Dawn * * * * * * * * * (9)by Elie Wiesel
Book Reviews: Classics
& Contemporary Classics
© Copyright 1999-2005, Skylar Hamilton Burris
The reviews below are arranged in alphabetical order BY TITLE.
Adam Bede * * *
* * * * (7)
by George Eliot
Adam Bede is a story about love, self-deception, religious feeling, innocence, and experience. It would not be an unfit introduction to Eliot, though Middlemarch is by far her superior novel.
I am awed by Eliot's psychological insight into human personality. Her characters are some of the most vivid in all of literary history, and her ability to penetrate to the very heart of human motivation is unrivaled. She presents her story with wit and subtle sarcasm. (Take, for instance, this tongue-in-cheek comment: "Of course, I know that, as a rule, sensible men fall in love with the most sensible women of their acquaintance, see through all the pretty deceits of coquettish beauty, never imagine themselves loved when they are not loved, cease loving on all proper occasions, and marry the woman most fitted for them in every respect. . . . But even to this rule an exception will occur now and then in the lapse of centuries, and my friend Adam was one.")
Eliot's command of English is deeply impressive, and this book is worth reading just for the beauty of the language. But the story is quite interesting as well, and you will come to care about and sympathize with the characters. It is not a fast paced book, and it will require an investment of time and intellect. But it is well worth reading.
Quote: "Yes! Thank God; human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth: it does not wait for beauty--it flows with resistless force and brings beauty with it."
The Awakening * * * * * (5)
by Kate Chopin
This book is labeled a classic because it is considered to be one of the earliest feminist novels. I suspect the message of The Awakening may not be as feminist as the feminists would like. (It seems to me to have a lot more to do with the contrast between two cultures, Anglo and Creole.) But it must be a feminist novel, because the main character engages in a profound and courageous assault on the domineering patriarchal establishment: she commits adultery and then kills herself! (Adultery appears to be the darling of the feminists; see Madame Bovary.)
The easy thing about being a woman in the late 20th century is that I don't have to think for myself--the feminists do it for me. These oppressive men in my life, they're always expecting me to read and become informed and assimilate information in order to be able to draw and rationally support my own conclusions. Womyn, that's too much work! Just give me some good old N.O.W. slogans and preformulated opinions, and I won't have to bother with all that thinking nonsense.
Returning from my digression--at least the novelette is well written and easy to read, and it also makes a good study in symbolism. For my paper on symbolism in the novel, click here.
The Blithedale Romance * * * * * (5)
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Hawthorne expresses his cynical attitude toward Utopian reformers in this novel. The narrator, Miles Coverdale, visits a Utopian commune (Blithedale Farm) where he interacts with a haughty, seductive woman named Zenobia and a timid creature named Priscilla. He meets the philanthropist Hollingsworth, who is so intent on reforming humanity that he does not have much concern for individual men and women. But all of these characters seem to have a secret and mysterious past, which is largely revealed but never fully explained by the end of the novel (at least not to my satisfaction). The story is rather bleak; it is confusing in parts, and it is difficult to tell whether or not you can fully trust the narrator's perspective. But it is somewhat interesting, and as usual with Hawthorne's novels, there are some deep insights and memorable characters.
Quote: He had taught his benevolence to pour its warm tide exclusively through one channel; so that there was nothing to spare for other great manifestations of love to man, nor scarcely for the nutriment of individual attachments, unless they could minister, in some way, to the terrible egotism which he mistook for an angel of God.
Brave New World * * * * * * * * * (9)
by Aldous Huxley
"Only a large-scale popular movement toward decentralization and self-help can arrest the present tendency toward statism," writes Huxley in his foreword to Brave New World. Even in the United States, which is one of the freest societies on earth, there seems to be no hope that the people will lead a charge for personal responsibility. Increasingly, the people have come to rely upon the state as a provider, and they are demanding ever more entitlements, insisting on increasingly fewer personal struggles, and surrendering more and more everyday liberties. "A really efficient totalitarian state," continues Huxley, "would be one in which the all-powerful executive of political bosses and their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced, because they love their servitude. To make them love it is the task assigned . . . to ministries of propaganda, newspaper editors, and schoolteachers." This is a picture that sounds all to familiar to the real conservative or the modern day libertarian.
In Brave New World, first published in 1932, Huxley paints the picture of a world that is willing to surrender true joy for a bland happiness free of suffering, that is willing to abandon truth for comfort, that is willing to eschew heights in order to avoid depths, and that is quick to surrender human ambition and individual personality for the sake of societal harmony. It is a frightening presentation, precisely because it does not seem too improbable.
Huxley's writing is not particularly impressive of itself; he has no special flowery gift when it comes to use of the English language, but he tells a mesmerizing story. Brave New World is a quick read, and it has a strong impact. Sadly, despite all of the many (dis)utopian novels, mankind continues to turn to the state as its saviour, and it continues to surrender real freedom in order to be liberated from the burden of personal responsibility.
The Brothers Karamazov * * * * * * * * *
* (10)
by Fyodor Dostoevsky
This novel would lead me to believe that all Russian women are virtual psychopaths and all Russian men muddled philosophers. But for all of its curious characterizations, The Brothers Karamazov is a masterfully written epic, and once I had plodded past the first 40 pages or so, I was enthralled. Fascinated by the brothers, anxious to know their destinies, and stimulated by the depth of the novel's religious speculations, I read on. To really follow The Brothers Karamzov (as with the works of most Russian authors), it is necessary to keep a chart of the characters' names. The plot, however, is not excessively complicated, despite the many fascinating sub-stories told throughout. These sub-plots are ultimately tied into the lives of the Brothers.
As a story, Brothers Karamazov is good enough, but as a penetrating catalogue of religious, political, psychological, and ethical thought, it is even better. Dostoevsky wrestles with the great questions of Christianity: the problem of evil, the burden of free will, the power of temptation, and the frailty of faith. He depicts the growing deadly influence of socialist indoctrination and considers man's inhumanity to man, his vanity, and his enduring hope. A deeply religious work, Brothers Karamazov will make the complacent believer think with greater seriousness about the questions of theodicy, collective guilt, and grace. All of this heavy thought is dispensed in beautiful language against the backdrop of an intriguing murder mystery and tension-wrought trial.
My only disappointment was that the book did not go far enough, that certain groundwork the author laid early in the novel was not fully developed later because Doestevsky died before he could complete it. A complaint of brevity may sound absurd given that the novel is well over 700 pages, but I wished to read more of the fates of the brothers. Is Ivan fully redeemed? Does Dimitri cling to his new-found self-discovery, or does he fall back again into spiritual sloth? How is the future Father Zossima prophesied for Alyosha finally fulfilled? Despite its incompleteness, the reader will still experience the overwhelming power of Dostoevsky's brilliant work.
The Color Purple * * * * (4)
by Alice Walker
This was not nearly as difficult to read as I had thought it would be. I approached it with dread. But Walker is actually a decent writer; she draws her characters well and is far from dull. Nevertheless, I found the pantheistic message of the book to be unconvincing and the liberal treatment of sexuality to be slightly repulsive. In this novel, homosexual experimentation is healing, wife sharing has its good points, and even rapists and wife beaters turn out just fine in the end. The unconvincing "conversion" of Cecie's husband is probably necessitated by the pantheistic attitude which permeates the book. If God is in everything, nothing and no one can be evil--but it's hard to find a way to explain away the evil of abuse, so the change of character is convenient.
Dawn * * * * * * * * * (9)
by Elie Wiesel
Dawn is a beautifully written but disturbing novel about an Israeli terrorist waiting to assassinate a British officer in retaliation for the hanging of an Israeli. This novel evokes a great deal of thought about stopping violence with violence and hate with hate. Reflecting on the persecution the Jews have suffered, the young assassin Elisha says: "Now our only chance lies in hating you, in learning the necessity of the art of hate." However, the novel seems ultimately to say that hatred must be fought, or else we are lost.
Quote: "Where is God to be found? In suffering or rebellion? When is a man most truly a man? When he submits or when he refuses?"
Fathers and Sons * * * * * * * * * * *
(10)
by Ivan Turgenev
Fathers and Sons comes very close to perfection. At times, Turgenev's use of the language borders on poetry. The characters are intriguing and sympathetic. The novel deals beautifully with man's inability to live without holding something sacred, and its tragic "hero" goes to the grave realizing that he has been trying to fill that void with "straw" instead of something more meaningful--like faith, or family, or true love. Some critics have said that Turgenev supported the "nihilists," the young men who scoffed at all things sacred. They say Bazarov is the hero of the novel, intended to be idolized. But I consider it impossible to read Fathers and Sons and not be moved by a deep need to hold something--anything--sacred.
Quote: Can it be that their prayers, their tears are fruitless? Can it be that love, sacred, devoted love, is not all powerful? Oh, no! However passionate, sinful and rebellious the heart that has gone into the grave, the flowers growing over it peep serenely at us with their innocent eyes; they tell us not of eternal peace alone, of that great tranquility of "indifferent" nature; they tell us, too, of eternal reconciliation and of life without end.
The
Fountain Head * * * * * * * (7)
by Ayn Rand, 1943
And yet Roark is himself the quintessential intellectual, who shares the same failing of the intellectuals who created Communism, Nazism, and the other “altruistic evils”; that is, he is capable of loving man in the abstract but incapable of loving him in the particular: “One can’t love man without hating most of the creatures who pretend to bear his name.”
The Fountainhead expresses
an individualism that is uniquely American, and it is therefore surprising that The Fountainhead, as far as I know, has never been
in the running for the title of “The Great American Novel.” Of course, although it emphasizes that
individualism has made our nation great (and it has), it must of necessity ignore and
dismiss another progressive force in our nation’s history—American Christianity. As a Christian and a conservative capitalist,
I find myself torn by her philosophy; at one moment I find it rational and alluring, at
the next, a dangerous and subtle lie, a despicable display of man worshiping his own
creation rather than his Creator. Her
philosophy stands in stark contrast to the collectivism which was then sweeping the world
in an ocean of blood. “It has
reached,” says Roark, “a scale of horror without precedent. It has poisoned every mind. It has swallowed most of
So what about the story? Despite
the copious philosophical dialogue, the story is not sacrificed to create an ethical
treatise. The characters are
fascinating, very well-developed, and the story is at times gripping. However, the relationship between our hero and
heroine is never fully convincing to me, and I find it highly disturbing that
The Fountainhead is a tale of both defeat and triumph. It is depressing and exalting, inviting and repugnant. And its philosophy, like all great lies, contains an enormous amount of truth.
George Washington Gomez * * * * * (6)
by Amerigo Paredes
Here's another book I didn't expect to be able to tolerate. I thought it would be just one more tale about the stereotypical, evil white man. But it was much more complex than that. Paredes at least dabbles in both sides of the issue, and he does a fine job of describing the dual personality that can develop in a Mexican-American due to competing cultural forces. The ending of the novel does seem abrupt--largely because it is short and unexpected, but I think this abruptness helps to create a rather powerful and shocking irony. Nevertheless, I am unable to appreciate the intense anti-assimilation message that prevails (despite the occasional complexities introduced), and I can't help but think it is immoral to force people to remain in cultural molds or to label them traitors when they desire to assimilate. One more note: Paredes draws a fine portrait of childhood and youth, which is what really makes the book readable. He seems to have a special talent in this area.
The House of Seven Gables * * * * * * * (7)
This mysterious novel about a cursed family and its mansion is one of Hawthorne's few works with a happy ending. Perhaps Hawthorne, when he wrote it, had come to some degree of peace with the curse that was rumored to have been placed upon his own family. The novel is interesting, and it contains some profound insights. It boasts one of Hawthorne's "reformer" characters, Holgrave. Hawthorne did not seem to have much faith in reform and reformers, but Holgrave is a more sympathetic character than Hawthorne's other reformers, because he is portrayed as an optimistic youth who will eventually outgrow the excesses of his reformative tendencies.
Quote: "It seemed to Holgrave--as doubtless it has seemed to the hopeful of every century since the epoch of Adam's grandchildren--that in this age, more than ever before, the moss-grown and rotten past is to be torn down, and lifeless institutions to be thrust out of the way, and their dead corpses buried, and everything to begin anew . . . His error lay in supposing that this age, more than any other, is destined to see the tattered garments of Antiquity exchanged for a new suit, instead of gradually renewing themselves by patchwork . . . in fancying that it mattered anything to the great end in view whether he himself should contend for or against it . . . And when, with the years settling down more weightily upon him, his early faith should be modified by inevitable experience, it would be with no harsh and sudden revolution of his sentiments. He would still have faith in man's brightening destiny . . . and the haughty faith, with which he began life, would be well bartered for a far humbler one at its close, in discerning that man's best directed effort accomplishes a kind of dream, while God is the sole worker of realities."
In Cold Blood * * * * * * * * * (9)
by Truman Capote
In this compelling true crime novel, Truman Capote tells the story of the shocking murder of a family on a Kansas farm. He traces the actions, feelings, and life of the victims; the plans, motivations, and thoughts of the murderers; and the anxiety, helplessness, and concern of the police. The story switches back and forth between the perspectives of the victims, the police, and the murderers. It is always suspenseful and impossible to put down. Capote's skill as a narrator is utterly amazing. The tale itself is disturbingly fascinating. Indeed, truth is stranger than fiction.
Middlemarch * * * * * * * * * * (10)
by George Eliot
Having been slightly bored by Silas Marner, I was not expecting much gratification from this massive tome. But I had heard good things about Middlemarch from others, so I steeled myself and dug in. I was quite figuratively blown-away by the quality of writing. It is not just that Eliot is an excellent satirist, but that she makes penetrating psychological insights and crafts very well-developed, imminently human characters, who are sympathetic despite their faults. She also exhibits a brilliant mastery of the English language, describing both internal and external scenes in the most beautiful of terms. Middlemarch is not an easy read; there are multiple characters with complex relationships to one another, and the threads of their singular lives are eventually thoroughly tied up into one another. I found that keeping note cards on the family trees of the various characters was of assistance when reading. But once you have established who everyone is, the complexity of the novel is no longer a hindrance, and it may be read as lightly and quickly as any work of fiction. The plot line is interesting enough, but it is the personalities of the characters that are truly gripping. I cannot recall a single novel that has stimulated my intellect as deeply, or drawn upon my emotions as expertly, or commanded my respect as fully as Middlemarch. I cannot issue a higher recommendation.
Quote: "Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."
Northanger Abbey * * * * * * * * * *
(10)
by Jane Austen
When I first read Northanger Abbey as a teenager, I thought it little more than a clever, entertaining parody on the gothic romance genre, and a rather captivating romance story itself. Upon my second reading, however, I now see it only secondarily as a parody, and primarily as a satire on the duplicitous nature of civilized man, including (but not limited to) an exposé of the games courting men and women play. Northanger Abbey is very well written, and though it lack the subtlety of Austen’s later novels, it is certainly her funniest. I began my second reading with the intention of highlighting all of the humorous sections, but after I had turned an entire page yellow, I desisted. Take, for example, the fabulous opening description of our heroine’s father, as only Jane Austen could phrase it: "Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard . . . and he was not in the least addicted to locking up his daughters."
Despite its general failure to receive the kind of critical acclaim that has been heaped on her other novels, I think Northanger Abbey is a real contender for Jane Austen’s best book. Henry Tilney is, at least, among her most appealing and interesting protagonists, described by the heroine herself as—and this is instantly intriguing—"strange." Many diverting scenes result from the contrast between Henry’s wry wit and our heroine’s innocence (for, as Henry says, Catherine’s "mind is warped by an innate principle of general integrity"). No one who enjoys a good laugh should ever overlook this book.
Quote: "Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind, is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing any thing, should conceal it as well as she can."
The Oath * * * * * * (5)
by Elie Wiesel
Two of my favorite books come from the pen of Elie Wiesel. I was excited, therefore, to find his novel The Oath in a used bookstore, especially when I read that The Washington Star called it “Wiesel’s most ambitious, most rewarding story to date . . . Episodes of sheer beauty and power.” Unfortunately, Part One of the book (which one must slug through before reaching the narrative in Parts Two and Three) is just that—a mere series of “episodes.” As a whole, it does not form a clear narrative, and it is in general a great (and ultimately unrewarding) chore to piece these episodes together.
In the frame story with which The Oath begins, an old man is speaking with a young man who is on the verge of suicide. The old man is attempting to deter the younger man from self-destruction, because as the Talmud says, “to turn a single human back toward life is to prevent the destruction of the world.” The old man has taken an oath not to reveal a tragic event that haunts his past, but he constantly alludes to it, strewing about hints like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Most of the first part of the novel, however, consists not of dialogue, but of stream of conscious thoughts and random flashbacks.
Wiesel is a very powerful writer, and he has produced some true masterpieces, among which are Night and Dawn. But Part One of The Oath, unlike these other novels, is largely inaccessible. The language is highly poetic and seems, on the surface, to be profound. But if the reader were actually to search the sentences for concrete meaning, it would in all likelihood allude him. Random thoughts, images, and events float about in a sea of prose. Wiesel is, above all else, a kind of prose poet, and he plays with language in a way most writers cannot. But the first purpose of language is to communicate, and where communication is lacking, mere ambiance and poetry cannot compensate. Whatever the academics may say, a work of literature is not great simply because it is difficult to understand.
Nevertheless, if you are able to wade through the first part of the novel, you will be rewarded in the second and third. Here Wiesel switches to a traditional narrative, with dialogue and action. And here the author is in good form, using concise prose and simple structures to create psychologically complex characters, powerful scenes, and thought-provoking dialogue. In the later parts of the novel, Wiesel tells the secret story that lies behind the oath, and he tells it with great skill.
If you are new to the works of Elie Wiesel, I recommend reading Night or Dawn first. If you already appreciate his works, you may want to tackle The Oath, but be prepared to pay a price in the first part of the novel for the rewards of the last.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man *
* * * (4)
by James Joyce
Although the stream of conscious style is not as disjointed in A Portrait as it is in some of Joyce's other works, it can still be quite annoying at times. There is some good dialogue in the book and a few thought provoking statements, and the hellfire sermon is superbly written. But for the most part the novel is just a pretentious anti-everything narrative. Stephen's tendency to cast aside whatever fails to provide him with instant gratification frustrates me. Perhaps I am supposed to admire Stephen for rising above the institutions of country, family, and religion to be reborn as an artist, but his selfishness ultimately infuriates me. He sacrifices family and religion for an empty aesthetic system. Cranly's response is a real challenge to Stephen. When Stephen refuses to take communion for his mother's sake because he no longer believes in the religion (actually, I'd argue he believes it but is rejecting it because it is inconvenient, not because it is untrue), Cranly tells him:
"Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not. Your mother brings you into the world, carries you first in her body. What do we know about what she feels? But whatever she feels, it, at least, must be real. It must be. What are our ideas or ambitions? Play. Ideas! Every jackass going down the road thinks he has ideas."
The Professor * * * * * * (6)
by Charlotte Bronte
What if Jane Eyre had been written from the point of view of Rochester? Would
he have seemed more manipulative, more self-centered? Would readers have allowed
themselves to be swept away by Jane's passion, and to desire its fruition? In The
Professor, Charlotte Bronte narrates the tale from the viewpoint of the male
protagonist, and I must confess to finding him frequently unsympathetic. Without
seeing this character from the eyes of his affection's object, it is difficult to
appreciate him. He too often comes off sounding pious and condescending.
There are moments when the narrator acknowledges his vulnerabilities, but this is usually
in order to display his virtue in resisting temptation. Like Jane Eyre, the professor
insists on following the stern voice of conscience rather than the warm pull of passion,
and the moral of both books is the same: flee temptation. The Professor,
however, is more obviously evenagelical than Bronte's later work, and these scenes of
moral struggle and victory appear more strained, more self-satisfied than in Jane Eyre.
The difference may simply be one of narration; perhaps I am more inclined to accept
didacticism from a female narrator than from a male, authoritarian voice. The
professor's strength is less impressive, perhaps, because he is less vulnerable in 19th
century society than a woman would be. The risks he takes for his values are
slightly smaller than the risks Jane Eyre assumes. More importantly, his resistance of
temptation sometimes smacks more of pride than of virtue. He seems alternately dominering
and liberal; indeed, the book as a whole contains a rather odd mixture of feminism and
male authoritarianism.
Despite my inability to fully relate to and admire the protagonist, and despite the annoyance of repeated anti-Catholic thrusts, I found this book to be interesting. It does have many moments of penetrating insight, couched in almost poetic language. I was impressed by the way Bronte weaved scripture and literary allusion so constantly into her work (even if Mrs. Gaskell did consider such means of quoting scripture to be profane). And the book is well enough written to keep me curious of the outcome, even if I do not precisely adore the narrator. The other primary character, Frances, appears at first docile, and then suddenly seems transformed into a vocal feminist. She appears to feel her inferiority, and then to assert her perogative. We do not get to know her as we know Jane Eyre, because we can only see her through the eyes of the professor, and his narration seems, at times, slightly unreliable. I do not know that Bronte intended it to be; but as a reader, I hesitate to accept fully the narrator's pronouncement on all matters.
The Professor, Bronte's first novel, was never published in her own lifetime. But it is, in fact, more concise and better structured than Jane Eyre. Nevertheless, the book is simply not as likeable as Bronte's later classic. It is an enjoyable and comparatively easy read, but it does not make as profound an impression on the mind. Indeed, there is a sort of feeling of incompletness to the tale. As a reader, I got the impression that the narrator was, at the close of the novel, painting a happy picture of marital harmony, but underneath this seemed to course tiny hints of something darker. That something darker may have been a figment of my imagination, or it may have been an undeveloped theme. One of the most interesting characters in the book, however, is certainly undeveloped. Hundsen makes an appearance towards the beginning of the novel, disappearing from the tale for many chapters, before returning to capture the reader's interest once again. He is sometimes likeable, at others off-putting, depending on the lens of the narrator, and he seems to demand a book unto himself. This, however, we do not receive, and we are left instead with the story of the professor. (Review added 2/03)
Quote: "Right! as if it were right to crush any pleasurable sentiment that God has given to man, especially any sentiment that, like patritoism, spreads man's selfishness in wider circles."
The Scarlet Letter * * * * * * (7)
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Nathaniel Hawthorne's tale of adultery, revenge, and repentance in Puritan New England is slow at first and dull at times, but ultimately rewarding. There is little in the character of Arthur Dimmesdale to please the reader, but the villain Chillingworth is portrayed as alternately despicable and sympathetic. Modern critics have attempted to temper the moral overtones of this novel; and although it does imply condemnation of the excesses of Puritanism, it also clearly labels adultery as a sin, and a very harmful one at that.
Quote: The founders of a colony, whatever utopia of human virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognized it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the sight of a prison.
Slaughterhouse Five * * * *
* * * (7)
by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
I finally read the Vonnegut book that is considered a contemporary classic. I'm not sure what pushes it over into the classic category--probably the simple fact that it is an anti-war book. Vonnegut's wit is the same as ever. As usual, outlandish things happen--the main character is kidnapped and displayed in a zoo on Tralfamagador, where he is expected to mate with the model Montana Wildhack. Even the infamous Kilgoure Trout plays a part. I suppose you could interpret it as a serious novel if you assume Billy Pilgrim is experiencing some psychological problem relating to the war, instead of really being abducted by aliens. Vonnegut's classic cynicism is apparent--after any death, whether a million Jews or a million lice, he concludes, "So it goes." But the indifference and cynicism is meant to be ironic, the overarching point being that we should at least try to improve life on this earth, instead of believing, or acting like we believe, as do the Tralfamagordians, that every moment is "structured that way," that there is nothing we can do to change any event. As the narrator says, "If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamagordians is true, I am not overjoyed."
Kurt Vonngeut is, above all else, an entertaining writer. He describes himself as "a fourth-generation German-American now living in easy circumstances on Cape Cod [and smoking too much]...." His bizarre plots and expert humor will keep you interested and amused. However, at times Vonnegut can be deeply cynical. After reading several of his novels, the reader may begin to sense something beneath the wit and the humor--a constant theme of utter hopelessness for mankind.
|
|
[ Website Contents | Book Reviews ]
Last Revised: Sunday January 02, 2005 10:59 AM -0500
