Especially amusing, but one I think I'll have a lot more to say about once I've started studying it.

great long cozy read

Again, this site should rate out of ten, because Great Expectations would get seven. I found it cute, which, while fun and a delight, is not what I read books for. The points at which I was truly engaged were too distant from each other to save this book for me. I don't mean to say that I think it a failure - I don't at all; it just didn't transport me into that stream of terrible beauty that the books I find truly satisfying wrench me into.

BLURB
Pip is raised in abject squalor. He meets a hardened criminal one night in an eerie graveyard, and impresses him with his good nature.
After this, he is exposed to a crazy old lady, Miss Favisham and her beautiful niece Estelle.
Years later, Pip is raised into society by a mysterious benefactor, and his snobbishness, fall from grace, and ultimate redemption is laid out for us to enjoy.

REVIEW
After the misery that was 'A Tale of Two Cities', Dickens returns to his comedy (albeit dark) roots in this fabulous epic.
Personally, for me, the whole book is about Miss Favisham! One of the greatest vindictive cows in literary history (up there with Lady Macbeth and Xenia, she also makes a fab appearance in Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next Series).

Pip is one of those delightfully gormless hero's. he does nothing to deserve the love and support of his family. His talents are never really as great as he thinks, nevertheless, one roots for him throughout this classic!

Again, this site should rate out of ten, because Great Expectations would get seven. I found it cute, which, while fun and a delight, is not what I read books for. The points at which I was truly engaged were too distant from each other to save this book for me. I don't mean to say that I think it a failure - I don't at all; it just didn't transport me into that stream of terrible beauty that the books I find truly satisfying wrench me into.

How tiresome.

I think, if I were to have a competition with Nicholas Guest to see who bummed Henry James harder, I would win. He manages to strike the balance between the concise and the beautiful, and it's *great*.

I think, if I were to have a competition with Nicholas Guest to see who bummed Henry James harder, I would win. He manages to strike the balance between the concise and the beautiful, and it's *great*.

Pretty, glittery, distant; it swept me up but it didn't take me anywhere.

Pretty, glittery, distant; it swept me up but it didn't take me anywhere.

This was just great. I mean, as far as damnation stories go there's not much about Vathek content-wise that truly sets it apart, but the language is so intense, so passionate, and I'd fallen in love with Beckford after about a page of the introduction. I also found his depiction of Hell especially affecting. It's the kind of thing I want to learn most of so I can trail off quotes at unsuspecting types and make myself look even more pretentious than I already do.

This was just great. I mean, as far as damnation stories go there's not much about Vathek content-wise that truly sets it apart, but the language is so intense, so passionate, and I'd fallen in love with Beckford after about a page of the introduction. I also found his depiction of Hell especially affecting. It's the kind of thing I want to learn most of so I can trail off quotes at unsuspecting types and make myself look even more pretentious than I already do.

Predictably concise, vigorous, et cetera; several interesting lines of enquiry, and even the essays whose subjects did not immediately appeal still felt worth the read. Still, it's quite hard to sustain any kind of meaningful passion for a book when you become more and more certain the more of it you read that its author would completely disapprove of you. Not that I only like reading books by those who I think would like me, but Orwell's uncompromising attitude made me feel distinctly not good enough. (As ever, though, I adore adore adore his writing style. It's so sharp.)

Predictably concise, vigorous, et cetera; several interesting lines of enquiry, and even the essays whose subjects did not immediately appeal still felt worth the read. Still, it's quite hard to sustain any kind of meaningful passion for a book when you become more and more certain the more of it you read that its author would completely disapprove of you. Not that I only like reading books by those who I think would like me, but Orwell's uncompromising attitude made me feel distinctly not good enough. (As ever, though, I adore adore adore his writing style. It's so sharp.)