My daughter bought me this book for my birthday, and I'm glad she did, as was she, since she has a hard time finding things a curmudgeon like myself will appreciate (see the essay "Against Joie de Vivre," which led her to believe I'd enjoy this book).

Given the nature of the personal essay, which the author discusses in "What Happened to the Personal Essay?" there were of course some pieces I preferred to others. He stirred my interest, for example, in Montaigne and William Hazlitt, as progenitors of the personal essay, and reminded me of the pleasures I've gotten from Edmund Wilson, George Orwell, Seymour Krim, Norman Mailer, Joyce Carol Oates, Calvin Trillin, Albert Camus, E.M. Cioran, Milan Kundera, C. Wright Mills, and Susan Sontag, to name a few of the other "personal essayists" he cites.

On a more personal level--that is, having experienced similar situations and states of mind--I enjoyed "Never Live Above Your Landlord" and "Upstairs Neighbors" (living in Manhattan), and "... The 'Heroic' Age of Moviegoing" (the adventure of discovering, as a young man, foreign films when so-called art houses were in vogue). Other particular pleasures were Lopate's reflections upon "Modern Friendships," appearances ("On Shaving a Beard"), and the vulnerabilities of an author "Waiting for the Book to Come Out." And perhaps the most riveting piece: the author's experiences as a teacher, in "Chekhov for Children." ( )

Old (1989) but still relevant and beautifully composed essays, on ever-timely subjects. Lopate possesses a dry and wry mix of guilt and shame that animates his thinking and prose.

Buying a book of essays is sort of like buying an album; maybe you already know and like one of the tracts and are hoping the majority of the rest are as good, but it's not a sure thing. In this collection, the best essay is the first, "Samson and Delilah and the Kids," sucking us in, so we want to buy the whole album.

Lopate, born in 1943 (the same year as both of my husbands - must be I like the thoughts of men born in that year) - says he "grew up in the era of the great Jewish lovers. Samson and Delilah, David and Bathsheba, Solomon and Sheba..." Who in our generation can't remember those film posters, especially the ones with Hedy Lamarr? And the biblical cartoons that ran in the Sunday papers: Lopate mentions those also as forming, along with the movies, his primary impressions of the Bible while growing up. Those of us who shared that intellectual [sic] background cannot but smile.

After a charming and witty discussion of the Bible epic movies, the author explores the question of "Why do men want Delilahs?" His answer, or many answers, strike me as brilliant. A smattering of his thoughts:

"Because one yearns to be swept away by a passion stronger than one's reason... because, while she may destroy you, she will not smother you with admiration or doting affection... because she confirms your worst ideas about women... because she is full of surprises and that keeps you off-balance..." And because of the many arts she possesses: "the ability to sustain an appearance of glamour... the control of scents... the manipulation of interior spaces...the ability to keep the humdrum everyday world at bay...the naughtiness of a young girl or a kitten or anything but a fully adult woman (who would remind you of your own death)..."

Some essays are enjoyable riffs on urban life; some, like "Chekhov for Children" keep you turning the pages; some seem way too self-oriented for anyone to care. As Lopate himself notes in "What Happened to the Personal Essay," "Informal, familiar esays tend to seize on the parade and minuitiae of daily life: vanities, fashions, oddballs, seasonal rituals, love and disappointment, the pleasures of solitude, reading going to plays, walking in the street." Sometimes I loved accompanying him on his quotidian travels; other times (as with "Waiting For the Book To Come Out"), I wished he would change the subject. ...but never enough to stop reading; a personal essayist becomes your friend; you listen to your friends through the good, bad, and boring, because you have come to love them and appreciate their observations, their wit, and the generous way they share their innermost thoughts with you. And even when you grimace to recognize some unsavory thought as similar to one of your own, you marvel at the ability and even courage to articulate it.

(JAF)

I know exactly how this guy feels, I just can't write as well about it.