Michael Levey (1927–2008)

A beautifully illustrated and refreshingly unpretentious introduction to art history, Michael Levey's classic 1962 book displays a depth of thought and technique that makes you annoyed at the charlatans who populate the creative world today. It is reliably astute in charting the arc of Western painting from Giotto to Cézanne, introducing and discussing along the way an honour roll of potent artists, including da Vinci, Michelangelo, Bosch, Botticelli, Rubens, Rembrandt, Vermeer, Caravaggio, show more Turner, Monet, Gauguin and van Gogh, as well as some lesser lights whose work is instructive in Levey's narrative. There are some notable omissions in the paintings selected (the part on da Vinci doesn't discuss the Mona Lisa, van Gogh's doesn't discuss Starry Night, or The Astronomer for Vermeer, etc.) but the book is, as its subtitle says, a concise history rather than an encyclopaedia.

With Levey's guidance, the reader begins to see the development of Western artistic expression over hundreds of years, and can appreciate the use and importance of certain techniques, such as the always-revolutionary use of light, even in seemingly-benign landscapes and still lifes. You begin to understand the wealth and intricacy of the art form – and again, despair at the current state of the medium. You develop an ability to differentiate between masters and regular painters, and it makes you want to reclaim that much-abused word 'masterpiece' for the things that really deserve it. In our post-modern, relativistic (and anti-Western/anti-Christian) times, appreciation of this sort of thing helps you acquire something approaching taste, or at least an awareness of objective standards. As an interested novice who has always wanted to explore this kind of art but has been wary of the pseuds, I could scarcely have conceived of anything more suitable than Levey's book. show less

Amusing, though intended seriously, takedown of some works of high repute and others now almost forgotten. Lovers of Shakespeare may be amazed to see Hamlet listed, but admit it, don't you really want to give that young man a kick in the trunk hose? And I have often felt that Hemingway got his reputation because he allowed male English professors to feel manly by association.

Don't waste your time with this. If you have two neurons to rub together, you'll be better off on your own than following the guidance of the authors of this monstrosity. (See, Brigid? I, too, can be rude and dismissive about a book without actually offering a cogent reason why it's so bad!) For an honest review, read on.

I don't usually mind books that disagree with the masses. I know how difficult it can be to dislike something that is widely held to be classic. (Check out my review of show more Grapes of Wrath for an example.) And there ARE parts of this book that do that, and that do it well. The chapter on Hamlet, for instance, explains certain areas in which the play doesn't live up to Shakespeare's usual standard of excellence. It doesn't claim that Hamlet is bad, as much as it claims that some other plays are better. Why is this one particular work so highly praised? And, whether you like Hamlet or hate it, their logic makes sense.

Unfortunately, most of the rest of the book does not take the time to present a careful argument for the works the authors are disparaging. In order to justify the lack of quality of an acclaimed work, it is necessary to demonstrate an understanding of that work, and most of the reviews here left me questioning that the authors even understood the point. The argument against The Scarlet Letter, for instance, hinges almost entirely on the assumption both the author and the story's narrator are condoning the harsh judgments of the Puritans and taking their "side" against Hester. The book, then, becomes a celebration of one woman's punishment. This is ridiculous. For one thing, limiting a book—any book—to one single true "meaning" will usually backfire. Basing that one meaning entirely on an imagined view of authorial intent is dangerous, and it assumes that the work of literature can't stand up on its own merit. Furthermore, The Scarlet Letter lends itself to many sympathetic readings of Hester's character. By the end of the novel, Hester has "won": the Puritans don't want her to wear the letter because it shames them, not her; and she has raised her daughter up out of a powerful stigma and set her up as an independent, wealthy, and respected member of society. Different critics have analyzed this book in different ways over the years, but here's a sampling: Feminist critics have interpreted this story as a woman's ultimate triumph over a system that fails to ruin her. Structuralists have compared Hester's honesty, penance, and subsequent redemption to the ruination that Dimmesdale experiences through his silence. Theorists exploring the psychoanalytic elements have reviewed the mother-daughter relationship in all its subtlety. Fifty Works's abrupt dismissal of any complexity that Hawthorne may have shown is puzzling, as is their connection between The Scarlet Letter and married American men today who ogle other women. (How is that relevant?)

I would have thought that the authors of this book simply didn't understand American literature, except that they are just as clueless about English works. Just because something went over their heads doesn't mean it has no value. I was especially disappointed with their dismissal of older works simply on a basis of their age. They seem to dismiss older works as being primitive just because they're old. They don't (or can't) demonstrate how these works miss the mark, but that doesn't stop them from similarly dismissing the people who made these older literary offerings as incapable of understanding complex ideas. Oh, the irony. show less

If I could, I would go and study art history. I dip into it now and then and come away with a few ideas, enough to be able to walk around a gallery and see things I might not understand without some background knowledge.

I have a fascination with that Renaissance period. There is something deeply moving about watching on canvas, a moment of transformation of human capabilities. Within a short span of historical time, the medieval world of order was torn asunder by a change in political show more methods -read Machiavelli and Burkhardt - at the same time, artists seemed to be released by new ideas, both scientific and profane.
Among the new ways: perspective was one; naturalism another.

The author mentions that frescoes were the domain of the Italians, apparently the warmer, drier weather was necessary for the technique of painting directly on wet plaster (hence fresco for fresh). Such a technique left a lasting effect because the pigment bonded with the plaster, it was stable, long lived and the colours remained vivid - as we can all see today in the works of Giotto, Raphael, Michelangelo etc. But then the northerners, the Dutch had been working the techniques of oil painting which greatly influenced the Italians later - we see this in Titian and Caravaggio.

I love the subtle changes where the influence of a style or a method can be seen over time. this book is dense on paintings all crammed on the page, and the text is brief, but informative on each painter, their influence, their schools, their methods and interests. One such observation is the way a method or stylistic achievement will go from necessary to pastiche of itself. Perspective, valuable for its naturalistic elements when used well, was often uses with architectural forms that later became weird and dominated the subject. It's fun to scan Carlo Crivelli's Annunciation of 1486 and its absurd effects of perspective and architectural forms all over the image. Once classical ideas had been introduced, Boticelli had in the Birth of Venus for the first time ever, moved away from any religious motif and gone completely pagan in the late 1480s. Though he still worked on religious themes throughout his career.

I could go right through the history up to Cezanne, but the most interesting was the early and late Renaissance for me. So I'll just say that this is a handy little reference. Well written, lots of picture examples, clear in its understanding of the period. It was first published in the 1960s. I think that was a great era of books on art for the lay person. Education to a broad audience seemed a strong motivation. Where did that go? show less