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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
8 of 10 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Sailing up the chesapeake, sailing up the chesapeake,,
By
This review is from: Sabbatical: A Romance (American Literature Series) (Paperback)
Sailing up the chesapeake bay. John Barth brings us sailing once again, this time with the tale of married ex CIA-and-deeper-operative-turned-tell-almost-all-expose-writer Fenwick (descendant of Francis Scott Key) and literary prof Susan (descendant of Edgar Allen Poe), aboard their ship Pokey, while they wrestle with all of the things that can come between the introduction of the gun in Act I and its being fired in Act III, between the act and its resolution, things like birth, death, loyalty, rambunctious nephews, seamonsters. There are common themes here, sure, but for this reader, Barth's talent ensures that the style transcends gimmick. The story never gets too horribly muckied up while he plays around. In fact, sometimes his bold this-is-what-i'm-going-to-make-happen-next-and-this-is-why entrances/intrusions actually increase our appreciation/wonder for his craft. The man is telling you flat out how he plans to manipulate your senses of awe and delight, and thus warned, you're still blown away when he actually goes ahead and does it. Barth is an uncommon magician, in that he has no secrets, and yet he is no less magical
9 of 12 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Like the tide, Barth's stories cleanse and refresh us,
By A Customer
This review is from: Sabbatical: A Romance (American Literature Series) (Paperback)
I suppose it is inevitable that, as the post-war boomers approach the big six-zero over the next decade, we will see a tidal flood of tender, soul-searching narratives. Boomers want to understand rather than simply experience life, and most have been frustrated by life's refusal to obey our expectations.
Seeming to be five to ten years ahead of boomers, his books have ranged from the tragedy resulting from a terribly botched abortion (long before we openly spoke of this horror), through the visionary and usually misguided quest of the idealist (Sot-Weed Factor and Giles Goatboy), the terrible pain of realizing one is an adult (the clever but exhausting Letters), to more leisurely and accessible mid-life reassessment as protagonists take "voyages" on the emotional seascape of middle age (Sabbatical, Tidewater Tales, Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor, Once upon a Time...).
But, then, each time I realize (as if for the first time), the essential nature of his writing. Like the age-old games from which his writings spring (the quest/redemption stories of the Iliad and Oddessy, the "doomed" prophet stories of the Old and New Testaments, the mistaken identity games of Shakespeare and thousands of authors since, and the metaphor of story as voyage and voyage as growth from Chaucer, 1001 Nights, etc), Barth plays his games to remind us that the act of story telling *is* the experience, it *is* the reason we read: the experience of hearing ghost stories around the camp fire remains with us long long after we have forgotten the actual story. And then I remember that, as a reader, I have no more "right" to expect neatness and closure in a Barth story than I have the right to expect neatness and closure in my own life. Try as we might, our own work, our own story is always in progress. And like Barth's beloved Tidewater, the ebb and flow of our own story defies our attempt to capture to master it. In the end, life and Barth's stories remain as delightfully cleansing as the tide itself. KRH www.umeais.maine.edu/~hayward
2 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Ebbs and Wanes,
By
This review is from: Sabbatical: A Romance (American Literature Series) (Paperback)
A newspaper article mentioned Barth in passing and a used book rack supplied Sabbatical. It's hard to draw reference points for Barth with Sabbatical, but it I suppose a nautically-minded, Cold War-centric Umberto Eco is the best I can do. The book is firmly fixed in the pantheon of post-modern metafiction, that much is certain.The story (if there is one) follows the (mostly) sailing adventures of Susan Fenwick Turner and Susan Seckler, a comfortably bourgeois writer-turned CIA operative turned writer, and an uncomfortably elite writing professor (professors writing about professors, so it goes), descendant from F. Scott Key and Edgar Allan Poe, respectively. Barth's story is crammed with metaphors and allusions so thick they literally make your head bulge while you're trying to follow the story. At times impressive in breadth, there's not always a matching depth, and, I suspect, many go ignored by those of us lacking Ph.D.s in literary theory and semiotics. Barth is more interested in viewing life through a seafaring lens than spinning a yarn, though several back-stories concerning bikers, rape, Vietnamese poetry, Iranian intelligence, CIA, Latin American intrigue, and identity politics seep in and take form. Heavy-handed metaphors overwhelm the enthusiastic Barth reader--upstream, downtream, sperm and ova, etc. The excessive self-referential footnoting, while appreciated and edifying, soon becomes intrusive and tiring. Where is Barth going? What is his point? I'm pretty sure it's somewhere at the bottom of the sea, along with the many mysteries in Fenwick's life. Still, at the rather exciting start, and other points throughout the book, complemented by his thoroughly confident seaman's narrative, Barth fascinates and inspires.
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