Customer Reviews

The Anatomy of Melancholy (New York Review Books Classics)

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First of all, one has a very difficult problem in defining exactly what this compendium is. Is it a book, a poem, a history, an epic? Well, I think it is all of those and many more. The Anatomy of Melancholy is, without a doubt, the best book ever written, bar none.

It was compliled from all the books of the 17th century and is not really about melancholy, per se. It is, rather, Robert Burton's view of mankind and mankind's condition. All mankind. And all conditions. It is about melancholia, sure, but it is about everything else as well. Melancholia was just Burton's excuse to write about everything under the sun in a strikingly original way and then have the nerve to remind us that there is nothing new under the sun. This is a book filled with both endless quotes and endless quotable material and, to the surprise of many, it is a comic masterpiece. Perhaps "the" comic masterpiece. Burton chose to publish this book as having been written by "Democritus Junior," and if that doesn't give you a hint regarding the humor that follows, then not much will.

If you like good literature, you'll love this book. If you like psychology, you'll love this book. If you want to seem pretentious, you need this book. Mostly, however, this is a book for people who love words. Burton may have seemed like a raving madman to some, but he was a man obsessed with a love for the English language...and it shows.

The Anatomy of Melancholy wasn't meant to be read from the first page to the last; I have never met anyone who did that and one would have to be more than a little mad to even try. Just pick up the book. Open it to any page. You may find lists, digressions, bits of 17th century prose, quotes, much Latin. Whatever you find, it is sure to please if you only give it half a chance.

The Anatomy of Melancholy is definitely "the" desert island book. The only problem with taking this wonderful book to a desert island with you (or anywhere else, for that matter), is its size. If you have the one-volume edition, as I do, it can be terribly unwieldy. I once tried reading it on a trans-Atlantic flight and had difficulty keeping my grasp...physically. I highly recommend the three-volume set, if you can find it. If not, make do with the one-volume. Just don't go without. That would be a terrible mistake.

Be warned: this dense and brilliant book is extremely addicting. Once you start leafing through the pages and writing down your favorite passages, you'll find you never want to be without the book. And, as you'll come to see, that won't be such a bad thing at all.

Of all the editions of THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY that have ever been published, this may be the best for the general reader. The NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS CLASSIC edition wisely reprints the great 1932 Everyman's Library edition, with its wonderful introduction by the noted bookman Holbrook Jackson. (Readers are advised to skim or skip the rather pretentious new introduction by William H. Gass.)

Unlike the "all-English" edition referenced..., the Everyman/NYRBClassic edition gives the Latin tags as Burton scattered them through his work and translates each and every one, either in brackets immediately afterward, or (sometimes) in an endnote to each of the three volumes (now bound as one). I've tried to read the "all-English" edition, and it's disappointing, because it turns out that Burton wanted readers to read the Latin tags whether they could understand them or not. He included their syllables in the rhythm of his prose, so as you read this edition, you can almost hear him quote, then translate, then continue onward.

No booklover should skip this one, and this is the edition to have.

Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life.

Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning."

Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book.

Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers."

And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner."

Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction."

To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's.

But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.

I am reviewing the NYRB's edition of Robert Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.

It's good to have Burton's Anatomy back in print in an affordable edition. NYRB has reprinted the three volume Everyman's Library edition in a rather thick paperback. This is not the first time the three volume Everyman's Library edition has been reprinted in one volume. Everyman's Library had a one volume edition in the 1960's and Vintage had an edition in the 1970's, but these have been out of print for many years. Except for some minor changes such as a new introduction by William H. Gass, and the removal of the out-of-date select bibliography the NYRB edition is identical to the earlier reprints.

There are disadvantages to this reprint. Perhaps the biggest is that this reprint does not take advantage or even acknowledge the 70 or so years of scholarship that has come and gone since it was published in 1932. In the 1990's Oxford University Press issued a multi-volume scholarly edition of the Anatomy but the price is prohibative for most readers. You should know that NYRB edition is still good as a reader's copy, but it is not a scholarly edition.

Another problem is the editorial decision that Holbrook Jackson made to clear away Burton's anotations that were originally printed on the page, and moved them to the end of each partition. Instead of looking on the page for Burton's citations the reader is flipping back and forth to track them down. Burton sometimes has a great deal of fun in his marginal glosses, and you will miss them if you are not careful.

A third problem is the index. If you wanted to find Burton's references to English writers such as More, Shakespeare, or Spenser you would be out of luck if you used the index in the NYRB edition, but you wouldn't be if you were reading Shilletto's 1893 edition. In that edition authors Burton quotes are listed and you have no trouble tracking most of them in Burton's Anatomy.

These days I am more likely to read one of the 17th century editions of Burton's Anatomy or Shilletto's edition, but it is good to have Burton available again in a popular edition, even though this one is not ideal.

The Anatomy of Melancholy may be a worthwhile read. However, the publication of this text by CreateSpace (check the publisher for the book you're considering) is awful! It's ugly, cheaply produced, and missing large quantities of text without reason or explanation.

To begin, the cover is an eyesore. The plain black text indicating the title and author is surrounded by a hideous orange border. "Voted #1" is emblazoned in the corner; a tacky, transparent marketing ploy. I would be embarrassed to have someone see this book on my bookshelf.

Opening this tastelessly bound book, after being warned that the contents may not be accurate due to the rapidly changing nature of the internet (???), you will find that the text appears to have been formatted in Microsoft Word. It is hideous and pretty much unreadable.

If one does make the mistake of trying to read it, one will find that most of the book is missing! I think that this book may actually be "Part 1" of The Anatomy of Melancholy. Is the publisher even aware of this? Who knows. There is no introduction, no translations for the Latin passages, nothing. For all appearances, the publisher googled _The Anatomy of Melancholy_, copied the text he found into Microsoft Word, and printed out copies using a book binding machine he bought off of Ebay.

Do yourself a favor and avoid this publication. CreateSpace (aka Helpful Solutions) is manufacturing kindling, not literature. Buy the book from another publisher.

Usually available only in expensive private editions and nineteenth century complilations, the New York Review Books paperback edition of Robert Burton's "The Anatomy of Melancholy" is handy and relatively cheap. It reprints the sixth and final edition that Burton issued, each edition expanding with afterthoughts by the author. The original in 1621 was one-half the size of the last edition.
Burton was an Oxford scholar who had spent much of his life in Christ Church College of that institution accumulating quotes, ideas, and general collectible wisdom from the classics. His self-styled anatomy of the causes of melancholy is both ponderous and witty--quite in tune with Burton's styling himself as "Democritus Junior." Democritus, you will recall, was a Greek philosopher of the 5th century BC who developed the idea of atoms forming the basis of the universe. He was also sometimes called the "laughing philosopher" because of his wit.
Burton himself has a good time with this kind of humor, and his book is not at all a gloomy analysis of melancholy. What it is is a compendium of every kind of thought on the subject, and is replete with Latin quotations and Greek philosophy. It is a museum of myth, ignorance, and insight. Written in a uniquely antiquarian style, it is a treat for the modern reader. Like Sir Thomas Browne's gothic prose, Burton's is unique as well as intriguing. His book is meant to be dipped into, not to be read straight through. The wonderful thing is that it's not just a classic but a readable classic. It is, yes, antiquarian, but happily antiquarian.
I loved it.

Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life.

Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning."

Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book.

Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers."

And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner."

Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction."

To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's.

But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.

I am enjoying this book immensely and don't have much to add to what others are saying, but it should be pointed out for those familiar with the massive length of the original that this is NOT an abridgement -- the Product Details are incorrect. This NYRB paperback edition is more than 1,300 pages.

There are three "partitions" (sections) bound together in this one volume, and the numbering starts over again from one at the beginning of each section. The first section is 523 pages, the second is 312 pages and the third is 547, for a total of 1,382 pages plus some additional back and front matter.

So fear not. You're getting the whole thing in the one-volume NYRB paparback edition. Some flunky just looked at the page number on the last page and wrote that number in the product details without examining the rest of the book.

This purports to be a medical textbook, and many of the obviously learned author's quotations are from half-forgotten late mediæval medical writers. A plausible translation of the title into modern terms would be "A Study of Abnormal Psychology." The application of Scholastic methods to this topic --- so similar, and yet so different, from contemporary academic discourse --- creates a curious impression. He invokes astrology and theology in forming his psychology.

But in fact, Burton uses this arcane subject to go off on a profound and lengthy meditation on the melancholies and misfortunes of life itself. The author, it seems, was easily distracted, and his distractions are our gain. The passages on the Melancholy of Scholars, and the Melancholy of Lovers, are themselves worthy of the price of admission.

His prose is unlike anything before him or since him. It has some kinship to the paradoxical and simile-laden style of the Euphuists, but his individual sentences are often pithy and brief.

This seventeenth-century classic ought to be read by anyone interested in the period, in early psychology, or in the history of English prose.

Excellent popular edition of an indispensable work. My only complaint is that the volume is too thick and heavy for comfortable, convenient reading. I am tempted to cut it down the spine into two volumes (which is what the publisher should have done). Go for it -- you'll really enjoy Burton's endless diatribes, which are infinitely inventive. A true feast.