Hegel’s Philosophy of Freedom, by Paul Franco
Franco Scores Again!
Paul Franco once again demonstrates that he is the master of social and political philosophy. Prof. Franco delves into every corner of Hegel’s profundity to offer up a stunning cautionary tale; beware! Hegel, largely neglected and even more misunderstood, steers a course independent of the paralysing conformity of western “liberal” thinking and the totalitarian mysteries of the east; he was the last great third way. Franco shines a light on this and with bubbling clarity and freshness of prose let’s even the beginning reader in on the secret we’ve all been missing.
Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte
Well as if the Nineteenth Century weren’t bad enough we now have Penguin shoving it down our maws every other day with another re-issue of some tepid “classic.” Miss Bronte has done it again and wielded her magic pen as a wand and cast her net of sleep on the unsuspecting reading public of America. The only consolation the non-preteen girl reader can get form this sack of slumber is the final realisation that “wuthering” is British slang for “your eyelids are getting heavy, why don’t you just nod off?” I really have to say to Miss Bronte that I did not find Garfield’s antics convincing in the least.
The Figured Wheel, by Robert Pinsky
Pinsky is Number One!
Not since William Morris put ink to paper and stained “Tyger, Tyger” has a poet moved me so much as Bob Pinsky has! A solid methodological and whimsically “fresh air” aspect underscores and overdetermines his every line and meme! I loved it so much I forgot who August Kleinzahler was for a minute! Boffo!
Personal Injuries, by Scott Turow
Turow this one back!
Reading Scott Turow is like going to Law School; it’s in Chicago and it sucks. Another pound or two of legalese from this master market grabber. True fans of legal fiction should enjoy this, but people are better off watching Matlock on PAX-TV. Turow’s main problem is his attention to detail; everybody knows an olive fork doesn’t twist like that, why draw our attention to the flaw by high-lighting it in detail? He could have just said “fork.” I can’t believe I put down Louis Ferdinand Celine for this. I am so sad and it is Scott Turow’s fault.