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In a Cardboard Belt!: Essays Personal, Literary, and Savage

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There are 32 essays in this book, one of which is called "Introduction." All of them are excellently written, smart, and lightly humorous.

The book is divided into four sections Personal, Literary, Attacks, and The Intellectual Life, but largely the subtitle for the book applies: "Essays Personal, Literary, and Savage."

The Savage section is terrific. It contains several attacks on at least three people: George Steiner, Harold Bloom, and Mortimer Adler. I had no idea what a doofus Adler was! This essay in particular also contains a kind of wisdom about what answers to problems in life we might expect -- or not receive -- from philosophy and its study. The attack on George Steiner is seriously penetrating, like a saber. Joseph Epstein charges George Steiner with the use of deceptive, inflated, know-it-all language so as to hide the clichés he actually thinks and writes by. The attack on Harold Bloom has been long-awaited and well-deserved since he has written books with language more clumsy than Theodore Dreiser's but with Gnostic language added, and he, I learned, influenced nobody with his pronouncements. All these essays are justly written and without bitterness of tone or nuance of any professional jealousy.

In the literary section he writes separate essays for each of three artists: Paul Valery, Marcel Proust, and I.B. Singer. These essays are the best value to be found in the book in terms of literary education, literary understanding as well as appreciation and praise of the artists mentioned. The essay on Proust contains as well a well-deserved attack on Phyllis Rose who naively wrote a book entitled "Year of Reading Proust."

The Personal section was a wholly enjoyable dip into Mr. Epstein's world. In one essay the reader learns that he has kept a diary and he meditates or muses on the usefulness of such a personal activity. In another essay, called "Memoirs of a Cheap and Finicky Glutton," he tells you of the kinds of local foods (and restaurants)-- and sausages -- he has enjoyed. The essay that serves as the Introduction is very thoughtful regarding age and turning 70. It's hard to dislike a guy who feels warm and fuzzy about Schopenhauer!

The last section called Intellectual Life deals largely with his cultural complaints and criticisms of society today in regard to movies, books, celebrities, and academia. Of the 9 essays in this section, the one I appreciated the most was "Is Reading Really At Risk?" Joseph Epstein not only answers the question, the reader learns in the process of reading the essay what is literature and why it is really different from "mere reading" of adequate and ordinary fiction.

As for criticism of the book as a whole, I have but one: 7 of the essays contain titles giving no clue as to what is the content. When this reader reflects on the Table of Contents, he has no recall of what was noteworthy or special in them. Even after re-reading them, they left little or no deep impression, though I enjoyed reading them at the time.

Finally, I enjoyed Joseph Epstein's use of language where he finds just the right word in a phrase so as to hit his target and send his meaning superlatively on and into the reader's mind. Some of the words I delighted in are: costive, jeroboam, squibs, immitigable, lucubration, antinomian, fustian, fantocinni, and com grano salis. These words, scattered like so much pepper corn in a large and nutritious salad, were perfect seasoning.

Epstein saved me when I was in the bush of Jamaica WI for two years. I read every essay he wrote. I have never missed any of his books since, it's so much like hanging with a friend whose foibles and brilliance you, meaning I, already know.

Maybe because I've read him so closely, wherever his essays and stories appear, I felt at times like I had read essays here before. Maybe they were published elsewhere? If so, I didn't find that written into the book. Or, more likely, I just know his stories, proclivities and his style so well.

In a time when few read the great writers of yore, you can learn so much from any of Joseph Epstein's essay books. How much he loves Henry James and why, for example. Anyway, the "kid's turning 70" and all his readers care.

Now, one thing I always marvel over his Epstein's genuine good humor. He's a kinda mild guy. Anyone more prone to rage would not be so sanguine about The American Scholar which he edited for almost 23 years and then was fired. Man, one huge mistake imo. Sorry, Joseph E., you would never write IMO but then again, you probably do not come to Amazon to check your readers' comments. All I can say is that you are so smart and not just a little famous either. You matter to readers everywhere, so I believe. (Another line that would have the writer of these essays cringing.)

I started with those essays flagged as "attacks" (on Mortimer Adler, Harold Bloom, and Edmund Wilson, respectively), because - let's be honest - a skillful intellectual skewering of a suitably pompous target is usually pretty entertaining. But Epstein wields a bludgeon, not a rapier, and his animosity against his targets feels way too personal. For one thing, Adler is a former boss of his, and he doesn't seem to realise that trying to settle scores with a former employer through public attack just makes him (Epstein) look petty. Particularly when part of the attack is to ridicule Adler for his physical clumsiness, and for his failure to pass Columbia's mandatory swim test.

Epstein is also way too fond of the throwaway remark that plunges the stiletto into the ribcage. For instance:

"I do not know of any genuine contribution that Mortimer Adler made to serious philosophy.."
"I don't believe Susan Sontag's celebrity finally had much to do with the power or cogency of her ideas."
"Wisdom, in a critic, is never excess baggage. Edmund Wilson, it begins to be clear, traveled light", having previously characterized Wilson as "a bald, pudgy little man with a drinking problem, a nearly perpetual erection, and a mean streak".

There are far too many of these - often completely gratuitous - asides, whose characteristic feature, aside from the nastiness, appears to be that they are invariably directed at people who have been more successful than Epstein.

And for all that he purports to take down others for the 'pompous' nature of their writing, his own tone in the essays "The Perpetual Adolescent" and "The Culture of Celebrity" pretty much defines old fogeydom. So that it wasn't particularly surprising to read, in the final essay, documenting his tenure as editor of "The American Scholar", that:

"In my twenty-three years as editor, the title 'Ms' never appeared in its pages"
"I moved slowly ... on changing from 'Negro' to 'black'"
"I was not big on 'gay' either.."

Unfortunately, by the time I got through these pieces, I had developed an antipathy to Epstein that made it almost impossible to be enthusiastic about the other essays I tried. (I didn't read the 'personal' pieces). Though I did quite like the essays on Auden and Keats.

In hindsight, it might have been better to read the "personal" essays before the attack pieces, as it would have given a greater chance of developing some sympathy with Epstein. But the bitterness and gratuitous nastiness (poking fun at people for their physical defects is simply indefensible) were a real turnoff, as was the air of smug superiority that pervades these essays.

I will not be seeking out other work by this author.

In A Cardboard Belt!: Essays Personal, Literary, and Savage
A cardboard belt would surely strain and break under the force of intellect and passion contained in this book. The introduction concerns the unique nature of the author's seventieth birthday; the end of middle age. There is a theory that at seventy, one may let it all hang out, and so he has. From praising Proust to savaging Mortimer Adler and articulating the "Perpetual Adolescence" of current American society, he gives vent to strongly held opinions. He entices the reader to try Proust one more time, to seek out Paul Valery, and to think again about W. H. Auden. Personal musings about the uses of insomnia, awe annihilating insights into the thoughts of the professor behind the lectern, and a graceful farewell to Aristides add savor to this wonderful book.

Twenty years ago I was an avid reader of Joseph Epstein's magazine pieces; his essays contra political correctness were music to my ears. On reading him this time around I have a somewhat different impression. His pieces on intellectuals in this volume are shallow-- full of clever quotations but ultimately telling you nothing more about Proust or Truman Capote or Auden than you already knew. I dislike I.B. Singer and the laudatory Singer essay gives me not one clue as to why I might be mistaken in my judgment. The nine essays on Joseph Epstein -- about one-third of the volume -- are self-aggrandizing, "backing himself into the limelight"; the essay on his decision to sell most of his book collection is a long list of the arcane tomes that he has read (and you haven't) but can now dispense with. The attack essays focus too much on physical characteristics and personal habits and are dismayingly juvenile and ad hominem. I would spend your precious reading time elsewhere.

Joseph Epstein is a rare treasure in the 21st century: an old-style essayist who makes the English language sparkle with his thoughtful phrasing. He's at his best revealing himself through episodes in his own life, rather than the external world. He's probably least comfortable talking about himself, but they are his best essays, covering issues from aging to insomnia.

Epstein is extremely modest about his distinguished background, so don't pass up this book just because of the cover artwork. I can't explain the publisher's choice, but the book reads better with the dustjacket removed.

Helen Gallagher, author Release Your Writing: Book Publishing, Your Way

These essays are among the best I know. Epstein has an eye for the interesting subject, and a great intellect to work on it. He has a terrific sense of humor and surprises again and again with it. It is rare that a book has made me laugh outloud as much as I have in this one. Epstein also is a very smart reader, and he brings passages from the writings of others which are often extraordinary. He is a street- wise writer and his knowledge of everyday realities blends well with his concern for overriding themes regarding the human condition. He is too when he is being generous one of the finest of literary critics. His essay on Isaac Singer in this work is a small masterpiece which seeks to explain why Epstein thinks the writings of Singer will live on much longer than that of any other living writer. Epstein is good when he praises and speaks of the writers he loves, Henry James, Beerbohm, Proust, Santayana. But the three essays in this work which are hatchet jobs the ones on Mortimer Adler, Edmund Wilson, and Harold Bloom did not much impress me. It is not that Epstein is wrong about the difficulty of Bloom's writing and its frequent pretentiousness. But he does not have the good grace to speak a bit about Bloom's vast knowledge of literature, his passion in reading.
In the closing essay of the work Epstein speaks of his years as editor of the American Scholar',and the joy he had in writing ninety- three articles for this publication. He too has an essay in which he analyzes in a telling way the reasons why academic life is filled with disappointments. He did not love his own career as teacher and sees it pretty much as a waste. What he loves to be and what he defines his love in terms of is writing.
Epstein writes best when he makes his own personal experience the heart of his exploration, and the evidence which moves him towards generalization. In one such piece in this collection he writes about eating out as restaurants , and describes favorite foods and restaurants in the process. It is not a very kosher journey but nonetheless often very funny.
The essay on his father seems to be a fair and affectionate one. In fact Epstein's writing has a refreshing toughness and honesty.
Reading this book made me want to read every essay and every book Epstein has written.
It was just such a great pleasure to read this book.
PS Epstein makes it clear that the great pleasure and meaning of his life has been in writing. Not the teaching , not the editing work, but the writing has been for him what makes it all worthwhile. What is wonderful about this is that he does it in such a way as to make it extremely worthwhile for the reader.

An Epstein essay, when he is on is all one thing, like the best jazz solos. The notions of the first sentences are stirring within the words of the last. Study him and give up. There is no method; he has no categories; he brings in whatever he pleases and the more stuff he puts in the more opportunities for still more odds and ends. He is a natural. He isn't looking for an effect; he cannot help what he accomplishes; he isn't trying.

I especially like the savage essays. Mortimer Adler, Harold Bloom. Neither appealed to me by reputation, but I was glad to take the time to learn more. Savagery nestles naturally amid reason and good heartedness. Look at Epstein's picture on the dust jacket, get to know him. If a man of his kindly appearance and obvious decency can let her rip as he does, then that's got to be OK for the rest of us. I cannot promise you Epstein as a correspondent, but over the years he has answered some of my fan mail. I save the cards.

Always skeptical of progress he did admit razor blades are better than 50 years ago, but is not impressed by satellite photos of Earth's weather.

I knew Epstein to be a fan of James Gould Cozzens, author of Guard of Honor and By Love Possessed and I hoped for an essay to commemorate the 100th birthday in 2003. Instead a card with the remark, "a real injustice had been done to James Gould Cozzens".

In the essay, "Why I am not a Lawyer" in this new collection Epstein after commenting on a number of lawyer authors explains that in Cozzens' novels, although Cozzens was never a lawyer, "law is never a job, but a vocation, one that informs one's point of view, forms one's character, sets one's inspirations, imbues one's life with whatever quality it is likely to possess". Epstein also writes that had he first read Cozzens in his 20s instead of his 40s he might well have gone to law school.

I am interested in the opinions of those who don't notice the rules on fashion, racism, anti Semitism, sexism. In this Epstein is as good and they come. In the last essay of In a Cardboard Belt, I'm History, we learn about his firing as editor of the American Scholar. He displeased groups whose outlines he doubtless paid no attention to. With no more quarterly column "Aristides" I now find his work in the Neocon magazines. Bill Kristol's weekly standard and Norman Podhoretz's Commentary. These are the guys who brought us the war in Iraq and maybe soon another with Iran. So I sent him more mail, "Stop `em Joe, you were actually in the army, you served a hitch, with your wit and decency you could, you must stop them". What gall. I sit in my chair reading and find others have not done enough.

How can we help him to a better home than among Neocons? Is there not a part of America to welcome Epstein better than that controlled by Zionists? Ours is a terrifying time. I thank my lucky star for the literary essay in this collection, The Intimate Abstraction of Paul Valéry. Starting on Valéry's books I see Epstein has pointed out a refuge, a "laboratory of the mind" that may sustain this reader who believes 9-11 was a Zionist false flag operation and expects more of the same. Valéry has a name for events we prefer not to grasp "negative hallucination".