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jacqueswiehose's review against another edition
adventurous
reflective
medium-paced
msand3's review against another edition
4.0
One thing I can say after reading this book: Hemingway's got nothing on Jack!
This is no melancholy rumination on the dangers of alcohol. It's a rip-roaring autobiography in which booze plays an integral part. Although London claims to desire prohibition, he can't seem to help celebrating John Barleycorn for the entire first two-thirds of the book. We read as London describes getting drunk at ages five and seven. Then onto his days as a teenage oyster pirate, where he practically lives in taverns, swilling whiskey with "fine, chesty, man-grown men." (Seriously. That's a direct quote. His favorite adjective is "chesty.") At this point the reader has to be wondering if London is joking when he says he's in favor of prohibition. Hell, after reading the first half of the book, I was wishing I could visit a turn-of-the-century San Francisco dockside bar and get loaded with characters like French Frank, Whisky Bob, and Spider. And despite all this boozy, manly camaraderie, London insists (almost every other page) that he is most definitely NOT an alcoholic. (Dear God, I can only imagine what he thinks an alcoholic IS!) Only in the final third of the book do we get a brief essay on the social ills of John Barleycorn and the "truthful-lying" of his "White Logic." But by this point, the reader has to find London's conclusion a bit hard to swallow. (Pardon the pun.) Indeed, in the last chapter (spoiler alert?) London claims that despite his desire for booze to be outlawed so as not to poison young people, he still wants to continue drinking! (Only socially, of course. Because, as he emphasizes constantly, he is most definitely NOT an alcoholic!) Is this meant to be irony? Is London serious? Does he really think his manly body (which, by the way, has been ravaged by so many physical ills it's kinda scary) has actually "beaten" John Barleycorn at his own game, as he claims? I don't think it matters. The point is made: alcohol can distort your thinking, damage your senses, and totally ruin your body. But it sure can be a fun ride along the way.
This is no melancholy rumination on the dangers of alcohol. It's a rip-roaring autobiography in which booze plays an integral part. Although London claims to desire prohibition, he can't seem to help celebrating John Barleycorn for the entire first two-thirds of the book. We read as London describes getting drunk at ages five and seven. Then onto his days as a teenage oyster pirate, where he practically lives in taverns, swilling whiskey with "fine, chesty, man-grown men." (Seriously. That's a direct quote. His favorite adjective is "chesty.") At this point the reader has to be wondering if London is joking when he says he's in favor of prohibition. Hell, after reading the first half of the book, I was wishing I could visit a turn-of-the-century San Francisco dockside bar and get loaded with characters like French Frank, Whisky Bob, and Spider. And despite all this boozy, manly camaraderie, London insists (almost every other page) that he is most definitely NOT an alcoholic. (Dear God, I can only imagine what he thinks an alcoholic IS!) Only in the final third of the book do we get a brief essay on the social ills of John Barleycorn and the "truthful-lying" of his "White Logic." But by this point, the reader has to find London's conclusion a bit hard to swallow. (Pardon the pun.) Indeed, in the last chapter (spoiler alert?) London claims that despite his desire for booze to be outlawed so as not to poison young people, he still wants to continue drinking! (Only socially, of course. Because, as he emphasizes constantly, he is most definitely NOT an alcoholic!) Is this meant to be irony? Is London serious? Does he really think his manly body (which, by the way, has been ravaged by so many physical ills it's kinda scary) has actually "beaten" John Barleycorn at his own game, as he claims? I don't think it matters. The point is made: alcohol can distort your thinking, damage your senses, and totally ruin your body. But it sure can be a fun ride along the way.
epictetsocrate's review
3.0
Toată povestea începe într-o zi de alegeri. Într-o după-amiază toridă, aşa cum se întâlneşte numai în California, am descălecat în Valea Lunii. Plecasem de la micul meu ranch şi venisem în sat pentru a vota o serie întreagă de reforme ce urmau să se aducă constituţiei statului californian. Era atât de cald, încât dădusem peste cap câteva pahare înainte chiar de a-mi fi pus buletinul în urnă precum şi numeroase altele după aceea. La întoarcere, străbătui la trap colinele acoperite de podgorii, ogoarele ranch-ului şi ajunsei tocmai bine la ora aperitivului şi a mesei.
Abia intrai şi Charmian mă luă în primire:
― Ei, ai fost pentru sau împotriva dreptului de vot al femeilor?
Am votat pentru.
O exclamaţie de surpriză scăpă de pe buzele ei. Trebuie să mărturisesc că în tinereţe, cu toată credinţa mea pătimaşă în democraţie, eram împotriva votului feminin. Câţiva ani mai târziu, am devenit mai îngăduitor şi l-am primit fără entuziasm, ca pe un inevitabil fenomen social.
― Te rog, explică-mi, stărui Charmian, de ce ai votat pentru?
Atunci i-am răspuns; i-am dat amănunte din belşug; i-am pledat plin de indignare. Cu cât vorbeam, cu atât mă aprindeam mai mult. (Nu fiindcă eram beat; dovadă, calul de pe care abia coborâsem. Acesta purta pe drept cuvânt numele de „Nelegiuitul” şi aş vrea să văd un altul capabil să-l încalece).
Totuşi, cum aş putea să mă exprim? ― mă simţeam „bine”, eram încins şi uşor ameţit.
― Când femeile vor avea dreptul să meargă la urnă, au să voteze pentru prohibiţie, susţinui eu. Femeile sunt soţii, surori şi mame; numai ele vor reuşi să bată cuiele în sicriul lui John Barleycorn.
Abia intrai şi Charmian mă luă în primire:
― Ei, ai fost pentru sau împotriva dreptului de vot al femeilor?
Am votat pentru.
O exclamaţie de surpriză scăpă de pe buzele ei. Trebuie să mărturisesc că în tinereţe, cu toată credinţa mea pătimaşă în democraţie, eram împotriva votului feminin. Câţiva ani mai târziu, am devenit mai îngăduitor şi l-am primit fără entuziasm, ca pe un inevitabil fenomen social.
― Te rog, explică-mi, stărui Charmian, de ce ai votat pentru?
Atunci i-am răspuns; i-am dat amănunte din belşug; i-am pledat plin de indignare. Cu cât vorbeam, cu atât mă aprindeam mai mult. (Nu fiindcă eram beat; dovadă, calul de pe care abia coborâsem. Acesta purta pe drept cuvânt numele de „Nelegiuitul” şi aş vrea să văd un altul capabil să-l încalece).
Totuşi, cum aş putea să mă exprim? ― mă simţeam „bine”, eram încins şi uşor ameţit.
― Când femeile vor avea dreptul să meargă la urnă, au să voteze pentru prohibiţie, susţinui eu. Femeile sunt soţii, surori şi mame; numai ele vor reuşi să bată cuiele în sicriul lui John Barleycorn.
lilirose's review against another edition
1.0
Non penso di riuscire a descrivere a parole la vastità della noia e del disinteresse che ho provato nei confronti di questo libro: basti dire che è lungo 160 pagine e me lo sono trascinato per un mese. D'altronde è anche colpa mia, Jack London non è un autore che mi sia particolarmente caro (forse ho letto Il richiamo della foresta una vita fa - o era Zanna Bianca, di sicuro c'era un cane) e da astemia il tema dell' alcolismo su di me non ha nessuna presa, non riesco nemmeno ad empatizzare con le vittime, perchè è un argomento che sento lontano e su cui sono anche piuttosto rigida. Le continue vanterie dissimulate, la negazione del problema così tipica degli alcolizzati, tutto ha contribuito ad irritarmi invece che a coinvolgermi.
Non posso dire che sia scritto male o povero di contenuti, semplicemente è un libro che non è nelle mie corde e di cui avrei fatto volentieri a meno.
Non posso dire che sia scritto male o povero di contenuti, semplicemente è un libro che non è nelle mie corde e di cui avrei fatto volentieri a meno.
kellymce's review against another edition
3.0
London effectively describes our ambivalent relationship to booze. (For example, he gets tanked on election day after voting for women's suffrage...which he did because women would force prohibition.) The confusing mix of glorification and disapproval was strangely satisfying. It's all remarkably--maybe depressingly--relevant. London's insistence that he is not an alcoholic echoes what I've heard from plenty of acquaintances.
peebee's review against another edition
4.0
Pretty good. His attitude towards alcohol is pretty similar to mine, except he tends to overdramatize things. Half of his complaints are about not being able to sack up and say no to booze he doesn't want, and he doesn't get that caving like that is a sign of weakness and not virility.
He's all for prohibition, but I'll let that slide, since he never lived to see it.
He's all for prohibition, but I'll let that slide, since he never lived to see it.
arbieroo's review against another edition
4.0
This isn't an autobiography in the conventional sense. It's clearly and openly a Prohibitionist tract, published seven years before Prohibition came to pass. It just so happens that London chose his own drinking career to illustrate his argument. Hence, those looking for the story of Jack's life may be very frustrated as he ignores the details of his many adventures in favour of describing his many bouts of binge drinking and his slow descent into alcoholism (though he never admits to being an alcoholic - a mixture of macho pride and the era's poor understanding of addiction preventing).
Macho pride is a prominent, almost defining aspect of London's character, in fact. Despite writing of the evils of alcohol, he can't help repeatedly emphasising how his "superior constitution" allowed him to out drink nigh everybody he ever met and recover faster, too. Or do two men's work in the coal house of the electrical station, or carry more than the indigenous porters in the Yukon, or...the examples are numerous. Exactly how much exageration is going on here is hard to say, essentially unprovable. Nor did his pride limit itself to his physical prowess. He doesn't mind boasting about how he crammed two years' worth of high school in 6 months and passed the entry exams for the University of California, or how prodigiusly he read. Here the facts can be established because of the paper record: Not only did he make it to the Uni, his one semester there was an academic success, recording no grades below "B". His library was extant at his death and he used to scribble marginal notes, so it's easy to tell which books were used. Additionally, the references in his own books provide further evidence.
So whilst the reader won't learn more than the bare outline of London's life, there are character insights aplenty and if you want to see the social reasons for many a binge and many an insidious descent into addiction, from personal experience, here is as well-writed example as I can imagine.
It's a lively read, as compelling as any London fiction story or novel I've read (which is most of the major works, by now). Indeed, his second wife, Charmain, claimed it was fiction, alcoholism being extremely scandalous at the time - but the evidence doesn't back anything more than possible exageration of some of the binging episodes.
Clever as he was, though, London got the psychology of booze wrong in this regard: He thought Prohibition would work, that a generation would grow up without alcohol and never miss what they never had. Instead it was 13 years of the worst alcohol driven excesses in American history, driven by organised crime and the allure of the forbidden. He died before he saw himsekf proved wrong, though.
Macho pride is a prominent, almost defining aspect of London's character, in fact. Despite writing of the evils of alcohol, he can't help repeatedly emphasising how his "superior constitution" allowed him to out drink nigh everybody he ever met and recover faster, too. Or do two men's work in the coal house of the electrical station, or carry more than the indigenous porters in the Yukon, or...the examples are numerous. Exactly how much exageration is going on here is hard to say, essentially unprovable. Nor did his pride limit itself to his physical prowess. He doesn't mind boasting about how he crammed two years' worth of high school in 6 months and passed the entry exams for the University of California, or how prodigiusly he read. Here the facts can be established because of the paper record: Not only did he make it to the Uni, his one semester there was an academic success, recording no grades below "B". His library was extant at his death and he used to scribble marginal notes, so it's easy to tell which books were used. Additionally, the references in his own books provide further evidence.
So whilst the reader won't learn more than the bare outline of London's life, there are character insights aplenty and if you want to see the social reasons for many a binge and many an insidious descent into addiction, from personal experience, here is as well-writed example as I can imagine.
It's a lively read, as compelling as any London fiction story or novel I've read (which is most of the major works, by now). Indeed, his second wife, Charmain, claimed it was fiction, alcoholism being extremely scandalous at the time - but the evidence doesn't back anything more than possible exageration of some of the binging episodes.
Clever as he was, though, London got the psychology of booze wrong in this regard: He thought Prohibition would work, that a generation would grow up without alcohol and never miss what they never had. Instead it was 13 years of the worst alcohol driven excesses in American history, driven by organised crime and the allure of the forbidden. He died before he saw himsekf proved wrong, though.