2016 Reads that I did not write up

Roger Zelazny - Dilvish, the Damned, and The Changing Land
Frank Herbert - Destination: Void
Matt Ruff - The Mirage
Rebecca Skloot - The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
Chinua Achebe - Things Fall Apart


 I'll try to get to all of these in the upcoming weeks.

The Glory of Their Times

This was a pleasure to read. This is essentially transcriptions of conversations with old ballplayers, written as if the old ballplayer is just spinning a yarn. As such, it's a very easy, and yes, enjoyable read.

Several things struck me: first, that most of the players interviewed were willing to give credit to the "modern" players (this book was compiled in the 60s) as being as good or better than their contemporaries. Secondly, how most of these players came very close to a lifetime working in the same trades as their fathers had, as farmers, miners, or tradesmen. (Although a few dropped out of college)

Most of these players are not household names -- the biggest is probably Paul Waner, but there are stories in this book about Cobb, Ruth, Walter Johnson, and the other greats of the era from their contemporaries. Since I am a bit of a baseball fan, I was familiar with most of the players who get a chapter here, but as numbers on baseball reference, not as people, so it was really interesting to get some insight into the men they were, and how the game was both so prevalent (every little town had a team, and that's where all of these guys seemingly got their start) and so small-time (ballplayers weren't paid well, and were seen as working class drunks and layabouts).

Would recommend.

The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made

This was a pretty big disappointment -- mostly because I couldn't care less about many of the properties involved, but also because there's a large amount of gossip that's only hinted at. Most of the pull quotes are pretty far from juicy. It certainly doesn't help that several of the projects that were stuck in Development Hell.

Wouldn't recommend except to those who are very into inside Hollywood, and maybe not even then.

The Spanish Civil War

I was recommended this work by a poster on a baseball forum, which I suppose is as good a place as any to get history recommendations. Recognized (not just by baseball enthusiasts!) as a comprehensive place to begin study of the Spanish Civil War, it's long(ish), detailed, heavily footnoted, with an extensive bibliography, and revised several times (most recently in 2011) to ensure that it reflects the most up-to-date scholarship on the subject.

Am I enough of an expert on the Spanish Civil War that I can say whether or not this is the best introductory work on the subject? No, of course not. Thomas doesn't trip my bullshit detector, for the most part (which is worth something in a conflict that still arouses strong feelings among late era partisans), and he generally does try to puncture some of the myths told about the conflict. Where he does appear to get a lot of criticism is for glossing over the Spanish Revolution (the anarchist movement in Catalonia, among other places), but I feel he covers this in a decent amount of detail. (Although I will reserve further judgment until I've read some more).

I'd recommend this, potentially to another reader on a baseball forum.

Island on Fire

Island on Fire is a fun little book that shows the importance of good primary sourcing. Witze and Kanipe draw very heavily on the diary of Jon Steingrimsson, a parish priest at the time of the eruption of Laki.

This is where I hear "Laki? I don't know of a volcano by that name," which is true for the intended audience of this book. Laki being a volcano that erupted in 1783 in Iceland, having a devastating effect on the community served by Jon (as our authors call him), and serious effects on the climate of both Europe and the Northern hemisphere as a whole.

From the community overview we move to Europe and the rest of the world, finishing with a look at Iceland today and potentially disruptive volcanoes around the world. It's a short, easy read, and a fun pop science look at something most of us are unfamiliar with.

Legacy of Ashes

Legacy of Ashes is a pretty damning read (so damning that it merits a review/rebuttal on the CIA's official website, which I did not find particularly convincing). Weiner takes his title from Eisenhower, describing the failures of building a capable intelligence agency.

Legacy of Ashes is a bit frustrating, in that two repeating themes are that the agency can't find good analysts and/or covert operatives, and that the agency is constantly bleeding talent. Which is it? It could be turnover (employees hired, trained, then leave immediately for more lucrative work in the private sector, as Weiner documents happening during the Iraq War), or it's inconsequential, because these people don't know what they're doing, anyway. The CIA's rank-and-file, when they are mentioned, don't come off particularly well -- unable to speak foreign languages, unfamiliar with cultures, continually producing bad analysis, etc.

Legacy of Ashes reads as a litany of obfuscation, willful ignorance, and legerdemain on the part of the CIA's various directors (particularly Allen Dulles), and their attitudes towards the rest of the government, as well as other members of the CIA. There are times in the 50s (as well as the 60s, and 70s) where the right hand (analysis) didn't know what the left hand (covert action) was doing. I don't think any of the Presidents come off well, either; either asking the CIA to act against its charter, or authorizing missions with sketchy scope.

Unfortunately, it feels like Weiner starts skimming towards the end of the book. Some of this just may be due to events beyond his control, in that it's more easy to have something declassified from fifty years ago, as opposed to five-to-ten. But the agency does start to come across a little better post-Vietnam, even with the Latin American meddling and arms-for-hostages.

This is a pretty damning indictment, even if it is less than perfect; it paints a picture of an agency that has difficulty finding its ass with both hands, and given US foreign policy post-World War II, that unfortunately sounds about right. Worth reading to just shake your head.

God's Chinese Son

God's Chinese Son came highly recommended to me, and I can't quite decide if it truly measures up to those praises. On the one hand, going into this, I knew almost nothing about the Taiping Rebellion, or Hong Xiuquan, the man who led it. From that perspective, this is a success, in that I'm conversant in what happened. But I don't feel that Spence did a great job placing the rebellion in context, or revealing its scope, or the long-lasting effects; it almost feels like my copy has lacunae of several chapters. I will praise Spence strongly for his placement of one chapter, though -- just as I was wondering "what do the Westerners in China, especially the missionaries and representatives of foreign governments, think of Hong Xiuquan's pecular brand of Christianity?" Immediately after thinking this, I turned the page to a chapter devoted to answering that question.

Not that this was an easy job for Spence; the tenth chapter, "Earth War" begins as follows:

There is no precise moment at which we can say the Taiping move from tension with the Qing state to open confrontation, but clearly in 1850 their provocations mount steadily until war becomes inevitable.

This is then followed by a litany of potential military moves: Hong Xiuquan wearing imperial yellow, instructions from Jesus to fight, the assembling and arming of troops, the posting of sentries, the lighting of signal fires, et cetera, before initial armed conflict begins, and Hong Xiuquan proclaims the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom

The chapters that follow trace out the rebellion (some historians prefer to use "civil war") more or less chronologically, with the occasional stopping/retracing of steps to more fully flesh out another figure (such as the "East King", Yang Xiuqing, who was alleged to speak with the voice of God). Notes are extensive, although more often than not, they just point to a source and do not elaborate on the point. Mildly unfortunate.

While I feel that this is occasionally missing something (not context, but maybe a bigger picture), this is something I would strongly recommend.

The Guns of August

I'm not sure if there's anything I can say about Barbara Tuchman's The Guns of August that hasn't been said already. It's nothing if not tight, though -- yes, it's not a short work, and the subject matter isn't easily and quickly distilled, but Tuchman retains her focus throughout.

Tuchman starts with the funeral of King Edward VII in 1910:

"the greatest assemblage of royalty and rank ever gathered in one place and, of its kind, the last."

and moves with deftness through the pre-war conditions, of the Germans, the French, the Russians, and the British, as well as the psychology that drove those plans -- of Kaiser Wilhelm, of the French generals, of the Czar and the general staff, and the British government.

 How many children witness something that impresses them enough in early childhood to write a book featuring the incident? How many of those stories would be noteworthy? As a child, Tuchman (along with her family) witnessed the German battlecruiser SMS Goeben's mad dash across the Mediterranean to Constantinople, fleeing British pursuit, who had realized too late that she wasn't making a break for the Atlantic. In a paper move, she was purchased by the Ottoman government, and spent the rest of the war in their service. Tuchman (as she notes in the introduction) was fascinated by this, and incorporates it into her narrative. Is it wholly necessary? Not entirely, but it helps set the stage of the naval war. I would have preferred the Battle of the Falkland Islands have been incorporated, but that was in December, rather than August (although Tuchman sometimes reaches into early September and October)

I'm not sure that I know enough about the First World War to say that this is a comprehensive account of August 1914, but there's a wealth of information here, about both what actually happened, and the motivations of those actors, drawn from letters and memoirs.

I was honestly hoping this would be more about the July Crisis, but Tuchman's extensive account of the first month is so masterful, I was very disappointed when it ended on the eve of the First Battle of the Marne. Recommended highly.

The Devil in the White City

Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City is widely praised, and it's easy to see why. It's a meticulously researched work that alternates chapters on the planning of the 1893 World's Fair with the activities of the serial killer H. H. Holmes, who operated in and around Chicago at the time. At least, the planning and architecture chapters are meticulously researched; the Holmes chapters are full of speculation, as he didn't document his activities the way the Fair's architects did; most of Holmes' actions are thus from informed speculation or forensics. (This isn't a problem unless one is going to insist on strict historical accuracy, as Larson is certainly an entertaining writer)

As a work of history that reads like a novel, this is absolutely a success. Obviously, this is not a novel, or we would have our major characters (Burnham and Olmstead on the architecture/planning side, and Holmes) intersect at or near the climax of the novel. Happily, they remain unaware of each other (Holmes was more interested in young, single women, being who he was). The closest we have to something like that is a subplot revolving around the eventual assassination of Carter Harrison, by a Guiteau-like office seeker.

Definitely recommended.

Traffic

The first thing I thought when finishing this book was "Well, that was interesting." Whether that says more about the book's subject matter or my lack of intellectual creativity is a matter of debate, I suppose, but this is an interesting book. Although I did find it interesting, I think its reach exceeds its grasp somewhat.

There's a lot here -- the prologue is about how we merge when construction closes a lane on the highway (spoiler: the author advocates merging towards the end of the lane, in a zipper merge, but notes that we have issues because not everyone thinks that way). We then go through how anonymity vs. awareness of others influences how we act on the road, how we fail to receive feedback on our driving (with a sidebar on self-driving cars), how our eyes perceive objects while we're moving, traffic flow and human nature, congestion, traffic engineering, traffic around the world, and risk. Quite a bit to digest, even if it is presented clearly and sequentially. (There's even a few notes "this subject will be covered in detail in a later chapter")

This is all very readable and interesting, but my issue is that for a work that details some of the issues we face on the roads, there's not too much time spent on solutions. (The author notes that we are conditioned to reporting our commute in terms of time, as opposed to distance, as well). Any solutions presented are typically within small lines, or must be inferred (such as setting sidewalks farther back from the road can increase pedestrian deaths). Worth reading, and plenty to think about, but I can't help but feel that this could have been more than it is.

The Black Jacobins

C.L.R. James' The Black Jacobins is a classic for a reason. What we have is a fascinating narrative of how the Haitian Revolution stemmed from and paralleled the French, as well as how the slave result took the ideals of the French Revolution to their logical end.

James builds a clear narrative that is usually easy to follow, pointing out and correcting errors and misconceptions that other historians have had or perpetuated.

One of the issues with James is that he'll introduce a figure in passing, then repeatedly refer to him later. I'm not sure his index is always good at picking up the first reference to some of the more obscure figures, either.

Probably the biggest criticism I have of this work is that James is occasionally oblique -- he doesn't elaborate well on why the conflict between L'Ouverture and Rigaud was inevitable or necessary. And will occasionally refer to something he'd elaborated on previously as only the "[date] incident", which necessitates flipping back and forth.

An interesting part of the work is how obviously written from a socialist perspective it is, as James interprets events leading up to, and of both revolutions through the (as yet unwritten) lens of Marx. Some of these interpretations are insightful, but other times James ascribes feelings to the people (typically the French peasants) that they may not necessarily have held.

Another interesting part of the work is how James casts the anti-slavery efforts of the British as not motivated solely by altruism and a belief in justice/equality/etc, but in that Haiti required much more slave labor than any British possession, and the colony would have been economically crippled without it. Thus, British anti-slavery sentiment was propped up by a desire to harm France's interests.

I don't know if this is the definitive work on the Haitian Revolution (initially published in 1938, and James annotates his references in the second edition, that this was written during European domination of Africa, and prior to the Second World War), but it's well worth the read.

Sled Driver

Brian Shul's Sled Driver opens with an introduction where he promises that this isn't necessarily a technical book:

This is not a story of the making of the SR-71 , nor is it a technical digest of the
many intriguing facts and figures about the plane. . . Instead, this book is one man's view
of what it was like to fly the world's fastest jet.

 This is, of course, fine with me, and what follows are a series of anecdotes about the author's time with the SR-71, from his training to seeing the final flight of the plane as the last model was transferred to the Smithsonian Institute in Washington.

The good: there's a lot of interesting material here, even given that Shul glosses over the actual missions for the most part (which of course makes sense, given the nature of the SR-71's duties.

The bad: the overall tone is akin to the narration of Starship Troopers, and many passages end abruptly (and not just because what would follow would be classified)

The verdict: an easy read with interesting flying stories, so try it if you can find it.

I understand that this is out of print, so I'd recommend seeing if there's a version for the Kindle or if it's available used somewhere.

McSweeney's 43

McSweeney's 43 is a collection of short stories and non-fiction by various authors, with a supplement of writing from the new nation of South Sudan. (For some reason, I never got McSweeney's 42.)

None of the writing in 43 really stuck with me -- in addition to the letters to the editor, there are four short stories and two non-fiction pieces. The non-fiction pieces are more interesting  than the short stories -- "The Texan from Gaza Does Yoga in Prison," is a young woman's account of her experiences with her father in prison for supporting terrorism. It's a bit meandering, though, and trails off rather than builds to a conclusion. Maybe that isn't a fair observation to make about an account of a close relative's imprisonment, though.

The other non-fiction piece follows the Libyan Revolution in Tripoli.

The fiction from South Sudan is more interesting than the fiction in 43 proper. It mostly concerns village life, although the first (and one of the better) stories is about leaving one's village to avoid arrest. In the introduction, it's emphasized that the region is still young and developing, so there isn't quite anything yet that "illuminates its culture and experiences." Perhaps one of the writers here will provide that.

Confessions of an English Opium Eater and Other Writings

I couldn't find a picture of my particular copy of this book on Google, so I had to take a picture and upload it. Personally, I think that this cover is much more interesting than many of the other cover designs out there.

This particular edition contains Confessions of an English Opium Eater, Suspiria de Profundis, The English Mail Coach, and three essays: "On Murder Considered as one of the Fine Arts", "On the Knocking on the Gate in Macbeth", and "The Literature of Knowledge, the Literature of Power." It's quite a bit to digest in reading straight through, but taken separately, each section is worth the read.

As might be expected in such a narrative, Confessions of an English Opium Eater has DeQuincey repeatedly emphasizing his station in life, the fact that he is a learned scholar, and that he came to opium for relief of pain only, and resorted to more frequent usage again for pain relief, before the drug finally put its hooks into him. However, despite his occasionally too frequent protestations, this is a very strong section of the work, and well worth revisiting. A criticism frequently leveled at the Confessions are that they glorify and condone the use of opium, that they encourage addiction, but I didn't quite get that; given the subject matter, DeQuincey's praise of opium is less full-throated than I had expected.

Suspiria de Profundis is nominally a sequel to the Confessions, but is a much more abstract work. After an expansion on his childhood and a digression on the human brain, DeQuincey moves into what can only be assumed to be dreams/visions while under the influence of opium. These are, as might be expected, unreal and extravagant. I would recommend "The Dark Interpreter" and "Levana and our Ladies of Sorrow."

The English Mail Coach begins with a very straightforward section, called "The Glory of Motion", extolling the virtues of being a passenger on a Royal Mail Coach. We then have a meditation on sudden death, a retelling of an incident that DeQuincey observed as a passenger on the Mail, and finally, opium dreams about said incident. A very well done essay.

"On Murder" is the highlight of the essays, and is more of a description of some crimes rather than an exaltation of them, which is fine, but a slight disappointment given (again) the author's protestations that this is really a satire, totally, and how could you indict him for it?

Recommended, although more individually than straight through.

The Song of the Dodo

Although the narrative in David Quammen's The Song of the Dodo is sprawling and peripatetic, the author's focus is not. While Quammen jumps between focusing on others' research (either in the field, in their offices, or in scientific journals), visiting sites himself (both with and not in conjunction with field biologists) and generally waxing on the topic, he's always engaging, and is always able to relate what that particular tidbit has to do with island biogeography.

The Song of the Dodo isn't focused on the dodo at all. Sure, our favorite wacky looking fowl does make a few appearances, but really, this is a paean to Alfred Russell Wallace. The book begins and closes with an account of Wallace's journeys to the South Pacific, with the ending of the author retracing Wallace's footsteps. Between those bookends, we have discussion of conservation, the pressures that isolated habitats (such as islands) exert on evolution (here we have many examples, from insects to birds to mammals to reptiles, covering island gigantism, insular dwarfism, species evolving to fill niches that are typically filled by other species, and much more), how the theory of island biogeography can be used to inform the design of nature reserves (and if this is a proper use for the theory), the treatment of Aboriginal people in Australia, the "right" amount of species for a particular island (and how this is achieved through migrations and extinctions), and much more.

I would recommend this unreservedly to anyone interested in natural history or biology in general.

Murder City

Murder City isn't quite what I expected. Rather than a sober overview of Mexico's troubles, this is a depressing narrative that skips between scenes and characters, like a bad dream. Murders without motive, seemingly without reason, without explanations, and certainly without consequences for the killers.

Throughout Murder City, Bowden uses jump cuts -- he describes a murder, a threat, an incident, in a paragraph and then flashes to another, and another, before returning (or moving) to a something else. The referenced instances may recur, or may not. One thread that runs through nearly all of them, though, is that witnesses or neighbors saw or noticed nothing, or saw men "dressed as commandos."

Bowden has several people and settings he returns to again and again, but the three most prevalent are the story of a former beauty queen who came to the city to party, was gang-raped for days and lost her mind (Miss Sinaloa), a killer for one of the cartels (Murder Artist), and the intimidation and silencing of the Mexican press by both the cartels and the government (Dead Reporter Driving). These are the only chapters that are titled, others are merely denoted by the page breaks.

Overall, this book doesn't give a sense of perspective on the violence in Ciudad Juarez, but underscores the senselessness of it all. And that is precisely the point.

The Man-Eaters of Tsavo

This book could be more accurately titled East African Adventures, Including that Time I Killed Two Man-Eating Lions, but that might be too conversational (and not nearly Victorian enough) for Col. Patterson. There are twenty-seven chapters in this book, and the ninth one is titled "The Death of the Second Man-Eater", so the majority of this book is clearly the other East African adventures. Luckily, Patterson's writing style is engaging enough that even without the excitement of the lions, it's not bad going.

I doubt that Patterson saw this work getting the audience that it eventually would -- in the brief preface, he states that he wrote this for the benefit of the friends who kept insisting that he put his escapades down on paper. The most famous (and interesting) of Patterson's adventures in Africa is his time building a railway in Kenya (then British East Africa) which was set upon by maneless lions (the man-eaters of the title) who dragged off many workers, to the point where the laborers refused to work on the railway, and many deserted. Patterson devoted much of his time at night to waiting for the lions, progressing to hunting them, finally having one stalk him. He eventually kills them and eliminates the threat, although not before many of his men are eaten. It's a fascinating, terrifyingly primal story, and Patterson renders it laconically, not really conveying the fear or sense of urgency, even though he himself lived it.

The remainder of the book is railway engineering, hunting in East Africa (rhino, hippo, many other lions, antelope, elephant, giraffe, etc). It's never all that boring, because it's easy to digest, but it does get a tad repetitive. The story of the lions is worth reading. The rest? Eh.

Gentlemen's Blood

Barbara Holland's Gentlemen's Blood is not quite a comprehensive overview of dueling and its history, but an excellent introductory look at a past custom that we currently look a little askance at.

Holland begins with the duel's origins in the trial by combat, and moves deftly through the centuries (from fencing masters in Italy to swordfighting in France to dueling pistols in England to bloody frontier affairs in the American West, with stops in between in Ireland, the American South, Russia, and Germany, among other places). Given the breadth of the subject matter (dueling was an accepted custom in many cultures, and although it was deplored and illegal at various times, laws against it were very often not enforced), Holland doesn't quite treat the subject exhaustively, but her digressions make this well worth reading. There's plenty of information on how honor was treated (as the currency of polite society), how exactly a duel should be arranged (by the seconds, via a series of notes), the insults most likely to bring about a challenge ("liar" is the most unforgivable, right up with physical violence, which either requires a challenge or renders the aggressor beneath contempt, depending on the culture), and the capabilities of the weapons involved (smoothbore pistols weren't particularly accurate).

There's a lot here, but Holland is most entertaining in her snapshot-like depictions of the many duels, spotlighting combats across countries and centuries. Her eye is sharp, and her wit is acerbic. Highly recommended, it's a quick and entertaining read.

The Lost City of Z

David Grann's The Lost City of Z was widely praised, and I can certainly see why -- Grann keeps the narrative moving, while skipping between his experiences, and those of Colonel Percy Fawcett, one of the final figures of the Age of Exploration, who disappeared somewhere in the Amazonian jungle looking for the remnants of an ancient civilization. (Or not so ancient, a contemporary of the Maya, the Inca, and the Aztecs.)

Probably the best point of the book was how interweaving Fawcett's and Grann's story allowed Fawcett to slowly come into the foreground; in the beginning, he looks like a quietly competent man, the last of the Victorian era explorers. By the end, he seems like a madman on a spiritual, rather than a scientific, quest. The weakest point was that the long winding up was unable to produce a satisfying conclusion -- Grann spends the entire book working up to his Amazon trip, and then nearly immediately comes to a conclusion. While he's able to tie this in with the end of Fawcett's story, it feels rushed, pat, and not fleshed out. (Of course, given that Fawcett disappeared ~80 years before Grann began the project, in a jungle, Grann was unlikely to find anything other than he did, which is old Indian legends).

Overall, this is a fun pop-archaeology/anthropology/history book, with an interesting hook.

Miscellania

Read while my access to the blog was limited:

Luigi Pirandello's Short Stories Link
Roberto Bolaño's The Return and The Insufferable Gaucho Link and link
Murray Kempton's Part of Our Time Link
Daniel Okrent's The Rise and Fall of Prohibition Link
Fyodor Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground Link

Pirandello is a noted short story master, and here's only a small selection. I found these a bit uneven -- there's four sections: "Sicilian Tales", "Tales of Humor and Irony", "Tales of Frustration", and "Tales of Anguish and Hope". I found the first two sections had the stories that were most to my liking (particularly "Sicilian Tales), and the latter two were pretty poor, in my opinion. "The Umbrella" is a particularly bad offender here. Many of the latter stories were very cloying.

Bolaño's two short story collections here are both excellent; The Return is a bit more conventional, while The Insufferable Gaucho features several slightly longer pieces. Standout works in The Return include "Joanna Silvestri" about a South American porn star spending time with John Holmes before his death, "The Prefiguration of Lalo Cura", about tracking down a forgotten porn actor, and "The Return", which although is not about pornography, is about necrophilia. The Insufferable Gaucho has "Police Rat" which seems to take place in one of Kafka's universes, and "Alvaro Rousselot's Journey", about an author confronting a foreign filmmaker who adapts his works without credit. This isn't too different from the other works of Bolaño's that I have read, and that's not a bad thing.

Part of Our Time is a book I had had to buy for a class some years ago. It was out of print, but I was able to easily find it on Amazon. It's back in print these days, which is a fantastic thing -- this is an even-handed, non-hysterical look at what drew several men (and women) to unions, to socialism, to communism. Published in 1955 (!!!) it's a fascinating look back at the conditions of the thirties, and how these workingmen responded to them. Kempton covers some familiar names (Alger Hiss, Paul Robeson), and some unfamiliar ones (Joe Curran, J.B. Matthews). This is an extremely frank and thoughtful work, which has made me want to seek out other pieces of Kempton's, as well as wonder about the Red Scare in general -- I was under the impression that work of this tenor wasn't done on anything remotely Left during that time period.

Daniel Okrent's Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition is, like the previous, a fascinating look at a period of history I had been unfamiliar with. It's a little less academic than Kempton's work, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Unfortunately, unlike Kempton, who breaks up each narrative into a separate chapter, Okrent moves chronologically, which is probably the most logical way to cover the period, but can lead to leaping back and forth. Still, it's a great look at a period in American history that I've often seen skipped over. One memorable moment is a quote from Senator Morris Sheppard of Texas: "There's as much chance of repealing the 18th Amendment as there is for a humming bird to fly to Mars with the Washington Monument tied to its tail."

Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground is very short, but not quite an easy read. Unfortunately, as the translator's foreword notes, the only text we have had been significantly edited in order to be initially published, and Dostoevsky chose to keep the edits in subsequent printings. An introspective rant, written as a polemic against mid-nineteenth century Russian intellectuals, this is significantly less intimidating than some of Dostoevsky's longer novels, and has inspired me to pick one of them up soon.