In Part Three, "The High Mountains of Portugal" opened up my mind to an idea. What if God were a companiable chimpanzee? Living with him would compelIn Part Three, "The High Mountains of Portugal" opened up my mind to an idea. What if God were a companiable chimpanzee? Living with him would compel us to change the most basic things in our lives --- from how we organize the kitchen and where we sleep to how we spend our days. Gone would be God as abstraction and complication, gone the heavy books that tire our eyes, gone the internet chatter, gone the so forth. Then we might see the rhinoceros in our garden. Then, we might die more peacefully. What an excellent dream.
I am not quite sure what to think of the first two parts of the book --- the exceptionally painful double-story of the first part and the lovely sadness of the "poetically" magical second part. Perhaps they lay the groundwork for the third part. That is, they narrate that the good life arises from below in the here-and-now rather than from above in the world of abstraction. Or they tell us that the third part is possible only after suffering and desire. I have no idea.
Now Karl Marx had lots of good ideas. But I would guess that, if he wrote a novel, it would be a clunker. So, it's fair to ask whether THMOP is a good book. Here, I am not totally satisfied. There is lush language and fantastic metaphors, but I don't think a book can stand on accessories. This book does have a core, but I think the narration is a little contrived. I am the first to admit that I may be dealing with matters of taste --- exaggerated eccentricity or magical realism do not work for me. They work in poetry for me, but not in prose fiction. What I say does not apply to the third part which has all of the rationality and groundedness of The Life of Pi.
That third part is great. May the chimp be with you!
The title of this book is, I assume, a translation of the Italian original. If so, it is a sport of the author. All through the book, I am led to beliThe title of this book is, I assume, a translation of the Italian original. If so, it is a sport of the author. All through the book, I am led to believe that the "Brilliant Friend" is Lila. After all, the book is written by Lenuccia, and she describes Lila as totally brilliant and herself as the plodding scholar. But towards the end of the book, Lila calls Lenuccia "my brilliant friend". And so we are left to reflect on the value or calibre of Lenuccia's consciousness; we are left with a need to reinterpret her. The need, the title, Lenuccia's descriptions of Lila, and Lila's remark to Lenuccia, indicate the degree to which Lenuccia has identified herself as Lila. She does this through the whole book --- in her own mind, she is in competition with Lila --- in studying, boyfriends, etc. --- in order to become the better Lila or, sometimes, better than Lila. Fascinating. What an interesting view of friendship as rivalry, different from the view of friendship as encouragement to excel in virtue. Both are a kind of love, but Lenuccia's is more painful.
The pain is enhanced by the natural pain of adolescence, the desperation of the poor to get ahead, the self-destructiveness of the poor to prevent it, the customary life of family and neighborhood, the lovelessness (except on the part of some of the perceptive teachers), the whole eerie pagan world of Naples.
Thank you, Ms. or Miss or Mrs. or Mr. Ferrante or whoever you are!
I had the privilege of reading The Canterbury Tales (in a more or less Middle English version from the Guttenberg website ) while staying in Emilia RoI had the privilege of reading The Canterbury Tales (in a more or less Middle English version from the Guttenberg website ) while staying in Emilia Romagna in Italy, specifically in the Province of Parma. I am privileged because this is definitely a place Chaucer visited on embassy for his monarch. It is speculated from a passage in the Tales that Chaucer knew Petrarc, and the Via Petrarca with a house Petrach owned is just up the street from me. But also Chaucer mentions in The Clerk's Tale how one comes down from the Alps to a fruitful plain filled with, well, good things to eat and castles. And that is still the case here: There are castles all over, and people still love prosciutto and parmesan cheese, for example, which are both of early origin. Chaucer also mentions in The Shipman's Tale a couple of the local wines --- Malvasia and what he calls a "vernage" --- which I take to be Gutturnio, which is a wine from Vernasca or Vernaggia in the next-door Province of Piacenza. Then, the whole of the tale of the knight January in The Merchant's Tale takes place in this region. Indeed, the robe of January from Passolini's film of The Tales is on display at the University of Parma's design museum in the old monastery called La Certosa, which is also one of two places fixed on as the eponymous Charter House of Parma.
Well, the foregoing is delightful to me. But what makes the Tales a work of art, perhaps unfinished, perhaps open-ended, is its unity. It is true that each tale differs greatly from the others, but the whole work is united by the context ---- a group of highly individualized pilgrims living in a real place and thrown into company with each other. How each tells his or her tale --- indeed, the tales they choose --- unite with their personal group story between the tales to create a whole.
The Tales also provide terrific insight into life in 14th century England. And the connection to Emilia Romagna indicates how the people of the 14th century, or some of them, did get around. But, mainly, the pilgrim storytellers in the Tales are wonderfully alive. We see this as they comment on each other's tales (and disagree with each other), how they take dislikes to each other (The Reeve and the Miller), how the landlord pushes them around, etc. Their liveliness or character is also apparent in how they speak their prologues and tell their tales. For example, the Knight's Tale which is enormously long and detailed and noble and engaging, is the tale of a "perfect" knight or of a knight, dare I say it? who would like to be thought perfect -- a tale essentially noble and humanly complicated. In contrast, his son's story, The Squire's Tale, is a young man's story in the sense that it wanders all over, loses the thread (or several of them), and never does pick it up again. In an effort (I think) to stave off the Knight's Tale from becoming an impossible standard, the coarse Miller jumps in with a bawdy tale of amazing vulgarity which leaves the whole company laughing. But the Reeve, who has come to harbor ill will against the Miller, counters with a Tale that is cinematic both in its manner of narration and in its slapstick. It is worthy of being put on the screen by our American comedy greats because it is of the high and crazy quality of Laurel and Hardy. I'll just mention one more example. The Parson whom the Prologue sets up as a model of Godliness -- as indeed he is -- turns out Godly, but boring: he delivers a sermon of nauseating tedium. To boot, the landlord dislikes him because he thinks he's a Lollard --- a contemporary reference and an insight into the Wycliffe controversies of the time.
Anyway, The Tales are a big and rich salad. Thank you, Mr. Chaucer, for taking us back to your century, the 14th, and letting me realize that essentially human nature is pretty much unchanged. And thank you for your art in showing how the pilgrim's react to each other's stories as well as the way in which the language and subject matter of the stories reflects the individual narrator's character. Thank you, Mr. Chaucer.
I loved this book, but it took a long time for me to tackle it. The language is not "ours", but the poetry and arc are universal. Also, to read the whole of The Tales is an undertaking. It is long. It requires a kind of reading that commits to the book --- that is, to reading it with open, critical eyes, that is willing to accept some nonmodern subject matter and concentrate on the skill that brings the whole together. There is one thing that Mr. Chaucer does not ever touch on. Although I understand that the book had to have been written around 1385, there is no mention or reference to The Black Death that devatated Europe (probably the world) mid-century. (less)...more
This is a series of related stories that take place in an isolated area of Westmorland which is, I believe, to the west of Yorkshire. Having been to tThis is a series of related stories that take place in an isolated area of Westmorland which is, I believe, to the west of Yorkshire. Having been to the dales and fells of Yorkshire, I think that Ms. Gardam well describes the lay of the land. But, in reality, her Westmorland is enchanted. It is glorious with color and flowers and falls of icicles. And the people are enchanted. They seem living in a different time in different ways. They are aware of the different people who have come across their lands --- Celts, Vikings, Saxons, Danes, modern-day gypsies, and renters from London --- and these people are simply part of their world's "diversity" as if one could gossip about them or know them. Additionally, they are also aware of legend and ghosts and the power of elemental forces.
I am going on and on, but really I have to make two remarks about the scene. The first is that Ms. Gardam is such a skilled writer that these dales and fells are not romanticized, are not sweet. Rather, they are beautiful, but by no means gentle. Second, the scene is important because it is the backdrop to the relationships of the characters in these stories, to their different voices and individuality. The main relationship is that between Harry, son of the London renters, and Bell, son of an old farming family. These two meet as boys and have the life of boys. They get themselves in bad trouble (e.g., trapped in an old mine, lost in a blizzard), they are honest with each other, they cry in fear, they love and enjoy the wonders of the land. In short, they are particularly good friends who --- they would not say it --- love each other and are bonded to the landscape and its ways. Their growth and their attachment to the land is ultimately the subject of the stories. Their adventures have a suspense and, yes, a poignancy that permeates the stories.
Are these Chekhov? Well, no. But they are lovely....more
I always think I do not like short stories. But these stories are fantastic. Mr. Schlink gives us the unexpected resolution in a situation hat seems tI always think I do not like short stories. But these stories are fantastic. Mr. Schlink gives us the unexpected resolution in a situation hat seems to call for revenge and in which revenge is planned, even if in a peevish way ("The Other Man"); the self-fertilized growth of life complications, the complexities of escape, and the creation of a community of "trigamy" ("Sugar Peas"); the modern-day German and modern-day Jew in love and facing the hard questions ("The Circumcision"); the unexpected sadness of a dream come true ("The Woman in the Gas Station").
My favorites among the stories are The Circumcision and The Woman in the Gas Station. In the first, the question whether love can coexist with mutual blindness is resolved with quiet resignation. This story is charged with all the connotations of being German and being Jewish together. It is a sad story given the love that exists. In The Woman in a Gas Station, the literal (well, almost literal) realization of an actual dream upsets the rebuilding of a relationship in revitalized and happy ways. The question is what will make a person change direction drastically and in a second and what is the underlying foundation of a life that runs smoothly on the surface.
I like this author's courage, his willingness to go to odd places, even ugly ones, as in his novel "The Reader", to see the lines of humanity there, the fears, the irrationalities....more
I will not say very much about the character Emerence as her unique qualities are on display in the book --- her industriousness, her native brilliancI will not say very much about the character Emerence as her unique qualities are on display in the book --- her industriousness, her native brilliance, the power of her speech, her equal-handed compassion, her life story, her shame, her anger, her elemental power, and so forth. But I can't forget that this is a book written by a character about another character. Hence, it is a book about the writer --- the "lady writer", Emerence's "Magdushka".
Essentially, the book is an expiation of the writer's guilt. Hence, it is a paean to Emerence who reaches qualities worthy of folk legend. Because guilt is driving the narrator, I think that possibly Emerence is more glorified and more wounded than in reality.
The guilt arises from the narrator's participation in a deception to make Emerence open the door of her home to emergency health workers. But it also opens the door to a whole neighborhood. The door has been closed to all except for the one time when the writer, trusted, had been allowed to enter. The resulting helplessness of the self-reliant Emerence and the shame of the violation of her privacy, the actual breaking of the door, never leaves the writer's soul. The book begins with a dream in which she cannot open a door from the inside to obtain medical assistance for her husband/patient. The medical workers seen in cloudy outline through the glass are The Kindly Ones --- that is, the Eumenides, the Furies. They are driving the writer to self-revelation and confession. The guilt is compounded, however, by the gradual realization over the course of the confession of how much the lady writer depended on Emerence, how she came to love her, and how, as she learns through hearsay, Emerence loved her in an elemental way despite the storminess of their exchanges. It is as if a daughter suddenly learned as an adult that the basis of an entire difficult relationship with an irascible and arrogant mother was an unspoken tenderness and that this tenderness now can no longer be vindicated....more
This is a really good book. Ms. Bourgeault's intelligence is obvious. She expresses herself well. She follows up logically. Obviously, she has given aThis is a really good book. Ms. Bourgeault's intelligence is obvious. She expresses herself well. She follows up logically. Obviously, she has given a lot of thought, study, and practice to Centering Prayer.
I am convinced that Centering Prayer requires practice and not book-learning. At one point, Ms. B. refers to something like "doing it instead of talking about it". Nonetheless, her book is very valuable --- as is the Cloud of Unknowing and the book on Centering Prayer by M. Basil Pennington. (And now I have read exactly three books on Centering Prayer! Yay!) I liked very much her discussion of "divine therapy", attention of the heart, and the welcoming prayer. I am a little scared, however, that the welcoming prayer seems a little narcissistic, but we shall see. I also liked sensing in the book that the intellect is good (and Ms. B's is very fine), but is not all.
What I actually love about all the books I've read on Centering Prayer is how encouraging they are to a regular guy who feels drawn to this practice. Ms. B. adds a depth to the discussion --- theology, tradition and psychology. Very nice.
What is this book really about? I wondered first if it were a form of dystopian science fiction. I'd have to wonder, though, which France was the dystWhat is this book really about? I wondered first if it were a form of dystopian science fiction. I'd have to wonder, though, which France was the dystopia --- the liberal democratic France or the Islamic France that succeeds it. And in some ways the Islamic France seems quite interesting from the policy, social, and cultural point of view. The Islamic government favors excellent education, a small business economy that begins to thrive, and family life. That is a world that approaches utopia --- if one discounts the firm definition of gender roles, for example, and the necessity to convert to Islam in order to advance.
Second, I wondered, briefly, if M. Houellebecq (whose work I do not know) is actually a right-wing writer, trumpeting the dangers of immigration and cultural diversity to the settled "indigenous" culture and secularity of modern-day France. But somehow, as I read along in the book, I didn't think he is.
Then, I wondered if the book is a fictional critique of modern liberal values. I think this idea at least approaches the concept of the book. In M. Houellebecq's France, liberalism is so very liberal that it is self-destructive. For example, to promote the value of diversity, France invites a diverse population that does not share that value, to whom diversity is abhorrent. Also, M. Houellebecq portrays fictionally the advance of individual rights as, paradoxically, the fractionalization of the society that permits them to flourish in law and attitude. Therefore, a population without general social ties results and shared values lives in uneasy disunity. There is, of course, food and wine. But good food and good wine also exist in the new Islamic France that M. Houllebecq creates.
Well, the book, I finally decided, is a story just as all novels are stories. In this case, the novel is set against the backdrops that I wrote about above. The protagonist of Submission is an academic who has made an excellent career on the basis of his dissertation on the nineteenth-century writes Huysman. Otherwise, the man knows nothing at all. He has arranged his teaching load to his convenience; he sleeps with his students and sexual satisfaction is a preoccupation of his; he is concerned with the food he eats and serves; and with good wines and liquors. Indeed, the instances in which food and drink appear in this book are numerous (and mouth-watering). Food is an important pleasure and context on his way to his own conversion to Islam. Cynically, he converts to Islam because it makes his life easier: it provides the way to an eminent teaching post, a very high salary, the company of intelligent men, and the dismissal of women to wifely and sexual roles (which fits neatly into his general relations with women: sex and his dependency on them).
I say he cynically converts. But cynicism requires a bit more backbone than this man has. There are no values in his life and therefore no values that he can betray cynically. Well, perhaps, there is one. He does betray Huysman whose works he has studied extensively. In an act of superb and repulsive self-justification, he writes a preface for the works of Huysman to be published in the standard Pleiades editions of French literature. In this introduction, he reduces Huysman's own intellectual interests and struggles to a principle: that what motivated and pleased Huysman, was Huysman's highest value, was merely a cozy and steady bourgeois life. In fact, this is all that the protagonist values, and he sees his way back to it or to maintain it through his conversion to Islam. In fact, this bourgeois world -- or, better, the world of fleshly comforts -- is the only world he is comfortable in, the only world he is capable of. The betrayal of Huysman, who, as I understand from the book, struggled mightily with religion, provides a public or at least academic platform on which the protagonist can stand. M. Houellebecq has provided a particularly fine portrayal of a nonentity. ...more
I loved the Inspector Lynley series on Netflix --- the super and tragic stories, the greatly plotted and acted relationship with Segeant Havers. I hadI loved the Inspector Lynley series on Netflix --- the super and tragic stories, the greatly plotted and acted relationship with Segeant Havers. I had no idea they were books!!
I stumbled on this, my first Elizabeth George, when I saw it in a neighborhood book trade bin. And then it turned out to be the first in the series. How lucky is that?
The story is very good, but better is the way that it is driven by the nature of the characters -- Lynley's unabashed compassion, Havers' inward anger, Lady Helen's veneer of elegance and insouciance covering the depths of her courage, the unpleasant judgmental reserve of Dr. Samuels, the loveliness and sad needs of Stepha, the wonderment of devastation and hope in Gillian. In short, as Lynley says at one point: Life is bad, and it does not get better. It is the beauty of these individuals and their connections floating on the ugliness that provide lives of love. It is no wonder that Lynley's great characteristic is one of the supreme values or virtues --- compassion.
This book is far more than the adventure story that I read and was told when I was a boy. Robinson's life and adventures, both before and after his 28This book is far more than the adventure story that I read and was told when I was a boy. Robinson's life and adventures, both before and after his 28 years on the deserted island, are a story of his moral and religious development --- in our terms, how he learns to cope with his state of isolation and his sense of desolation. I liked his long discourses on how to manage his feelings about his sorry state and his regrets. I also like his backsliding --- as when all his hard-won equanimity is consumed by a years-long anxiety when he comes upon the footprint in the sand.
Mr. Defoe has created a person who, despite adventures that I will never have (at least, I hope not!), is a character who is as real in the 21st century as he was when the book was published in 1712 or thereabouts. A whole life is laid out in this book, from Robinson's late teens till he leaves the island in his 50s and beyond. The whole story is told in a ready and understandable prose despite the length of 18th century sentences. There is a sense that a person who recognizes and deals with facts, even the facts of his own feelings, holds the pen. There is a lovely spot where Robinson's describes the "facts" of his landing on the island. He says, in effect, I got up, I ran around waving my hands and crying, I climbed a tree in fear, etc. A whole loss of control and despair is described in a practical way. Do not expect deep, poetic introspection; but do expect the introspection of a capable man and business man, from utter hysterical despair to a kind of military competence.
I recommend this book. I can see why it has remained on the shelves for centuries and is still reprinted. Try it!
This book was surely written by a beautiful person. At the time of the second Scott expedition to Antarctica, this person was young, loyal, hard workiThis book was surely written by a beautiful person. At the time of the second Scott expedition to Antarctica, this person was young, loyal, hard working, sensitive to beauty, attentive to the best in every person, courageous, and very near-sighted..
The loveliness of this man makes me angry at Scott and his right-hand men (like the scientist Wilson). I can't help but feel that there was something seriously wrong about the Scott expedition. The author at maybse 25 - 27 years accompanied Wilson and Bowers, another right-hand man, on the "worst journey" of the book's title. This was a six week trek over ice in the middle of winter in the total darkness with temperatures that descended to -73 degrees F. in order to --- collect the eggs of Emperor Penguin's. During the journey, the author could not wear his eyeglasses. He starved. With the two others, he had to despair. The nerves of his teeth were killed by the frost. At one point, Wilson told him, "You simply must learn to use an ice ax". Plainly our author may not have been trained or able to see. Yet, throughout the author looks up to Wilson, whereas it seems to me that Wilson was a somewhat crazed and obssessed man without a true regard for his fellows.
An expedition that would have sent three men into the unknown in the most frightful season in the most frightful unknown place was stupid and cruel. No concepts of duty or advancement of science can excuse the entire incompetence and carelessness. I suppose the expedition was systematized only by a sense of honor and manliness.
There was something wrong about the Scott expedition. From this book, it struck me as old-fashioned or rigid in values, too loose in organization, too diffuse in its goals, too classist. As to the latter two, the author tells us that the expedition was primarily scientific. If so, the journey to the Pole was not necessary as science could have been satisfied by a concentration of resources that the Polar journey diluted. Additionally, the author here would perhaps not have had to take the worst journey and another group of researchers would not have been stranded for a whole winter (!) on their own while Scott went to the Pole. As to may remark about classism, I am struck with the disregard, almost contempt, in which the ordinary seaman Edgar Evans is discussed or ignored, and the honor heaped on Oates of the cavalry or dragoons ---- as if both men as they died had not given their total "vitality", as the author might say, to the Polar journey.
I will read more about the author. I understand that a biography of him has recently been published (?). I would like to know what happened to him as I sense that he essentially knew that he was in the hands of the unorganized, to say the least, and the obssessive, to say the most.
This book echoes because the mystery of who or what Eilis is remains after the last page. I am not sure she will ever be resolved in my mind.
This is aThis book echoes because the mystery of who or what Eilis is remains after the last page. I am not sure she will ever be resolved in my mind.
This is a book about the choices we make or that happen to us "when we are young". In the first half of the book, this scenario appears as romance. Things are positive even though they are scary and all territory is unknown territory. This romantic positiveness remains even though Eilis is a remarkably self-possessed, reserved, and competent girl. In this context, it is a delight to meet and get to know the relatively unreserved and determined Tony. It is a double-delight to see that Eilis and Tony develop a relationship. Indeed, the description of their love-making is one of the most beautiful erotic passages I have ever read.
In roughly the second half of the book, we see a different Eilis. First off, she loses her grounding in both of her worlds --- Brooklyn and Enniscorthy. She appears a classic portrayal of someone who no longer has an internal compass, a home. Next, however, she turns malleable and plastic as Enniscorthy's immediacy erases Brooklyn in her mind. And it seems that the danger of erasure of her entire two years in Brooklyn will occur, and her life will take another path despite the strong Brooklyn connections --- indeed, unbreakable connections in the custom and religion of her time. She seems capable of pretending that her immediate past never happened. This is particularly poignant because of the totally positive characterization of Tony.
All this is part of her mystery. But there is more. She returns to Brooklyn because Mrs. Kelly has "found her out". But the return seems occasioned more by this bucket of cold water than by a resurgence of her Brooklyn emotional life. This raises the possibility that she returns to Brooklyn only because she cannot now continue in the new course of her Enniscorthy life, including romance, care of mother, and good job the lack of which was the reason for her emigration to America in the first place.
So, is Eilis a real person? Or a person bent by events? Is she someone without real attachments but to herself? Is she simply intelligent and young? Does she have the impulses of an early feminist? Is she independent? Is she simply shallow? In conclusion, what a wonderful character Mr. Toibin has created.
The writing is quite nice. I dislike Mr. T's stories, but I have liked very much every one of his novels that I've read --- The Master, The Heather Burning (superb), and Brooklyn. He does not dwell as an outside observer on the inner lives of his people. He lets the narrative events and their own thoughts describe themselves. In this way, I feel that I am the privileged observer and not Mr. T. Perhaps this is what has involved me so much in the question what Eilis is like.
I believe Mr. T. is gay. And I wonder if his gayness informs the tenderness of his characters, particularly Tony. In any event, he has so beautifully described a not-gay young woman and a not-gay relationship. In this I am delighted because my exposure to gay writers has been an exposure to a kind of novel about gayness itself and not to the kind of general sympathy and compassion that Brooklyn shows.
One last thing --- the movie of Brooklyn is highly excellent. To me, it is made along the model of romances of the late 40's and early 50's, and it is successful in itself as a stand-alone story. But the Eilis of the book is not the Eilis of the movie although almost every event in the book is shared in the movie. So, in my view, comparisons between the two just do not work.
I was like a child when I read this book. That is, I could not put it down. I read it first thing when I got up in the morning. And last thing beforeI was like a child when I read this book. That is, I could not put it down. I read it first thing when I got up in the morning. And last thing before I went to sleep at night. That alone was a joy.
How come? Because this is about Antarctica. Because it is a gripping narration full of aspiration, hope, fear, and endurance. Because Mr. Huntford is an excellent writer and a clear one. Because Mr. H. has studied the original sources and critically examined the later books and writings of the participants. Because he draws conclusions from reason and evidence. Because he is in love with his topic and has given a full measure to research and writing.
Before I read this book, I was, if I cared about it at all, in the school that admired Scott and considered Amundsen a bounder. Now, I can see that Amundsen was both driven and highly professional and intelligent about his expeditions. Although he had to desire to do what he did --- reach the South Pole, sail the Northwest Passage --- he was not motivated by romanticism or established ideas about how to project the needs that the unknown might show him on the spot and to determine in great detail how to meet them. At the same time, he was courageous and faced danger and the unexpected with intelligence. As a result, he accomplished his goal of reaching the Pole and returned with all his men in good health.
In Mr. Huntford's view --- and, indeed, as the sources would indicated --- Scott was unsuited even as a leader and was simply incompetent. He believes, I think, that it is time to lift the romantic scrim that blurs Scott's expedition. As Mr. H. remarked about two times, Scott had tried for the Pole previously, and remembered nothing and learned nothing. His last expedition was a mish-mash of techniques, including ponies! He did not have enough food and did not space his depots well. The result: Every man who went to the Pole died on the way back --- Scott and four others. I can see how Mrs. Oates later regarded him as the murderer of her son.
Now, is Mr. Huntford grinding an axe? Well, it is true that I don't know very much about this phase of world exploration. But Mr. H. does not seem particularly biased. Rather, he seems outraged when it comes to Scott. Parts of his narration seem to favor Amundsen as when he rationalizes Amundsen's decision to go for the Pole and his concealing the decision even from the famous Polar explorer Nanssen who'd provided him his ship. He does seem to recount fairly and openly one time when Amundsen does seem to have panicked and lost his nerve (on the journey to lay the first supply depot). And his selections from the diaries and letters of Scott's men seem to bear up his version of Scott's own issues as a leader and planner.
I highly recommend this book, and then you can judge for yourself. ...more