A simple novel of a planned megachurch....an unpaid Las Vegas mafia team.....a paleontologist with another kind of secret.....and a collector of dinosaur bones with a sexual proclivity that is.....well, tied up in costumes.....the same old stuff.
I got the book as a inexpensive remainder copy....made more valuable because it was signed. As cheap novels....it was ok as a bedtime read, but nothing more.
# 0853
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
"The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period" by W. St. Clair
It is not a simple read, if one were to define a text by its mere volume. And at 765 pages, its a monster of a book. But even if you were to remove the hefty appendices, the breadth of research still comes to the fore with a fluid hand. "The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period" identifies a time of transition, between the mid-18th century, and that of the early to mid-19th century and how this would define not only a nation but the printing strategies and cultural, societal milieu to come. Not a simple book indeed.
The book industry was, for so long, a patronage/cartel run business for much of its early stages. "The romantic period was to see the last sustained attempt by the British state to control the minds of the British people by controlling the print to which they had access." In the manuscript age, where texts were manually produced, church and government had control, in terms of content, and to some extent distribution, and price. The print age created a strong tie with state and business. "Only those members of the [book] industry who were sworn members of the official English church, and whose loyalty to the state was unquestioned, were permitted to" engage in the industry. The steps to modern publishing, and intellectual property rights began, in essence, with the abolition of state censorship in 1695. From there it was still a troublesome path.
Once the church and state broke ties with the book industry it "was now effected by the weight, [and] price". Further "the industry, by building up vested interests in the supply of certain favoured titles, and by its constant awareness of the need to maintain the share price of these properties by rationing the supply, encouraged a tendency towards cultural as well as towards technological obsolescence." The industry, by its control and greed, froze a nation. This lasted for nearly a century, at least up to 1774 when further legislation was enacted; meanwhile other nations developed new printing technologies, and authors were less taxed or at least could be published in another country. This is perhaps the most troublesome discovery of St. Clair's book. In effect, "the losses", by limiting the variety of texts, and propping up the prices so only the higher echelons of society had access, manifested "less literature of all kinds being written and published, less reprinting, less reading, a slow-down in the pace of the diffusion of new ideas, less access to the discoveries of science and medicine by those at the lower tranches [levels] of the book market, less education, more obsolete education, more illiteracy, more ignorance, more unwanted children."
The relationship between author and publisher would evolve. But by looking back at the actually production numbers of books, one can gain a clear impression of the state of the author in his or her time, rather than rely on 21st century historians interpreting "the classics" [by the way, this term originated as a framework of considerate, tender titles and texts suitable for cultured women to read, not the anthological listing of our impressing of literary giants]. For St. Clair access the actual production numbers of works of Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth, Austen and such reveal that Sir Walter Scott "whose verse works were sold in the largest numbers." Shelley, Keats and company, works we now think of a canonical, actually had less of a societal impact when published.
Meanwhile, the United States were only mildly scorched by the brutal heat of the British system of industrial monopoly. Their production was wider [more titles] and less skewed toward aristocracy. A reading populace is an educated populace. "The post-independence intellectual property regime helped the United States to become one of the most modern countries in the world."
In all "The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period" is full of discovery and thought. How the book industry affects a nation is often only brushed over. St. Clair anchors this idea with multitude of facts, not anecdotal quips. If you want to bite into something a little more textually and intellectually engaging, and had a sense of history with a purpose, this not-so little volume would be fulfilling.
#852
The book industry was, for so long, a patronage/cartel run business for much of its early stages. "The romantic period was to see the last sustained attempt by the British state to control the minds of the British people by controlling the print to which they had access." In the manuscript age, where texts were manually produced, church and government had control, in terms of content, and to some extent distribution, and price. The print age created a strong tie with state and business. "Only those members of the [book] industry who were sworn members of the official English church, and whose loyalty to the state was unquestioned, were permitted to" engage in the industry. The steps to modern publishing, and intellectual property rights began, in essence, with the abolition of state censorship in 1695. From there it was still a troublesome path.
Once the church and state broke ties with the book industry it "was now effected by the weight, [and] price". Further "the industry, by building up vested interests in the supply of certain favoured titles, and by its constant awareness of the need to maintain the share price of these properties by rationing the supply, encouraged a tendency towards cultural as well as towards technological obsolescence." The industry, by its control and greed, froze a nation. This lasted for nearly a century, at least up to 1774 when further legislation was enacted; meanwhile other nations developed new printing technologies, and authors were less taxed or at least could be published in another country. This is perhaps the most troublesome discovery of St. Clair's book. In effect, "the losses", by limiting the variety of texts, and propping up the prices so only the higher echelons of society had access, manifested "less literature of all kinds being written and published, less reprinting, less reading, a slow-down in the pace of the diffusion of new ideas, less access to the discoveries of science and medicine by those at the lower tranches [levels] of the book market, less education, more obsolete education, more illiteracy, more ignorance, more unwanted children."
The relationship between author and publisher would evolve. But by looking back at the actually production numbers of books, one can gain a clear impression of the state of the author in his or her time, rather than rely on 21st century historians interpreting "the classics" [by the way, this term originated as a framework of considerate, tender titles and texts suitable for cultured women to read, not the anthological listing of our impressing of literary giants]. For St. Clair access the actual production numbers of works of Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth, Austen and such reveal that Sir Walter Scott "whose verse works were sold in the largest numbers." Shelley, Keats and company, works we now think of a canonical, actually had less of a societal impact when published.
Meanwhile, the United States were only mildly scorched by the brutal heat of the British system of industrial monopoly. Their production was wider [more titles] and less skewed toward aristocracy. A reading populace is an educated populace. "The post-independence intellectual property regime helped the United States to become one of the most modern countries in the world."
In all "The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period" is full of discovery and thought. How the book industry affects a nation is often only brushed over. St. Clair anchors this idea with multitude of facts, not anecdotal quips. If you want to bite into something a little more textually and intellectually engaging, and had a sense of history with a purpose, this not-so little volume would be fulfilling.
#852
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"Melancholies of Knowledge. Literature in the Age of Science", M. A. Safir (ed.)
Frankly I have a limited knowledge base of "literature" and what is popularly considered the same. Sometimes I wonder if literary criticism, at times, is more about creating much ado about nothing, than simply enjoying a good book. That said, I do have some interest in how science is portrayed in the public sphere, as in literature. But who knows anything about Michel Rio and his assemblage of literary takes on science and how it plays in the broader human arena of experience? His books are not commonly in print in English, which makes it even more difficult. Yet, editor Margery Safir obviously does, assembling noted writers of culture, including a scientist or two, to pick apart a Rio's books to see how it all plays out - science and literature.
Frankly (again) I only read the introduction and one chapter. I agree with her that "Rhetoric, textual analysis, questions of style, and modes of expression are recognized in History and Philosophy of Science as crucial to the life of scientific concepts." Science is beyond white lab coats and test tubes. It is a human construct to understand the world around us. However, I disagree with Safir that science has special status in culture. That literature has to make up ground. "Are authors of fiction" she asks "seeking to share in the power and authority that contemporary society accords science?" Because of our collective ignoring of science, as a society, this is simply not true (a rant best saved for a specific essay).
Still, I wanted to hear what Stephen Jay Gould had to say. A follower of his, one who appreciates learning through his digressions on science and culture, I found his essay on Rio's Dreaming Jungles. Gould states the obvious of literature and science: "This form of "iffy" history [the incorporation of the two - I won't say cultures] can be so fascinating as a source of conjecture about alternative plausible pathways for our cultural lives." Where I found pause to concern is his final statement. "We need the integration of our disciplines, the end to false and extreme dichotomizations, the recognition that we cannot grasp human uniqueness unless we both practice art and understand science." That we as a society must all participate in art, but only understand and not participate in science. Here again a scientist has lofted science to a higher status. For this is a failure of society: to appreciate the technological and basic science that surrounds us, and a failure too of scientist in successfully translating and incorporating the ACT of doing science.
#0856
Frankly (again) I only read the introduction and one chapter. I agree with her that "Rhetoric, textual analysis, questions of style, and modes of expression are recognized in History and Philosophy of Science as crucial to the life of scientific concepts." Science is beyond white lab coats and test tubes. It is a human construct to understand the world around us. However, I disagree with Safir that science has special status in culture. That literature has to make up ground. "Are authors of fiction" she asks "seeking to share in the power and authority that contemporary society accords science?" Because of our collective ignoring of science, as a society, this is simply not true (a rant best saved for a specific essay).
Still, I wanted to hear what Stephen Jay Gould had to say. A follower of his, one who appreciates learning through his digressions on science and culture, I found his essay on Rio's Dreaming Jungles. Gould states the obvious of literature and science: "This form of "iffy" history [the incorporation of the two - I won't say cultures] can be so fascinating as a source of conjecture about alternative plausible pathways for our cultural lives." Where I found pause to concern is his final statement. "We need the integration of our disciplines, the end to false and extreme dichotomizations, the recognition that we cannot grasp human uniqueness unless we both practice art and understand science." That we as a society must all participate in art, but only understand and not participate in science. Here again a scientist has lofted science to a higher status. For this is a failure of society: to appreciate the technological and basic science that surrounds us, and a failure too of scientist in successfully translating and incorporating the ACT of doing science.
#0856
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
"Lempriere's Dictionary" by L. Norfolk
There are reasons books are remaindered, returned to their publishers for disposal. Some of these still are good works, with no fault to the authors. Others are obvious. And, after 152 pages, about a third of the book, I had no choice but to 'remainder' the book myself, thanks to the author. From the beginning, a thread was hard to pick up. There seemed no reasoning for the story....no pick up between the tales that were spun. You knew that somewhere there was a 'dictionary', something I had hoped that would start to tie the threads together (even loosely) .....but no. After 152 pages of abbreviated scenes...there was no choice but to find a dusty place on the shelf, and squeeze in another title. For this is my remaindering pile.
#0850
#0850
"Cemetery Dance" by D. Preston & L. Child
Not their best work. The two began this series with Relic, about things that go bump in the museum night, with a small character, FBI agent Pendergast. Reminiscent of an X-File case, the character has blossomed through nine books. Each one peeling away another layer of this mysterious, rogue-ish character, except for this latest. Cemetery Dance is a straight-on storey with cultish dimension, a story that could have been written on card board. Hopefully the authors will return in years time (usually in August) with a new tale with a strong subplot. One that suggest revealing another Pendergast layer.
#0851
#0851
Saturday, July 11, 2009
"Thornton and Tully's Scientific Books, Libraries and Collectors", A. Hunter (ed.)
The vehicle upon which scientific ideas are delivered have changed somewhat over the centuries. This volume articulates this evolution from ancient script and scribe, through the earliest moments of "book" publishing, through to the 20th century. This may seem like a specialist niche of inquiry, and it likely is. Yet, it is an often overused cliche of "if it weren't for this" the importance and cultural nuance of the printed word would not be understood.
This volume contains jewels of discoveries much like the efforts of understanding nature and universe itself. Without dissecting each chapter, the breadth of science can be picked apart. Linnaeus's binomial creation in biology was done "originally as a means of economizing ... paper [my emphasis]." Anyone familiar with Linnaeus would have understood the economy of naming but they likely would not have understood the paper aspect.
Or Johannes Kepler usage of the book as a means to a less altruistic end, beyond the delivering of scientific ideas. "Kepler's willingness to give away copies of the book indicates that he saw the book's value not necessarily as monetary, but as an important tool in obtaining patronage and positions." Even as we move forward to the 19th century the characterizations are still valued. "The communication of novel scientific knowledge in the nineteenth century between scientific practitioners can be characterized, without overly great simplification, as the move from books to papers." Journals began taking over in the delivery of the scientific printed word.
There is still a significant diastema between historians of science and scientists as historians. I never understood this because as a practicum for my own learning, I learned through the history of science, and then through my own particular branch of science. I am fortunate, I guess, that my science is a 'historical science', never able to get away from the men (and indeed), women who created the parameters of my own activity. For that I am blessed (if I can use that term), for I am both. "Thornton and Tully's Scientific Books, Libraries and Collectors" satisfies my own inquisitive nature in this regard, and likely historians of science as well. Sadly, scientists as historians have the likelihood (based on one of the studies presented) of passing this up, for the basis of the history of science is 'the book', and scientists are less likely to collect 'the book' or understand its significance and role in the development of society. To me, this is a sad reality. And as we move to a more digitial age I worry for the printed word. Will the book be an article of inquiry like the natural history of the dodo?
#0849
This volume contains jewels of discoveries much like the efforts of understanding nature and universe itself. Without dissecting each chapter, the breadth of science can be picked apart. Linnaeus's binomial creation in biology was done "originally as a means of economizing ... paper [my emphasis]." Anyone familiar with Linnaeus would have understood the economy of naming but they likely would not have understood the paper aspect.
Or Johannes Kepler usage of the book as a means to a less altruistic end, beyond the delivering of scientific ideas. "Kepler's willingness to give away copies of the book indicates that he saw the book's value not necessarily as monetary, but as an important tool in obtaining patronage and positions." Even as we move forward to the 19th century the characterizations are still valued. "The communication of novel scientific knowledge in the nineteenth century between scientific practitioners can be characterized, without overly great simplification, as the move from books to papers." Journals began taking over in the delivery of the scientific printed word.
There is still a significant diastema between historians of science and scientists as historians. I never understood this because as a practicum for my own learning, I learned through the history of science, and then through my own particular branch of science. I am fortunate, I guess, that my science is a 'historical science', never able to get away from the men (and indeed), women who created the parameters of my own activity. For that I am blessed (if I can use that term), for I am both. "Thornton and Tully's Scientific Books, Libraries and Collectors" satisfies my own inquisitive nature in this regard, and likely historians of science as well. Sadly, scientists as historians have the likelihood (based on one of the studies presented) of passing this up, for the basis of the history of science is 'the book', and scientists are less likely to collect 'the book' or understand its significance and role in the development of society. To me, this is a sad reality. And as we move to a more digitial age I worry for the printed word. Will the book be an article of inquiry like the natural history of the dodo?
#0849
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
"According to their Deeds" by Paul Robertson
My addiction is pretty plain and simple. It is books. It always has been, likely always will be. For that, if anything, is illustrative of some consistency in my life. I am enamoured with writing, how authors compose sentence structure and arguments. I marvel more so at the pre-20th century writers where conviction and prose matter most even if their words, in sum, amounted to only a hill of beans. Very dry, pruned beans at times. And yet, I wonder at how they do it.
My addiction, and there is no other way to explain it, leads me to buy and read books about books. Their history as an object, their evolution, their impact on culture and society. For this books are written about. But I also found a niche of fiction; of booksellers' unwittingly caught in a web of intrigue and danger. And this is harder to find. Yes, there are exceptions. There are a few authors who have capitalized on this genre, if it's meagre size qualifies as a "genre", and who have likely made some good coin on it. Paul Robertson, however, won't be one of them. According to their Deeds is a cardboard, thinly put together tale of a bookstore owner who discovers a few items in a book that lead him to discover and offer forgiveness to a blackmailers list and the soul of the blackmailer. For this to work the characters are in need of some depth beyond simple dialogue, in need of fleshing out, in need of forgiveness by the reader. And Paul Robertson sadly fails.
There was potential. A thread of flashback scenes between the saintly protagonist and the spider laying his web of deceit. Here they meet, unwittingly of one, across an aged chess board, the dichotomy of good and evil, in game, and in words. Philosophers are argued, their lives summed up, their worth measured and weighed. Here was Robertson's potential to explore and develop a heartful plot. Here, across a chess board, life and lives could have been explored. Instead, we endure the booksellers pun-ish nature with a past that would have been punishingly heavy if were allowed to unfold.
And instead, my craving moves on. Pleading forgiveness for my bookish sins (and there have been a few), now myself even wary of the absurdity of wanting to read everything I can. Something I couldn't say at a bibliophile anonymous meeting a few years ago. I have other titles to go to. And there certainly are other literary fictions in want of a reader. And I would certainly recommend others to avoid this one. Another sin awaits behind another dust jacket.
No. 0848
My addiction, and there is no other way to explain it, leads me to buy and read books about books. Their history as an object, their evolution, their impact on culture and society. For this books are written about. But I also found a niche of fiction; of booksellers' unwittingly caught in a web of intrigue and danger. And this is harder to find. Yes, there are exceptions. There are a few authors who have capitalized on this genre, if it's meagre size qualifies as a "genre", and who have likely made some good coin on it. Paul Robertson, however, won't be one of them. According to their Deeds is a cardboard, thinly put together tale of a bookstore owner who discovers a few items in a book that lead him to discover and offer forgiveness to a blackmailers list and the soul of the blackmailer. For this to work the characters are in need of some depth beyond simple dialogue, in need of fleshing out, in need of forgiveness by the reader. And Paul Robertson sadly fails.
There was potential. A thread of flashback scenes between the saintly protagonist and the spider laying his web of deceit. Here they meet, unwittingly of one, across an aged chess board, the dichotomy of good and evil, in game, and in words. Philosophers are argued, their lives summed up, their worth measured and weighed. Here was Robertson's potential to explore and develop a heartful plot. Here, across a chess board, life and lives could have been explored. Instead, we endure the booksellers pun-ish nature with a past that would have been punishingly heavy if were allowed to unfold.
And instead, my craving moves on. Pleading forgiveness for my bookish sins (and there have been a few), now myself even wary of the absurdity of wanting to read everything I can. Something I couldn't say at a bibliophile anonymous meeting a few years ago. I have other titles to go to. And there certainly are other literary fictions in want of a reader. And I would certainly recommend others to avoid this one. Another sin awaits behind another dust jacket.
No. 0848
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