and unwillingness to accept the results of his own cruel actions. In performing the experiment upon Sharikov, the Professor knew nothing of what would result; he did so merely out of cold scientific uncaring. Yet, when the result was the drunken Poligraph Ploigraphovich, the Professor exhibited no tolerance for his own creation, constantly berating him instead of more patiently bearing the responsibility of his actions. When the Professor's assistant suggests murdering Sharikov, the Professor refuses only out of a desire to keep his hands clean of crime; such poor morality does not speak well for him. His refusal to abandon his bourgeois lifestyle, which inevitably leads to conflict with the Soviet authorities, presents not only his stubbornness and corruption, but also his possibly noble refusal to submit to a cause which he does not hold dear.
In sharp contrast with the more nuanced and ambiguous Professor, Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov, as the dog becomes know after his transformation into a man, represents all that is worst in human nature, as well as the nascent Soviet mentality. From the beginning, Sharikov is portrayed as hopelessly vulgar, impetuous, ungrateful, and drunken. Not afraid to lie, he invents tales of war heroism to woo a coworker; when this dishonesty is exposed, he shows himself to be vengeful, vowing to have the woman's pay docked. Perhaps more significantly, Sharikov quickly becomes a staunch, mindless, devotee to the local Communist leader, Shvonder; to the Professor's disgust, he begins using terms like "Comrade" and speaking of the division of property. It is with this that Bulgakov makes his biting attack upon the corruption already apparent in the Communist lifestyle of the Soviet Union. Aside from being a drunken monstrosity, Sharikov also only half-heartedlt accepts the Communist ideals he so loudly espouses, as revealed by his refusal to register for military service. It is with the generally disagreeable character of Sharikov that Bulgakov illustrates best the ungodly and corrupted beast that the Revolution had transformed Russia into; though not overtly anti-Soviet, Bulgakov does not fear exposing the rot of the Soviet system. In a prophetic statement that Bulgakov could never have understood at the time, the Professor foresees that Sharikov, brute as he is, represents just as much of a threat to the Communists as he does to the Professor and his well-being; this succinct remark foreshadows the depraved and mindless purges carried out by Stalin against the Communist Party itself. In realizing the overall pointlessness of the ability to transform a man into a dog when nature itself is capable of creating great men at any time, the Professor profoundly comments upon the mistake of forcing a Communist revolution upon Russia, when Marx had urged that such a transformation would occur naturally; in ultimately reversing the procedure and changing Sharikov back into a dog, it is possible to identify an exhortation to reverse the botched Bolshevik Revolution. However, Bulgakov was too careful and canny an author to jeopardize his life or liberty by so overtly criticizing the Soviet regime, and as a result, "The Heart of a Dog" is an intentionally multi-faced and ambiguous novel, which may be interpreted in numerous fashions.

This sat on my shelf for about a year. I purchased it because I had enjoyed the author's competent but not earth-shaking "Master and Margarita."

Unfortunately, when I finally finished it (in an afternoon: it's only 120 pages) it became one of those books that was a lot better before you have actually read it.

I knew what it was about, of course: a Soviet era satire (written in 1925, but not published in the USSR until 1987) about a dog who, owing to the experiments of a scientist, gets the opportunity to enjoy life as a human -- and low-level party functionary -- for a while.

Alas! Before I read it, the satire was dead one, the characterization sharp, and the story was "brilliantly inventive," as the back cover promises.

But that's not actually how the story turns out to be.

In fact, the first third of the novel concerns the dog's point of view: what it's like to be a stray dog in a Russian city. I didn't find this part to be particularly memorable or exceptional.

Then we get to the part where the professor transforms the dog into a human. This took way too long: probably the middle half of the novel or so. We were certainly halfway through before he was actually in a human body.

Bulgakov definitely spent too much time on this process, and it blunted the strength of this satire, in my view. I mean, come on. Your readers have already charitably agreed to suspend their disbelief so that they can enjoy the story of a dog walking around in human form, so why was it necessary to go on and on for the bulk of the novel trying to convince us this was scientifically possible?

The whole satire doesn't really get going until the final quarter of the book, but by then, what can Bulgakov do? He has squandered so much time setting up the story that there is little room left for character development or complication.

In fact, by the end of the book, Bulgakov seems to be wink-winking at us, "Get it? Low-level Soviet officials are indistinguishable from dogs! Get it? Get it!"

That's it?

Have our standards of a satire really fallen to the point where such heavy-handed clunkiness can pass for deft and timeless wit? Sheesh.

This novel, written by the Soviet writer Mikhail Bulagakov, in 1925, is a satirical science fiction novel. The subject of the satire is the Communist ideology and bureaucracy as well as the petty bourgeoisie that they oppose. However, Bulgakov develops an even deeper theme relating to human nature and human culture.

Professor Preobazhensky is a flagrantly decadent bourgeois character who does all he can to resist the leveling of the Communist Revolution, maintaining a relatively luxurious lifestyle while young radicals, like Shvonder are trying to carry out their revolutionary leveling policies.

Shvonder insists that Preobazhensky give up several rooms of his apartments and give them to other individuals in the spirit of the revolution.

Shvonder then threatens to complain to higher authorities, implying that force would be used if needed. Preobazhensky refuses and is actually the first to use a kind of force by using his influence with the apparently corrupt Communist bureaucracy to maintain his lifestyle. He calls Party officials and tells them that he will no longer perform operations to help Party officials if Shvonder is allowed to divide up the apartment. Shvonder is called to the phone and apparently ordered to back off.


As the novel proceeds, Preobazhensky is further fleshed out as a sort of mad scientist character. He undertakes a dramatic experiment in which he transplants the pituitary gland and testes of a male human into a stray dog, Sharik. In a Kafkaesque transformation, this dog, Sharik, is transformed into a sort of human. He is only "sort of human" in the sense that once he appears human, he still retains the "heart of a dog" or more accurately we might say in English the "soul" of a dog. At least, this is the reader's first interpretation of the new Sharik, soon to be re-christened "Sharikov."

The plot of the novel is developed by the complications arising from this experiment. Preobazhensky had set out prove that the intelligence of humans is located in the pituitary (and testes?) and that this can be successfully transplanted--even to another animal, like a dog. Thus, if a dog were to receive a human pituitary, he would develop the intelligence of a human. At first, the experiment seems to be a stunning success. Sharik(ov) even develops the ability to speak and read.

Unfortunately, the professor finds out that there is a downside to the transplantation. Along with human capabilities he has also transplanted the degenerate character of the donor. Sharik(ov)'s character develops as a degenerate human character. This is due, of course, to the fact that the "donor" human was the low-life, bar-brawling scoundrel, Klim Chugunkin.

Later in the novel, having fully having experienced this downside in his subject, Preobazhensky, despairs of his efforts. The allure of eugenics no longer enthralls him. It is nothing but a blind alley. The human race can only be improved through the slow, gradual process of natural evolution--in no other way.

Dr. Bromenthal answers his colleague's despair by asking Preobazhensky, "But what if it were Spinoza's brain" that had been transplanted? Wouldn't the transplantation then have been worthwhile? Preobrazhensky answers "no." No, it would not have been necessary, he explains, because every day the world produces Spinozas out of ordinary women. The point is, nature needs no help in producing Spinozas. In the course of its evolution, Preobazhensky explains, the human race "creates dozens of outstanding geniuses who adorn the earth, stubbornly selecting them out of the mass of scum."

Of course, the whole attempt to "remake" a creature is also suggestive of the Communists' idea of remaking man into Soviet Man - and of remaking the crude and ignorant peasants and workers into proletarians fully aware of their class, their class power, and of the class struggle.

We can hear the author's voice in Preobazhensky's observation that torture or force cannot be used to change human nature or human society. This is a clear statement of the theme of the novel. The Communists can transform neither individuals nor entire classes through the forcible methods that they are employing. The only results of such attempts will be violence and chaos.

This violence and the resulting chaos is produced by Sharik, who begins by demanding the first name and patrynomic of Polygraph Polygraphovich and the appropriate surname of Sharikov (son of Sharik), which he truly is. The man Sharikov, who is described as somewhat physically deformed or at least incompletely formed, acts out a parallel deficient moral character. He becomes the low-life character that his human donor was--stealing, chasing women, lying, exploiting, mooching, exhibiting cruelty and prejudice, etc.

Of course Sharik's name is emblematic. He is a "polygraph" in the sense that he is telling the truth that the author Bulgakov is trying to tell--literally recording the truth as the writing of the novel is read by the reader.

The only way some semblance of order can be restored and the main conflict of the novel resolved is by removing the transplanted organs from Sharikov and giving him back is own organs. As a restored dog, Sharik again finds his natural place; and all is once again relatively peaceful, as peaceful, perhaps, as anything can be in this world.

And so humanity will have to wait patiently for its next Spinoza, and by extension, it will also have to wait patiently for its era of deliverance from the darkness of past ages. Social progress is a story of evolution not revolution, and evolution is a very slow process, barely discernable in the lifetime of any single individual.

At the end of the novel, we see the "stubborn, persistent" Preobazhensky at it again, pulling brains out of jars, "searching for something all the time, cutting, examining, squinting and singing..." Hadn't Preobazhensky learned his lesson? Perhaps he had, for a brief time. But the mind of science, the reductionist element in our dominant Western culture can't just leave it alone. Bulgakov sees this as the enduring danger against which we must be on constant guard. We murder to dissect. We have trouble going with the flow--seeing the big picture and not being open to the wisdom it can give us.

Heart of a Dog is a most insightful book into the Russian soul, and Bulgakov proves himself to be another brilliant Russian satirist. It was great fun to read of the Bolshevik era in this common Russian theme, with its bizarre appearances of the "loyal comrades" upstairs. One of the great Bolshevik era writers. If one considers the dog to be the common Russian, who was attemptedly educated to be of a higher class, the monster he became rings a familiar note looking at Putin's Russia right now.

The dissonance between classes was pronounced in the pre revolutionary era, as now, and does not change with the poltical winds, it seems to this author, despite the huge variation in political rulers and philosopies over the last 100 years. An interesting, quick and fun read. Highly recommended, especailly to those with a history of reading Russian novels.

Written in 1925, Bulgakov's Heart of a Dog is an absolutely hilarious and wonderfully sarcastic look at Soviet life, directly after the revolution.

The plot focuses on genius professor Preobrazhensky, who transplants the pituitary gland from a minor criminal into a stray dog named Sharik (little ball, in Russian). Gradually, the dog turns into a disgusting, crass little man and terrorizes the professor's household...

Sharik transforms into a dark satire of a Soviet official - Director of the agency responsible for clearing Moscow of 'vagrant quadrupeds' such as cats. He drinks, chases women, steals money, etc. All the while, Preobrazhensky battles the newly formed proletariate housing committee that has taken control of his luxury apartment building.

Absolutely unique for its time, the book strongly anti-communist and decidedly anti-proletariat... It wasn't until 1987 (60 years after it was completed), that Heart of a Dog was allowed to be published in the Soviet Union. It is also ridiculously over the top funny.

If you enjoy this novel, I would highly recommend trying to get a copy of the wonderful 1989 film, which was nominated for several international awards.

So much serious stuff has been written about this famous novel that first-time readers may be surprised that the first of the two parts of the book is actually an easy read with a light touch and plenty of humour despite the utterly gloomy and sad premise: a group of cancer patients in a decrepit, impoverished cancer hospital. Not much action, but vivid and touching dialogues abound. The second half of the book is a bit more demanding, with lengthy philosophical reflections on life and humankind. But it's worth it: some of the most haunting and moving passages of modern writing are found here. When Solzhenitsyn lets his protagonist compare life to the rivers of Siberia "running into the sand", he may just have created the most beautiful metaphor of life ever put on paper. Please, do read this book.

This book is written in the true Russian style. It's poignant and shocking and hard to put down.

The forward explains how the writer was treated in Tashkent for cancer while serving a sentence of forced labor exile. Post World War II Tashkent was cosmopolitan. The story takes place in February and March 1955 in a city like Tashkent. By then Stalin had died, Beria had been executed, and Malenkov had fallen from office.

The number of the cancer ward is thirteen. An official is to be treated for a tumor at the hospital. He resents the squalor of his surroundings. He consents, nonetheless, to undergo treatments. Dr. Dontsova has three residents. They call her Mama.

The bureaucracy insists that Dontsova dismiss indeterminate cases, cases where there is no improvement. Dontsova is troubled herself by stomach pains. Guilt she feels, though, is triggered by the existence of radiation sickness since she is an oncologist and radiologist. She cleans and shops and cooks for her family consisting of her husband and son.

One evening the male patients have an argument about moral perfectionism. It is claimed that Gorky, Stalin, and Lenin all thought that Tolstoy's doctrine was dangerous. Continuing their discussion, the male cancer patients are happy to think of traditional peasant remedies. Illness levels. The functionary and the exile are similarly situated.

Sickness provides respite from work and citizenly duties. Centers for treatment draw a cosmopolitan mix of people. Many people had lives interrupted in war service. Fairly detailed descriptions of the soviet medical system are given. Shortages of cleaning rags and other dysfunctions are common. Attempts to rationalize procedures and safeguard limited resources slow progress and create inefficiencies.

Oleg Filimonovich Kostoglotov, one of the points through which consciousness flows in the novel, resides in Ush-Terek, a virgin lands territory, and is a topographer but works as a land surveyor. The Ministry of Internal Affairs required that he live there. He was administratively exiled.

Pavel Nikolayevich Rusanov, the official being treated, strives to be optimistic as Gorky couseled. He looks forward to the visits of his wife, Kapitolina Matveyena. At first a geologist, Vadim, thought that Oleg Kostoglotov was a rude loud-mouth. (Vadim was collected, proud, and polite.) He saw that Rusanov was a standard sort of bureaucrat. Later Vadim discovered that Oleg was not arrogant. In fact, he was even generous.

Oleg discovered that after the world of the camps, exile could not be cruel. He was thirty-four and now too old too obtain a university education. He felt he could be content in exile if only he had his health. Oleg's good friends in Ush-Terek were a pediatrician and his wife. Oleg admired the chief surgeon at the facility. He had worked in the camps. Oleg picked up this piece of biography through the surgeon's choice of words. Oleg accused Rusanov of not being patriotic, of not having a love for country, but rather of wanting a fat pension.

Someone cites a writing of Lenin that an official should be paid a wage equal to the amount paid to a good worker. An older man tells Oleg that with his history he is fortunate since he has had to lie less. The man, a scientist, had been forced to follow the faulty teachings of Lysenko.

Dontsova had dealt with the ailments of other for thirty years. Now she has been diagnosed. She is to take sick leave and proceed to the Moscow Institute She makes her final rounds. Rusanov is released. He believes that he is cured. Oleg is discharged to recover from the treatment and to return to Ush-Terek. This is a masterpiece.

No one writes a fat, sprawling, old-fashioned Russian novel quite like a Russian. To the ranks of Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy, you can add Solzhenitsyn and to novels like *The Brothers Karamazov* and *Anna Karenina* you can add *Cancer Ward.* In fact, *Cancer Ward,* like Tolstoy's slim but immensely profound *The Death of Ivan Illych* begins in much the same fashion: a married, middle-aged career man is suddenly confronted with the most immediate and terrifying thing of all: his own mortality.

Although in *Cancer Ward* instead of the self-absorption of bourgeoisie society, the setting is Soviet Russia in the two years after Stalin's demise. It's still a world of repression, imprisonment, suspicion, fear, lies, exile--and, most of all, the ever-lurking presence of death. These conditions are allegorized in the cancer ward itself, in the doctor's who must have faith in their largely ineffective treatment and--all appearances to the contrary--who never tell their patients the truth about their condition...which leads to the absurdity that Solzhenitsyn uses as the title of the first chapter of *Cancer Ward*: a patient sent to the cancer ward assured by his doctor that he has "no cancer whatsoever."

What is allegorized is a people who've been systematically brutalized into the deepest self-denial, terrorized into ignoring the cancer destroying their society.

But for all the allusions--evident or oblique--to the secret police, the Gulag, and the totalitarian state, as well as the impassioned outcries against Stalinism, *Cancer Ward* is about the universal and timeless problems of death, of faith, of freedom, and of how we should live our lives and what might give them meaning.

Like all the greatest Russian novelists, Solzhenitsyn tackles the biggest questions. *Cancer Ward* is a philosophical novel in the best Dostoyevskian sense of the term. Filled with passion, pathos, humor, and heart, as well as a vivid cast of memorable characters to embody every idea, every human emotion, *Cancer Ward* is a masterpiece and Solzhenitsyn a writer rare in our age who still dares to deal with serious things seriously and compels you, by the sheer unquestionable moral force of his conviction, to take them seriously, too.

This is perhaps the best book I've read in recent memory. Don't miss it.

It is almost unbelievable how the liberal elite in America covered Stalin's crimes until Solzhenitsyn's prophetic writings emerged. And not to be outdone, President Ford and Henry Kissinger refused to welcome the greatest writer of the 20th Century in order to placate the Soviets. May Solzhenitsyn rest peacefully in the assurance that one honest man changed the world. And may his literary works live forever.

100 stories to read time and again.

The Decameron contains many references to the church and its influence. The first story of Ser Cepparello pokes fun at the church, but the storyteller, Panfilo, precedes his tale with a pious preamble: "It is fitting that everything done by man should begin with the marvelous and holy name of Him...I intend to start with one of His marvelous deeds, so that when we have heard about it, out faith in Him will remain as firm as ever" (25). Panfilo goes on to tell the story of the worst sinner in Europe who becomes a saint merely by duping his confessor. At the end of the tale, Christians worship the false saint, and Panfilo concludes with another tribute to God. The effect is hilarious. The tale makes religion a farce, but the opening and closing take religion very seriously. This disguises the biting satire of the story. By framing stories with prayers, the contents within the frame seem less irreverent. The second story fits in the same framework, as Neifile tells a story to promote "His infallible truth so that with firmer conviction we may practice what we believe" (38). She goes on to tell the story of a Jew named Abraham, who converts to Christianity after he observes the wickedness of the clergy in Rome. Abraham finds Rome to be "a forge for the Devil's work" and is amazed that "in spite of all this...your religion grows and becomes brighter and more illustrious" (42). The incredible corruption of the church, coupled with its success, baffles Abraham enough that he has to conclude that God must favor the Christians if they are allowed to be so evil. Like Panfilo, Neifile concludes her tale by praising God.

The third story also focuses on religion, but this time the main characters are a Saracen and a Jew. The Jewish lender, Melchisedech, posits Saladin with the question of which of the three religions is the one true religion. Saladin is portrayed as wise. The story shows tolerance to the Saracens through the characterization.

The fourth story returns to the Christian world, as a monk and an abbott succumb to "the warm desires of the flesh" (48). The two holy men sleep with a girl and invite her back for sex time and again.

Boccaccio avoids attacking the doctrine of the church, but he exposes certain realities of human nature. Those employed by the church cannot escape themselves, despite their appearances. They are as fallible as the peasants. In "The Author's Conclusion," Boccaccio defends his stories against protest by saying, "A corrupt mind never understands a word in a healthy way" (804). The addendum to The Decameron acts as a line of defense for the author from overzealous Christians who he predicts will take offense at the stories and accuse him of "taking too much license in writing these tales" (802). He points out that "my stories run after no one asking to be read," and implies that the sensitive reader should avoid the book altogether. The conclusion has comical elements as well. He gets a final poke at friars, saying, "they all smell a little like goats" (806). Boccaccio manages to make his point while keeping the tone light.

This was required reading for a graduate course in medieval history.
The "Decameron" is a collection of 100 novellas by Italian author Giovanni Boccaccio, probably begun in 1350 and finished in 1353. It is a medieval allegorical work best known for its bawdy tales of love, appearing in all its possibilities from the erotic to the tragic. Other topics such as wit and witticism, practical jokes and worldly initiation also form part of the mosaic. Beyond its entertainment and literary popularity, it remains an important historical document of life in the fourteenth century.

Decameron is structured in a frame narrative, or frame tale. Boccaccio begins with a description of the Black Death and leads into an introduction of a group of seven young women and three young men who flee from plague-ridden Florence to a villa in the (then) countryside of Fiesole for two weeks. To pass the time, each member of the party tells one story for each one of the nights spent at the villa. Although fourteen days pass, two days each week are set aside: one day for chores and one holy day during which no work is done. In this manner, 100 stories are told by the end of the ten days. Each of the ten characters is charged as King or Queen of the company for one of the ten days in turn. This charge extends to choosing the theme of the stories for that day, and all but two days have topics assigned: examples of the power of fortune; examples of the power of human will; love tales that end tragically; love tales that end happily; clever replies that save the speaker; tricks that women play on men; tricks that people play on each other in general; examples of virtue. Only Dioneo, who usually tells the tenth tale each day, has the right to tell a tale on any topic he wishes, due to his wit. Each day also includes a short introduction and conclusion to continue the frame of the tales by describing other daily activities besides story telling. These frame tale interludes frequently include transcriptions of Italian folk songs. The interactions among tales in a day, or across days, as Boccaccio spins variations and reversals of previous material, forms a whole and not just a collection of stories. The basic plots of the stories including mocking the lust and greed of the clergy; tensions in Italian society between the new wealthy commercial class and noble families; the perils and adventures of traveling merchants. The title is a portmanteau, or combination of two Greek words meaning "ten" and "day". Boccacio made similar Greek etymological plays of words in his other works. The subtitle is Prencipe Galeotto, which derives from the opening material in which Boccaccio dedicates the work to ladies of the day who did not have the diversions of men (hunting, fishing, riding, falconry) who were forced to conceal their amorous passions and stay idle and concealed in their rooms. Thus, the book is subtitled Prencipe Galeotto, that is Galehaut, the go-between of Lancelot and Guinevere, a nod to Dante's allusion to Galeotto in "Inferno V", who was blamed for the arousal of lust in the episode of Paolo and Francesca.

Throughout Decameron, the mercantile ethic prevails and predominates. The commercial and urban values of quick wit, sophistication, and intelligence are treasured, while the vices of stupidity and dullness are cured, or punished. While these traits and values will seem obvious to the modern reader, they were an emerging feature in Europe with the rise of urban centers and a monetized economic system beyond the traditional rural feudal and monastery systems, which placed greater value on piety and loyalty. Beyond the unity provided by the frame narrative, Decameron provides a unity in philosophical outlook. Throughout runs the common medieval theme of Lady Fortune, and how quickly one can rise and fall through the external influences of the "Wheel of Fortune". Boccaccio had been educated in the tradition of Dante's Divine Comedy, which used various levels of allegory to show the connections between the literal events of the story and the hidden Christian message. However, Decameron uses Dante's model not to educate the reader, but to satirize this method of learning. The Roman Catholic Church, priests, and religious belief become the satirical source of comedy throughout. This was part of a wider historical trend in the aftermath of the Black Death, which saw widespread discontent with the church. Many details of the Decameron are infused with a medieval sense of numerological and mystical significance. For example, it is widely believed that the seven young women are meant to represent the Four Cardinal Virtues (Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Fortitude) and the Three Theological Virtues (Faith, Hope, and Charity). It is further supposed that the three men represent the classical Greek tripartite division of the soul (Reason, Spirit, and Lust, see Book IV of Republic). Boccaccio himself notes that the names he gives for these ten characters are in fact pseudonyms chosen as "appropriate to the qualities of each". The Italian names of the seven women, in the same (most likely significant) order as given in the text, are: Pampinea, Fiammetta, Filomena, Emilia, Lauretta, Neifile, and Elissa. The men, in order, are: Panfilo, Filostrato, and Dioneo.

Recommended reading for anyone interested in literature and medieval history.

The translation that you choose will have an impact upon your enjoyment of any work written in a foreign language. In the case of The Decameron, the translations recommended by "The Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation" are those by (1) G.H. McWilliams and (2) Bondanella and Musa.

I purchased the McWilliams translation and found it to be enjoyable, although slightly wooden. There were also several howlers (e.g., addressing the women in the group as "Delectable Ladies.")

There's a 100+ page introduction, which I found to be overly academic and tedious. This is, as far as most readers are concerned, a fun book to read; the introduction should not detract from that experience.

This volume has extensive endnotes at the end of the book. Most of them are of little interest to the general reader and add nothing to one's enjoyment of the stories. Since they are short, and given modern editing technology, they could just as easily been included as footnotes at the bottom of the page on which they appear, which would have been more convenient. (Inexplicably, the notes to the Introduction are footnotes.)

The book is bawdy, but not obscene. McWilliams, justifiably I think, is of the opinion that certain passages are misogynistic and homophobic, which seemed to me to be correct. The latter is odd, because Florence during the Renaissance was notorious throughout Europe for its large homosexual population (most of its great artists reputedly were gay). Forewarned is forearmed.

I have not read the Bondanella and Musa translation, but McWilliams (who appears to be remarkably fair) speaks well of it in his Second Preface. Based upon the foregoing, I would choose it instead.

Funny, extremely entertaining, which is kind of shocking for medieval literature. I read the whole book in just 12 hours while sitting in the airport. It was the fattest book in the shop - great value for money.

I've tried to read these stories several times before but this is by far the best translation I've found yet. Very adult reading but passes for educational and is a great summer read!

Just picked it up on a whim a year or so back - very interesting underrated book that we can all relate to in some manner, but still retains an air of mystery (since his "crime" is never disclosed) to make you think a bit.

Hopefully I don't sound pretentious, but shortly after I read Ivan Illich Deschooling Society. While justice systems aren't schools, I think the phrase "We confuse teaching with being taught...police for security...politics for order...and overall trained to confuse service in place of value" comes into play with The Trial.

Maybe I'm off, but to me, I think Kafka's main goal was illustrating this concept, even though it predates Illich by quite some time.

By stripping away the actual accusation, it doesn't become a book about stopping a murderer, thief, rapist, embezzler. If the accusation were revealed, you would be tricked into confusing service over value - ie you'd naturally feel the protagonist was guilty if accused of something, or you'd naturally feel the court is in perfect right to investigate a SPECIFIC CRIME...and automatically trust that it's order.

But without an accusation, all you are left to examine is what has been accomplished...ie you question the value, no longer blinded by the service. As the book progresses, you see it's just a show people are tricked buying into - judges are important by title alone not because they stop criminals, defendants are automatically in fear of something they haven't done and question their guilt despite it being ambiguous if it's good or bad, and people automatically judge you on what they're told vs. what they believe and abandon any practical thought of their own to the point where strangers can convict someone you've known for quite some time. In the end, you see little is accomplished and people are just following a 9-5 routine uninspired by actual productivity, actual right or wrong, and everyone trapped into the service, not value, mindset.

Interesting to see what others think,but to me, The Trial is a verbatim portrayal of Illich's books.

Kafka depicts a terrifying world, a man lost in a world of utter unintelligibility - it is the horror story of the 20th century, where man has sought to negate both his own intelligibility and that of the world. Kafka pre-empts the regimes of Stalin, Hitler and all the other crazies of the 20th Century.

So I read this book for a small book club and I could NOT make myself finish it. The whole "no paragraph" thing totally made it unreadable for me. I got through like 2 or 3 chapters before shuting it closed and throwing it on the floor. It had the potential to be a good story too. I say skip it.

Behind Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, this is perhaps the greatest book in which the author immerses his reader into the protagonist's soul. The damnable truth of the matter is there is little absurd in Kafka's "absurd" prose. This book grips you in the protagonist's fear, despair, despondency, boldness, and indecisiveness. He can trust no one, and everyone turns out to be his enemy. Just imagine how great the story would be if the author lived to complete it. Alas, maybe it would not be as good at all. Anyway, enjoy this classic tale, and learn how little stands between Kafka's written word, and current day.

I can't "review" The Trial. As George Steiner writes in the introduction: "The thought that there is anything fresh to be said of Franz Kafka's The Trial is implausible." I will however, comment on this particular edition. I have not read any other translation of the novel, but I was satisfied by the job done by Willa and Edwin Muir. The so-called "Definitive Edition" is worth having, not only for the classic translation, but also for the supplemental material: the introductory essay, unfinished chapters, passages deleted by Kafka, excerpts from Kafka's diaries, drawings by Kafka, and Max Brod's postscripts to previous editions.