Scan barcode
mateusbooks's review against another edition
3.0
3 out of 5
The stand-out story is 'Bartleby, the Scrivener', a bleak yet immersive tale. The other stories are also quite sad, so depends on your mood.
The stand-out story is 'Bartleby, the Scrivener', a bleak yet immersive tale. The other stories are also quite sad, so depends on your mood.
mo_bookshelves's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
dark
reflective
slow-paced
littlepanda's review against another edition
4.0
I think I am in love with Melville's style. I had to read this collection for a class, yet I enjoyed it. I was surprised that the style, besides the navigation vocabulary that was sometimes obscure, was light and easy to read.
torjus's review
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
blchandler9000's review against another edition
3.0
Like any collection of short stories, there are good and not-as-good pieces here. Melville's writing is fairly impeccable, excruciatingly precise—sometimes it borders on fanatical—but perfect style does not always lead to a great story.
I know that some of the short stories found in this book are considered classics of the form, but oddly enough, the ones called "classics" were not impressive to me. Both "Bartleby" and "Benito Cereno" left me with a shrug, "Bartleby" especially because it lacked the gorgeous prose that Melville usually employed. They were not as forgettable as some of the stories in this collection ("The Fiddler" and "I and My Chimney"), but nothing I would savor reading again. "Bartleby" is just too straight-forward, and "Benito Cereno" is kind of a mess. The latter is one of those stories where the second half explains what was going on in the first. By then, I'd figured it out and it seemed redundant and ham-fisted. "Benito Cereno" also rides a line of ambiguity when it comes to some issues (namely race) which a modern reader might be more sensitive to—so much so that I really couldn't figure out how Melville wanted the reader to feel about the story's black slaves. (Further research only emphasized that ambiguity, showing different takes on the story's meaning since the time it was published. Maybe that ambiguity is to the story's credit, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.)
Two of the stories in the collection are fairly comical: "Cock-a-Doodle-Doo!" and "The Lightning-Rod Man." I can imagine people in the 1800s reading these stories in the magazine they were published and being amused. The first takes some swipes at transcendentalism, the other at fire-and-brimstone preaching. But like "The Fiddler" and "I and My Chimney," they're not part of the American literature canon for a reason.
The maritime tragedy "Billy Budd" was kind of a surprise to me. Melville, frustrated with how people received his prose, spent decades writing only poetry. The manuscript to "Billy Budd" was found after his death, a secret return to prose. I was pretty astonished by how thick Melville's prose was in this story. Usually his writing is pretty dense and requires the reader to slow down, but this was beyond even his norm. Often I had to read sentences aloud to understand. I got lost in many of them, and I would have to decide to re-read it, or just soldier on. It was something of a return to the symbolism and allegory of "Moby Dick," but the density made it difficult to really relish and enjoy.
I did, however really enjoy two of the stories in this collection, the first of which was "The Paradise of Bachelors and the Tartarus of Maids." Here Melville compares the horrible disparity between the lives of rich male lawyers and poor women factory-workers in 1800s London. The language is evocative, emotional, and clever.
But by and far, my favorite story was "The Encantadas," where Melville seamlessly weaves personal experiences and fiction around the Galapagos islands. His descriptions of the barren islands are beautiful and rich, infused with philosophical ruminations and giant tortoises. Although he spends the first half of the novella describing the islands and providing small anecdotes, he turns the second half away from the landscape and tells some longer Galapagos stories, the best of which involves a woman shipwrecked and surviving on the island alone. More than anything else in this collection, "The Encantadas" still lingers in my mind, calling to be revisited.
I know that some of the short stories found in this book are considered classics of the form, but oddly enough, the ones called "classics" were not impressive to me. Both "Bartleby" and "Benito Cereno" left me with a shrug, "Bartleby" especially because it lacked the gorgeous prose that Melville usually employed. They were not as forgettable as some of the stories in this collection ("The Fiddler" and "I and My Chimney"), but nothing I would savor reading again. "Bartleby" is just too straight-forward, and "Benito Cereno" is kind of a mess. The latter is one of those stories where the second half explains what was going on in the first. By then, I'd figured it out and it seemed redundant and ham-fisted. "Benito Cereno" also rides a line of ambiguity when it comes to some issues (namely race) which a modern reader might be more sensitive to—so much so that I really couldn't figure out how Melville wanted the reader to feel about the story's black slaves. (Further research only emphasized that ambiguity, showing different takes on the story's meaning since the time it was published. Maybe that ambiguity is to the story's credit, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.)
Two of the stories in the collection are fairly comical: "Cock-a-Doodle-Doo!" and "The Lightning-Rod Man." I can imagine people in the 1800s reading these stories in the magazine they were published and being amused. The first takes some swipes at transcendentalism, the other at fire-and-brimstone preaching. But like "The Fiddler" and "I and My Chimney," they're not part of the American literature canon for a reason.
The maritime tragedy "Billy Budd" was kind of a surprise to me. Melville, frustrated with how people received his prose, spent decades writing only poetry. The manuscript to "Billy Budd" was found after his death, a secret return to prose. I was pretty astonished by how thick Melville's prose was in this story. Usually his writing is pretty dense and requires the reader to slow down, but this was beyond even his norm. Often I had to read sentences aloud to understand. I got lost in many of them, and I would have to decide to re-read it, or just soldier on. It was something of a return to the symbolism and allegory of "Moby Dick," but the density made it difficult to really relish and enjoy.
I did, however really enjoy two of the stories in this collection, the first of which was "The Paradise of Bachelors and the Tartarus of Maids." Here Melville compares the horrible disparity between the lives of rich male lawyers and poor women factory-workers in 1800s London. The language is evocative, emotional, and clever.
But by and far, my favorite story was "The Encantadas," where Melville seamlessly weaves personal experiences and fiction around the Galapagos islands. His descriptions of the barren islands are beautiful and rich, infused with philosophical ruminations and giant tortoises. Although he spends the first half of the novella describing the islands and providing small anecdotes, he turns the second half away from the landscape and tells some longer Galapagos stories, the best of which involves a woman shipwrecked and surviving on the island alone. More than anything else in this collection, "The Encantadas" still lingers in my mind, calling to be revisited.
mandysreadinglist's review against another edition
Names have been used for eons, though not always; there was a time in history when there was no linguistic need for personal names. In the modern world though, names are essential to to individual. While most people have a vague idea what their own name means, few give it much thought. Many parents will carefully select names with meaning for their children, either rooted in family tradition or bourne of carefully considered meaning. Authors treat their works similarly, putting much thought into choosing names of characters, in the hopes of expressing traits or habits of the character by deciding on a name that epitomizes that character themselves.
The study of names is called onomastics, a field which touches on linguistics, history, anthropology, psychology, sociology, philology and much more. When referring to the "meaning of a name" however, they are most likely referring to the etymology, which is the original literal meaning. The Oxford English Dictionary defines etymology as “the study of the origin of words and the way in which their meanings have changed throughout history”.
The development of character identity is essential to understanding individual motive; It has been suggested that, often, authors will select names for characters that will reflect actual traits of or decisions made by the character themselves. This not only adds meaning to the work of literature but adds an element of realism to the characters.
Names are universal in human language; according to Alego, proper names were the “original kind of word, due to an uncritical acceptance of a romantic view of the savage as a simple, uncomplex soul, given to concrete thinking [...]” (11, Alego). At one time anthropologists thought that certain peoples were so "primitive and unorganized” (Feldman) that they didn't even use names. However, as time passed and cultures evolved, language was created in order to prescribe meaning to the world around us. As names eventually became a standard way to identify ourselves and others, names have been passed down through family lineage as a form of respect for the individuals who have bore the name; but in writing there is no lineage to base characters on. In literature, it is the authors’ responsibility to craft a name worthy of the character they have brought to life. In literature, a name can mean everything.
The historical debate between naturalists, who see the name as revelatory of the thing named, and conventionalists, who believe the name as an arbitrary designation, has continued through the centuries and is still very much alive today. Alego has suggested names to be “without signification” (53, Alego), meaningless marks by which one thing is distinguished from another. On the other hand, Alego also purports that it would be “contrary to man’s nature to name the objects of his thoughts by sounds which conveyed no meaning to him or others” (58, Alego). In this regard, it can be maintained that, if only based on the meaning within man’s own mind, there is still meaning behind the selection of names, either for people or for things.
It has been suggested by Shook that “some names resulted from considerable thought, while others came about in a more casual fashion” (xi, Shook). While some names are chosen deliberately and with much fanfare, others come about almost by accident. In an essay written by Cather, she asserts that the writer “accepts, rather than chooses” the theme of material, suggesting that one will instinctively choose character names rather than purposefully. But, even when naming is in some sense “instinctual” (11, Alego), there is no reason to expect we can ever identify the “instinct” that underlies it. Feeling can be reason enough to capture and create valuable meaning.
In certain situations and depending on the situation, “names are in some sense connected to those who bear them or are assigned by convention merely” (1, Alego). In Herman Melville's short story Bartleby the Scrivener, names help us to assign importance to characters as well as illustrate for the reader traits of characters. “Nicknames are older than surnames, and they are stronger: the relationship is something like that between a parent and offspring” (xi, Franklyn). The Oxford English Dictionary defines a nickname as “a name or appellation added to, or substituted for, the proper name of a person, place, etc.”, but according to Franklyn, nicknames are not names: “Nicknames are not by-names, nor are they to-names; they are not pet names, neither are they diminutives, all or any of which may be added to, or substituted for, proper names” (xii, Franklyn). The distinction between primary and secondary names is “delicate” (70, Alego), as we see in Herman Melville's short story Bartleby the Scrivener.
Almost immediately we meet "first, Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut." We notice at once that the lawyer is nameless and that the employees have nicknames; for Bartleby alone is a true name reserved. This serves not only to highlight the importance of Bartleby to the narrative, but alternately, it suggests the lack of importance of the minor characters. Nonetheless, the nicknames they are prescribed allow readers a glimpse into their personalities and simultaneously the personality of the nameless narrator who calls them by these non-names.
The study of names is called onomastics, a field which touches on linguistics, history, anthropology, psychology, sociology, philology and much more. When referring to the "meaning of a name" however, they are most likely referring to the etymology, which is the original literal meaning. The Oxford English Dictionary defines etymology as “the study of the origin of words and the way in which their meanings have changed throughout history”.
The development of character identity is essential to understanding individual motive; It has been suggested that, often, authors will select names for characters that will reflect actual traits of or decisions made by the character themselves. This not only adds meaning to the work of literature but adds an element of realism to the characters.
Names are universal in human language; according to Alego, proper names were the “original kind of word, due to an uncritical acceptance of a romantic view of the savage as a simple, uncomplex soul, given to concrete thinking [...]” (11, Alego). At one time anthropologists thought that certain peoples were so "primitive and unorganized” (Feldman) that they didn't even use names. However, as time passed and cultures evolved, language was created in order to prescribe meaning to the world around us. As names eventually became a standard way to identify ourselves and others, names have been passed down through family lineage as a form of respect for the individuals who have bore the name; but in writing there is no lineage to base characters on. In literature, it is the authors’ responsibility to craft a name worthy of the character they have brought to life. In literature, a name can mean everything.
The historical debate between naturalists, who see the name as revelatory of the thing named, and conventionalists, who believe the name as an arbitrary designation, has continued through the centuries and is still very much alive today. Alego has suggested names to be “without signification” (53, Alego), meaningless marks by which one thing is distinguished from another. On the other hand, Alego also purports that it would be “contrary to man’s nature to name the objects of his thoughts by sounds which conveyed no meaning to him or others” (58, Alego). In this regard, it can be maintained that, if only based on the meaning within man’s own mind, there is still meaning behind the selection of names, either for people or for things.
It has been suggested by Shook that “some names resulted from considerable thought, while others came about in a more casual fashion” (xi, Shook). While some names are chosen deliberately and with much fanfare, others come about almost by accident. In an essay written by Cather, she asserts that the writer “accepts, rather than chooses” the theme of material, suggesting that one will instinctively choose character names rather than purposefully. But, even when naming is in some sense “instinctual” (11, Alego), there is no reason to expect we can ever identify the “instinct” that underlies it. Feeling can be reason enough to capture and create valuable meaning.
In certain situations and depending on the situation, “names are in some sense connected to those who bear them or are assigned by convention merely” (1, Alego). In Herman Melville's short story Bartleby the Scrivener, names help us to assign importance to characters as well as illustrate for the reader traits of characters. “Nicknames are older than surnames, and they are stronger: the relationship is something like that between a parent and offspring” (xi, Franklyn). The Oxford English Dictionary defines a nickname as “a name or appellation added to, or substituted for, the proper name of a person, place, etc.”, but according to Franklyn, nicknames are not names: “Nicknames are not by-names, nor are they to-names; they are not pet names, neither are they diminutives, all or any of which may be added to, or substituted for, proper names” (xii, Franklyn). The distinction between primary and secondary names is “delicate” (70, Alego), as we see in Herman Melville's short story Bartleby the Scrivener.
Almost immediately we meet "first, Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut." We notice at once that the lawyer is nameless and that the employees have nicknames; for Bartleby alone is a true name reserved. This serves not only to highlight the importance of Bartleby to the narrative, but alternately, it suggests the lack of importance of the minor characters. Nonetheless, the nicknames they are prescribed allow readers a glimpse into their personalities and simultaneously the personality of the nameless narrator who calls them by these non-names.
More...