Rating: 
Summary: Not so much a book as a companion for life.
Review: Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life. Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning." Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book. Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers." And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner." Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction." To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's. But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.
Rating:
Summary: Not so much a book as a companion for life.
Review: Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life. Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning." Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book. Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers." And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner." Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction." To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's. But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.
Rating:
Summary: Absolutely the Best Book Ever Written...Bar None
Review: First of all, one has a very difficult problem in defining exactly what this compendium is. Is it a book, a poem, a history, an epic? Well, I think it is all of those and many more. The Anatomy of Melancholy is, without a doubt, the best book ever written, bar none. It was compliled from all the books of the 17th century and is not really about melancholy, per se. It is, rather, Robert Burton's view of mankind and mankind's condition. All mankind. And all conditions. It is about melancholia, sure, but it is about everything else as well. Melancholia was just Burton's excuse to write about everything under the sun in a strikingly original way and then have the nerve to remind us that there is nothing new under the sun. This is a book filled with both endless quotes and endless quotable material and, to the surprise of many, it is a comic masterpiece. Perhaps "the" comic masterpiece. Burton chose to publish this book as having been written by "Democritus Junior," and if that doesn't give you a hint regarding the humor that follows, then not much will. If you like good literature, you'll love this book. If you like psychology, you'll love this book. If you want to seem pretentious, you need this book. Mostly, however, this is a book for people who love words. Burton may have seemed like a raving madman to some, but he was a man obsessed with a love for the English language...and it shows. The Anatomy of Melancholy wasn't meant to be read from the first page to the last; I have never met anyone who did that and one would have to be more than a little mad to even try. Just pick up the book. Open it to any page. You may find lists, digressions, bits of 17th century prose, quotes, much Latin. Whatever you find, it is sure to please if you only give it half a chance. The Anatomy of Melancholy is definitely "the" desert island book. The only problem with taking this wonderful book to a desert island with you (or anywhere else, for that matter), is its size. If you have the one-volume edition, as I do, it can be terribly unwieldy. I once tried reading it on a trans-Atlantic flight and had difficulty keeping my grasp...physically. I highly recommend the three-volume set, if you can find it. If not, make do with the one-volume. Just don't go without. That would be a terrible mistake. Be warned: this dense and brilliant book is extremely addicting. Once you start leafing through the pages and writing down your favorite passages, you'll find you never want to be without the book. And, as you'll come to see, that won't be such a bad thing at all.
Rating: 
Summary: A Reprint of the Everyman's Library Edition
Review: I am reviewing the NYRB's edition of Robert Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. It's good to have Burton's Anatomy back in print in an affordable edition. NYRB has reprinted the three volume Everyman's Library edition in a rather thick paperback. This is not the first time the three volume Everyman's Library edition has been reprinted in one volume. Everyman's Library had a one volume edition in the 1960's and Vintage had an edition in the 1970's, but these have been out of print for many years. Except for some minor changes such as a new introduction by William H. Gass, and the removal of the out-of-date select bibliography the NYRB edition is identical to the earlier reprints. There are disadvantages to this reprint. Perhaps the biggest is that this reprint does not take advantage or even acknowledge the 70 or so years of scholarship that has come and gone since it was published in 1932. In the 1990's Oxford University Press issued a multi-volume scholarly edition of the Anatomy but the price is prohibative for most readers. You should know that NYRB edition is still good as a reader's copy, but it is not a scholarly edition. Another problem is the editorial decision that Holbrook Jackson made to clear away Burton's anotations that were originally printed on the page, and moved them to the end of each partition. Instead of looking on the page for Burton's citations the reader is flipping back and forth to track them down. Burton sometimes has a great deal of fun in his marginal glosses, and you will miss them if you are not careful. A third problem is the index. If you wanted to find Burton's references to English writers such as More, Shakespeare, or Spenser you would be out of luck if you used the index in the NYRB edition, but you wouldn't be if you were reading Shilletto's 1893 edition. In that edition authors Burton quotes are listed and you have no trouble tracking most of them in Burton's Anatomy. These days I am more likely to read one of the 17th century editions of Burton's Anatomy or Shilletto's edition, but it is good to have Burton available again in a popular edition, even though this one is not ideal.
Rating:
Summary: Only about the bits on love
Review: It is often said that The Sorrows of Young Werther is a catalogue of the symptoms of love-sickness. It can only serve as a primer for the Love-Melancholy section of the Anatomy. The list of causes and symptoms is encyclopaedic. The section on Artificial Allurements of Love, Causes and Provocations to Lust; Gestures, Clothes, Dower, etc. could probably be used as a manual in some quarters. And the section on Cure of Love-Melancholy is invaluable. It is amusing to see Burton (somewhat reluctantly) admit that 'The last and best Cure of Love-Melancholy is, to let them have their desire'.
Rating:
Summary: No booklover should skip this one -- in its best edition.
Review: Of all the editions of THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY that have ever been published, this may be the best for the general reader. The NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS CLASSIC edition wisely reprints the great 1932 Everyman's Library edition, with its wonderful introduction by the noted bookman Holbrook Jackson. (Readers are advised to skim or skip the rather pretentious new introduction by William H. Gass.) Unlike the "all-English" edition referenced..., the Everyman/NYRBClassic edition gives the Latin tags as Burton scattered them through his work and translates each and every one, either in brackets immediately afterward, or (sometimes) in an endnote to each of the three volumes (now bound as one). I've tried to read the "all-English" edition, and it's disappointing, because it turns out that Burton wanted readers to read the Latin tags whether they could understand them or not. He included their syllables in the rhythm of his prose, so as you read this edition, you can almost hear him quote, then translate, then continue onward. No booklover should skip this one, and this is the edition to have.
Rating:
Summary: No booklover should skip this one -- in its best edition.
Review: Of all the editions of THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY that have ever been published, this may be the best for the general reader. The NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS CLASSIC edition wisely reprints the great 1932 Everyman's Library edition, with its wonderful introduction by the noted bookman Holbrook Jackson. (Readers are advised to skim or skip the rather pretentious new introduction by William H. Gass.) Unlike the "all-English" edition referenced..., the Everyman/NYRBClassic edition gives the Latin tags as Burton scattered them through his work and translates each and every one, either in brackets immediately afterward, or (sometimes) in an endnote to each of the three volumes (now bound as one). I've tried to read the "all-English" edition, and it's disappointing, because it turns out that Burton wanted readers to read the Latin tags whether they could understand them or not. He included their syllables in the rhythm of his prose, so as you read this edition, you can almost hear him quote, then translate, then continue onward. No booklover should skip this one, and this is the edition to have.
Rating:
Summary: An antiquarian's delight
Review: OK. This for all of you autodidacts who love poring over your unabridged editions of the OED in search of abstruse verbal arcana and the history of obsolete verbiage (Ahem, I include myself in your number, of course.). This is one aspect of this Gargantuan tome, and the most delightful one. The other aspect is rather more nebulous: What exactly is this book about, and why was it penned? The obvious answer to the first part of the query is "melancholy." But melancholy, as here laid forth, is a seemingly ubiquitous and all-encompassing malady, as it were. "For indeed who is not a fool, melancholy, mad?" And who knows exactly why it was penned? So little is known of Burton and the incidents of his life: Save, of course, that he was well-acquainted with the unfelicitous side of things. - There is a sweetness in his accounting of it though, that is oddly reminiscent of the subaqueous tones of Debussy. One is not surprised either to find that Keats was one of Burton's readers.-The same dulcet sadness lures us into a kind of bittersweet repose, as in the opening lines of the poet's "Ode To A Nightingale."-Burton had a calling and this book was his answer to it.- All arguments in re the whys and wherefores are really for naught.- He had a calling and his answer remains a unique monument in Western literature, to be treasured and pored over again and again by all of us logophiles and solitary scholars...And anyone else, by the way.
Rating:
Summary: An antiquarian's delight
Review: OK. This for all of you autodidacts who love poring over your unabridged editions of the OED in search of abstruse verbal arcana and the history of obsolete verbiage (Ahem, I include myself in your number, of course.). This is one aspect of this Gargantuan tome, and the most delightful one. The other aspect is rather more nebulous: What exactly is this book about, and why was it penned? The obvious answer to the first part of the query is "melancholy." But melancholy, as here laid forth, is a seemingly ubiquitous and all-encompassing malady, as it were. "For indeed who is not a fool, melancholy, mad?" And who knows exactly why it was penned? So little is known of Burton and the incidents of his life: Save, of course, that he was well-acquainted with the unfelicitous side of things. - There is a sweetness in his accounting of it though, that is oddly reminiscent of the subaqueous tones of Debussy. One is not surprised either to find that Keats was one of Burton's readers.-The same dulcet sadness lures us into a kind of bittersweet repose, as in the opening lines of the poet's "Ode To A Nightingale."-Burton had a calling and this book was his answer to it.- All arguments in re the whys and wherefores are really for naught.- He had a calling and his answer remains a unique monument in Western literature, to be treasured and pored over again and again by all of us logophiles and solitary scholars...And anyone else, by the way.
Rating: 
Summary: Vicious verbosity
Review: This book is almost unreadable. First, physically. It is a paperback, but very thick and heavy, and does not allow easy reading except on a table; almost impossible to read in bed. Second, subject matter. These are the ravings of a totally unbalanced mind. Yes it is arcane and interesting to see how someone (admittedly brilliant) thought so long ago. And he had an opinion about everything! Everything, I say! Talk about motormouth. He goes on and on long after anyone could possibly find him interesting. Oh, how this man needed an editor. Third, he is viciously anti-Catholic. Yes, I know it was (is?)the fashion in England for the best people to be anti-Catholic, but this guy can't be beat for vitriolic, venomous, bigotry. If you like that sort of thing, or some peekings into a pretty nasty anti-feminist, anti-modernity, deluded melancholy mind, be my guest. My advice: save your money.
|
