Books published by Alan Rodgers Books

No sooner did Winesburg, Ohio make its appearance than a number of critical labels were fixed on it: the revolt against the village, the espousal of sexual freedom, the deepening of American realism. Such tags may once have had their point, but by now they seem dated and stale. The revolt against the village (about which Anderson was always ambivalent) has faded into history. The espousal of sexual freedom would soon be exceeded in boldness by other writers. And as for the effort to place Winesburg, Ohio in a tradition of American realism, that now seems dubious. Only rarely is the object of Anderson's stories social verisimilitude, or the "photographing" of familiar appearances, in the sense, say, that one might use to describe a novel by Theodore Dreiser or Sinclair Lewis. Only occasionally, and then with a very light touch, does Anderson try to fill out the social arrangements of his imaginary town -- although the fact that his stories are set in a mid-American place like Winesburg does constitute an important formative condition.Set in the fictional town of Winesburg, Ohio, not to be confused with the actual Winesburg, which is based loosely on the author's childhood memories of Clyde, Ohio.

"Beckford, well read in Eastern romance, caught the atmosphere with unusual receptivity." -- H.P. Lovecraft. Five years later, Beckford was to pen his Oriental romance VATHEK, which has made his name immortal. From his earliest years Beckford had shown himself to be an amazing prodigy, writing and speaking French at age three, learning Latin and Greek by the time he was seven. He was also the richest commoner in Britain, who, in the course of his tour of the Continent to complete his education (the tour during which THE VISION was written) moved in such state that he was mistaken for the Holy Roman emperor traveling incognito. He became, ultimately, one of the most spectacular and eccentric aesthetes of all time, and a great connoisseur of all that is rare and beautiful.

The scene of this little book is on a high mountain. There are, indeed, many higher; there are many of a nobler outline. It is no place of pilgrimage for the summary globe-trotter; but to one who lives upon its sides, Mount Saint Helena soon becomes a center of interest. It is the Mont Blanc of one section of the Californian Coast Range, none of its near neighbors rising to one-half its altitude. It looks down on much green, intricate country. It feeds in the spring-time many splashing brooks. From its summit you must have an excellent lesson of geography: seeing, to the south, San Francisco Bay, with Tamalpais on the one hand and Monte Diablo on the other; to the west and thirty miles away, the open ocean; eastward, across the corn-lands and thick tule swamps of Sacramento Valley, to where the Central Pacific railroad begins to climb the sides of the Sierras; and northward, for what I know, the white head of Shasta looking down on Oregon.The author's experiences at Silverado were recorded in a journal he called "Silverado Sketches", parts of which he incorporated into Silverado Squatters in 1883 while living in Bournemouth, England, with other tales appearing in "Essays of Travel" and "Across the Plains". Many of his notes on the scenery around him later provided much of the descriptive detail for Treasure Island (1883).

The dominant primordial beast was strong in Buck, and under the fierce conditions of trail life it grew and grew. Yet it was a secret growth. His newborn cunning gave him poise and control. He was too busy adjusting himself to the new life to feel at ease, and not only did he not pick fights, but he avoided them whenever possible. A certain deliberateness characterized his attitude. He was not prone to rashness and precipitate action; and in the bitter hatred between him and Spitz he betrayed no impatience, shunned all offensive acts. On the other hand, possibly because he divined in Buck a dangerous rival, Spitz never lost an opportunity of showing his teeth. He even went out of his way to bully Buck, striving constantly to start the fight which could end only in the death of one or the other. Early in the trip this might have taken place had it not been for an unwonted accident. At the end of this day they made a bleak and miserable camp on the shore of Lake Le Barge. Driving snow, a wind that cut like a white-hot knife, and darkness had forced them to grope for a camping place. They could hardly have fared worse. At their backs rose a perpendicular wall of rock, and Perrault and Francois were compelled to make their fire and spread their sleeping robes on the ice of the lake itself. The tent they had discarded at Dyea in order to travel light. A few sticks of driftwood furnished them with a fire that thawed down through the ice and left them to eat supper in the dark.As early as 1923, the story was adapted to film and it has since seen several more cinematic adaptations.

Again Mr. Grainger laid down the will, and again he regarded me over the rim of his spectacles. "Good God!" cried Sir Richard, leaping to his feet, "the man must have been mad. Ten guineas -- why, it's an insult -- damme! -- it's an insult -- you'll never take it of course, Peter." "On the contrary, sir," said I. "But -- ten guineas!" bellowed the baronet; "on my soul now, George was a cold-blooded fish, but I didn't think even he was capable of such a despicable trick -- no -- curse me if I did! Why, it would have been kinder to have left you nothing at all -- but it was like George -- bitter to the end -- ten guineas!" "Is ten guineas," said I, "and when one comes to think of it, much may be done with ten guineas." Sir Richard grew purple in the face, but before he could speak, Mr. Grainger began to read again: "'Moreover, the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, now vested in the funds, shall be paid to either Maurice or Peter Vibart aforesaid, if either shall, within one calendar year, become the husband of the Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne.'" "Good God!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "'Failing which,'" read Mr. Grainger, "'the said sum, namely, five hundred thousand pounds, shall be bestowed upon such charity or charities as the trustees shall select. Signed by me, this tenth day of April, eighteen hundred and --, George Vibrart. Duly witnessed by Adam Penfleet, Martha Trent.'"

Linford Pratt had once during one of his visits to the town Reference Library, lighted on a maxim of that other unscrupulous person, Prince Talleyrand: "With time and patience the mulberry leaf is turned into satin." This seemed to Linford Pratt one of the finest and soundest pieces of wisdom which he had ever known put into words."It's old Mr. Bartle, sir," he whispered. "He's in your room there -- dead!" "Dead?" exclaimed Eldrick. "Dead!" Pratt shook his head again. "He came up not so long after you'd gone, sir," he said. "Everybody had gone but me -- I was just going. Wanted to see you about something I don't know what. He was very tottery when he came in -- complained of the stairs and the fog. I took him into your room, to sit down in the easy chair. And -- he died straight off. Just," concluded Pratt, "just as if he was going quietly to sleep!" "You're sure he is dead? -- not fainting?" asked Eldrick. "He's dead, sir -- quite dead," replied Pratt. "I've rung up Dr. Melrose -- he'll be here in a minute or two -- and the Town Hall -- the police -- as well. Will you look at him, sir?"

"The most racking pangs succeeded: a grinding in the bones, deadly nausea, and a horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death. Then these agonies began swiftly to subside, and I came to myself as if out of a great sickness. There was something strange in my sensations, something indescribably new and, from its very novelty, incredibly sweet. I felt younger, lighter, happier in body; within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a millrace in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil; and the thought, in that moment, braced and delighted me like wine. I stretched out my hands, exulting in the freshness of these sensations; and in the act, I was suddenly aware that I had lost in stature. . . ."The novella's impact is such that it has become a part of the English language, with the very phrase "Jekyll and Hyde" coming to mean a person who is vastly different in moral character from one situation to the next.