Alice Adams: Vintage Movie Classics [NOOK Book]


The basis for George Stevens’s major motion picture starring Katharine Hepburn in her Oscar-nominated leading role.

In a small Midwestern town in the wake of World War I, Alice Adams delightedly finds herself being pursued by Arthur Russell, a gentleman of a higher social class in life. Desperate to keep her family's lower-middle-class status a secret, she and her parents concoct various schemes to keep their family afloat. Though the ...
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Alice Adams: Vintage Movie Classics

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The basis for George Stevens’s major motion picture starring Katharine Hepburn in her Oscar-nominated leading role.

In a small Midwestern town in the wake of World War I, Alice Adams delightedly finds herself being pursued by Arthur Russell, a gentleman of a higher social class in life. Desperate to keep her family's lower-middle-class status a secret, she and her parents concoct various schemes to keep their family afloat. Though the realities of her situation eventually reveal themselves and her relationship with Arthur fizzles, Alice's acceptance of this leads her to seek out work to support her family with an admirable resiliency. An enchanting and authentic tale of a family's aspirations to seek more out of life, Alice Adams reveals the strength of the human spirit and its incredible ability to evolve.
Originally published in 1921, this bestselling Pulitzer Prize-winning novel was adapted into film twice, and its heroine, the sparkling Alice Adams, still resonates with readers today.

With a new foreword by Anne Edwards.

Vintage Movie Classics spotlights classic films that have stood the test of time, now rediscovered through the publication of the novels on which they were based.

From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780804170819
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 3/25/2014
  • Series: Vintage
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 336
  • Sales rank: 911,833
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

Booth Tarkington (1869-1946) was a highly acclaimed and bestselling American novelist and dramatist from Indiana. He is best known for his two Pulitzer Prize-winning novels The Magnificent Ambersons and Alice Adams.

From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Read an Excerpt


The patient, an old-­fashioned man, thought the nurse made a mistake in keeping both of the windows open, and her sprightly disregard of his protests added something to his hatred of her. Every evening he told her that anybody with ordinary gumption ought to realize that night air was bad for the human frame. “The human frame won’t stand everything, Miss Perry,” he warned her, resentfully. “Even a child, if it had just ordinary gumption, ought to know enough not to let the night air blow on sick people—­yes, nor well people, either! ‘Keep out of the night air, no matter how well you feel.’ That’s what my mother used to tell me when I was a boy. ‘Keep out of the night air, Virgil,’ she’d say. ‘Keep out of the night air.’ ”

“I expect probably her mother told her the same thing,” the nurse suggested.

“Of course she did. My grandmother——”

“Oh, I guess your grandmother thought so, Mr. Adams! That was when all this flat central country was swampish and hadn’t been drained off yet. I guess the truth must been the swamp mosquitoes bit people and gave ’em malaria, especially before they began to put screens in their windows. Well, we got screens in these windows, and no mosquitoes are goin’ to bite us; so just you be a good boy and rest your mind and go to sleep like you need to.”

“Sleep?” he said. “Likely!”

He thought the night air worst of all in April; he hadn’t a doubt it would kill him, he declared. “It’s miraculous what the human frame will survive,” he admitted on the last evening of that month. “But you and the doctor ought to both be taught it won’t stand too dang much! You poison a man and poison and poison him with this April night air——”

“Can’t poison you with much more of it,” Miss Perry interrupted him, indulgently. “To-­morrow it’ll be May night air, and I expect that’ll be a lot better for you, don’t you? Now let’s just sober down and be a good boy and get some nice sound sleep.”

She gave him his medicine, and, having set the glass upon the center table, returned to her cot, where, after a still interval, she snored faintly. Upon this, his expression became that of a man goaded out of overpowering weariness into irony.

“Sleep? Oh, certainly, thank you!”

However, he did sleep intermittently, drowsed between times, and even dreamed; but, forgetting his dreams before he opened his eyes, and having some part of him all the while aware of his discomfort, he believed, as usual, that he lay awake the whole night long. He was conscious of the city as of some single great creature resting fitfully in the dark outside his windows. It lay all round about, in the damp cover of its night cloud of smoke, and tried to keep quiet for a few hours after midnight, but was too powerful a growing thing ever to lie altogether still. Even while it strove to sleep it muttered with digestions of the day before, and these already merged with rumblings of the morrow. “Owl” cars, bringing in last passengers over distant trolley-­lines, now and then howled on a curve; far-­away metallic stirrings could be heard from factories in the sooty suburbs on the plain outside the city; east, west, and south, switch-­engines chugged and snorted on sidings; and everywhere in the air there seemed to be a faint, voluminous hum as of innumerable wires trembling overhead to vibration of machinery underground.

In his youth Adams might have been less resentful of sounds such as these when they interfered with his night’s sleep: even during an illness he might have taken some pride in them as proof of his citizenship in a “live town”; but at fifty-­five he merely hated them because they kept him awake. They “pressed on his nerves,” as he put it; and so did almost everything else, for that matter.

He heard the milk-­wagon drive into the cross-­street beneath his windows and stop at each house. The milkman carried his jars round to the “back porch,” while the horse moved slowly ahead to the gate of the next customer and waited there. “He’s gone into Pollocks’,” Adams thought, following this progress. “I hope it’ll sour on ’em before breakfast. Delivered the Andersons’. Now he’s getting out ours. Listen to the darn brute! What’s he care who wants to sleep!” His complaint was of the horse, who casually shifted weight with a clink of steel shoes on the worn brick pavement of the street, and then heartily shook himself in his harness, perhaps to dislodge a fly far ahead of its season. Light had just filmed the windows; and with that the first sparrow woke, chirped instantly, and roused neighbours in the trees of the small yard, including a loud-­voiced robin. Vociferations began irregularly, but were soon unanimous.

“Sleep? Dang likely now, ain’t it!”

Night sounds were becoming day sounds; the far-­away hooting of freight-­engines seemed brisker than an hour ago in the dark. A cheerful whistler passed the house, even more careless of sleepers than the milkman’s horse had been; then a group of coloured workmen came by, and although it was impossible to be sure whether they were homeward bound from night-­work or on their way to day-­work, at least it was certain that they were jocose. Loose, aboriginal laughter preceded them afar, and beat on the air long after they had gone by.

The sick-­room night-­light, shielded from his eyes by a news­paper propped against a water-­pitcher, still showed a thin glimmering that had grown offensive to Adams. In his wandering and enfeebled thoughts, which were much more often imaginings than reasonings, the attempt of the night-­light to resist the dawn reminded him of something unpleasant, though he could not discover just what the unpleasant thing was. Here was a puzzle that irritated him the more because he could not solve it, yet always seemed just on the point of a solution. However, he may have lost nothing cheerful by remaining in the dark upon the matter; for if he had been a little sharper in this introspection he might have concluded that the squalor of the night-­light, in its seeming effort to show against the forerunning of the sun itself, had stimulated some half-­buried perception within him to sketch the painful little synopsis of an autobiography.

In spite of noises without, he drowsed again, not knowing that he did; and when he opened his eyes the nurse was just rising from her cot. He took no pleasure in the sight, it may be said. She exhibited to him a face mismodelled by sleep, and set like a clay face left on its cheek in a hot and dry studio. She was still only in part awake, however, and by the time she had extinguished the night-­light and given her patient his tonic, she had recovered enough plasticity. “Well, isn’t that grand! We’ve had another good night,” she said as she departed to dress in the bathroom.

“Yes, you had another!” he retorted, though not until after she had closed the door.

Presently he heard his daughter moving about in her room across the narrow hall, and so knew that she had risen. He hoped she would come in to see him soon, for she was the one thing that didn’t press on his nerves, he felt; though the thought of her hurt him, as, indeed, every thought hurt him. But it was his wife who came first.

She wore a lank cotton wrapper, and a crescent of gray hair escaped to one temple from beneath the handkerchief she had worn upon her head for the night and still retained; but she did everything possible to make her expression cheering.

“Oh, you’re better again! I can see that, as soon as I look at you,” she said. “Miss Perry tells me you’ve had another splendid night.”

He made a sound of irony, which seemed to dispose unfavourably of Miss Perry, and then, in order to be more certainly intelligible, he added, “She slept well, as usual!”

But his wife’s smile persisted. “It’s a good sign to be cross; it means you’re practically convalescent right now.”

“Oh, I am, am I?”

“No doubt in the world!” she exclaimed. “Why, you’re practically a well man, Virgil—­all except getting your strength back, of course, and that isn’t going to take long. You’ll be right on your feet in a couple of weeks from now.”

“Oh, I will?”

“Of course you will!” She laughed briskly, and, going to the table in the center of the room, moved his glass of medicine an inch or two, turned a book over so that it lay upon its other side, and for a few moments occupied herself with similar futilities, having taken on the air of a person who makes things neat, though she produced no such actual effect upon them. “Of course you will,” she repeated, absently. “You’ll be as strong as you ever were; maybe stronger.” She paused for a moment, not looking at him, then added, cheerfully, “So that you can fly around and find something really good to get into.”

Something important between them came near the surface here, for though she spoke with what seemed but a casual cheerfulness, there was a little betraying break in her voice, a trembling just perceptible in the utterance of the final word. And she still kept up the affectation of being helpfully preoccupied with the table, and did not look at her husband—­perhaps because they had been married so many years that without looking she knew just what his expression would be, and preferred to avoid the actual sight of it as long as possible. Meanwhile, he stared hard at her, his lips beginning to move with little distortions not lacking in the pathos of a sick man’s agitation.

“So that’s it,” he said. “That’s what you’re hinting at.”

“ ‘Hinting?’ ” Mrs. Adams looked surprised and indulgent. “Why, I’m not doing any hinting, Virgil.”

“What did you say about my finding ‘something good to get into?’ ” he asked, sharply. “Don’t you call that hinting?”

Mrs. Adams turned toward him now; she came to the bedside and would have taken his hand, but he quickly moved it away from her.

“You mustn’t let yourself get nervous,” she said. “But of course when you get well there’s only one thing to do. You mustn’t go back to that old hole again.”

“ ‘Old hole?’ That’s what you call it, is it?” In spite of his weakness, anger made his voice strident, and upon this stimulation she spoke more urgently.

“You just mustn’t go back to it, Virgil. It’s not fair to any of us, and you know it isn’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I know, please!”

She clasped her hands, suddenly carrying her urgency to plaintive entreaty. “Virgil, you won’t go back to that hole?”

“That’s a nice word to use to me!” he said. “Call a man’s business a hole!”

“Virgil, if you don’t owe it to me to look for something different, don’t you owe it to your children? Don’t tell me you won’t do what we all want you to, and what you know in your heart you ought to! And if you have got into one of your stubborn fits and are bound to go back there for no other reason except to have your own way, don’t tell me so, for I can’t bear it!”

He looked up at her fiercely. “You’ve got a fine way to cure a sick man!” he said; but she had concluded her appeal—­for that time—­and instead of making any more words in the matter, let him see that there were tears in her eyes, shook her head, and left the room.

Alone, he lay breathing rapidly, his emaciated chest proving itself equal to the demands his emotion put upon it. “Fine!” he repeated, with husky indignation. “Fine way to cure a sick man! Fine!” Then, after a silence, he gave forth whispering sounds as of laughter, his expression the while remaining sore and far from humour.

“And give us our daily bread!” he added, meaning that his wife’s little performance was no novelty.
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Customer Reviews

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( 37 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 37 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 3, 2008

    T. E. Lawrence's Immortal Account Of Leading Arab Forces In World War I

    T.E. Lawrence's 'Seven Pillars Of Wisdom' is as great as legend has it, the amazingly well-written story of a nobody whose genius only found expression in a world at war. In 1916 still just an obscure British intelligence officer in Cairo, he ended as Ya Auruns, the white-robed leader of Arabians, finally taking them to victory against the Ottoman Empire. The book ends in Damascus, which Lawrence and his forces seized, which he briefly ruled, and which he abruptly left to the Arabs and the British. Of his life before these two years-- almost nothing. Of his life after-- and Lawrence played a considerable role in setting up the post-World War I Middle East-- nothing. But the two years he does cover he writes of in legendary prose, dense, very rich, intense, striving for perfection of detail, utterly gorgeous in its colors, striking with truth when he feels like it, teasing and elusive when he wants to hold back. H. G. Wells said of 'Seven Pillars': 'In my opinion it is the finest piece of prose that has been written in the English language for 150 years.' His subject's himself too, of course, hero and anti-hero, perhaps a bit too self-dramatizingly, but genuine in his torment, his understanding all along that the colony-hungry Allies mean to betray his Arabs' hunger for independence in the end, which leads him to call himself 'I, the stranger, the godless fraud inspiring an alien nationality'. The torment goes deeper than that, and here we-- and he-- delve into muddy psychological depths-- of masochism and sexual confusion and, too, a straining for a kind of superhuman mastery over physical limits, enabling him to outride and outendure the toughest Bedouin. All this murk just makes the book more interesting, adding dimensions way past those of the normal war memoir. But it needs emphasizing: The book is not some sort of self-centered, romanticized farrago. Lawrence is scrupulous in acknowledging the many other Britishers, and soldiers of other nationalities, who played a role in his campaigns. He's clear-eyed and wise in his character portraits, from minor actors to someone like the mighty but flawed, devious Arabian warrior chieftain Auda abu Tayi. He's fascinating and dead-on in discussion of guerrilla warfare theory. And then are the great and gripping setpieces throughout the book, such as the way he unfolds the terrible last battle of Tafas when the Arabs burned to avenge Turkish atrocities and 'By my order we took no prisoners....', or the unbearingly moving restraint with which he writes of having to shoot his hopelessly wounded servant boy Faraj to spare him the sure tortures of the Turks if left behind alive. Yes, the book is long, and moves at a different pace from ours, savoring every sunset, every change in the colors of desert sand, so maybe it's not for you or maybe is, but certainly it is for the ages.

    19 out of 19 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 13, 2008

    A reviewer

    I'll keep this brief because I don't think I can say anything that hasn't been said already. This book is a hard read, told in amazingly lengthy and unbelievable detail. The story itself is amazing, but the actual campaigns he planned and led are actually few and far between. His descriptions of the trips across the desert grew monotonous and the cast of characters was impossible to keep track of. That said, the man was amazing. He lived as a nomad for years, pulled the strings of the most powerful people in Arabia and spoke such fluent arabic he could convince the soldiers he was from the village next to theirs. The movie would have you believe he was the driving force to the 'insurgency', but he writes of his actions in a much humbler tone. The most interesting part of the book occurs as the conflict draws to a close and he confesses to the reader his desire to give up and his disdain for the people he's lived with. It was a very honest and intimate look at how emotionally exhausted he was at the end. I hate to say it, but the movie was better, but this offers some insight into why the middle east is what it is today.

    10 out of 10 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 31, 2006

    Riding with Lawrence during the Arab Revolt

    This is one of the most famous books written about World War I, and it also perhaps represents the most unusual story. T.E. Lawrence, i.e. the same Lawrence of Arabia of 1960's technicolor fame played by Laurence Olivier, had spent his early adult years living in Syria and was unusually fluent in Arabic. When WWI broke out, he had a rare combination of skills that lay fallow until he was appointed as British liaison to Prince Feisal to support the Arab Revolt in the Hejaz against Turkey in 1916. There was probably no other single more auspicious personnel appointment in the Middle East than this one. With his Arabic fluency, appreciation of Beduin culture, and his rare energy and drive, Lawrence was absolutely unique in his ability to envisage and help lead the Arab Revolt. Time and time again he restored hope to Feisal and and Arab tribal chieftains with British encouragement and material backing. But even more than this, he personally led countless sabotage and military missions against Turkish railway communications and key positions, e.g. Akaba, Wejh, etc. He alone among British officers in the Middle East seems to have understood the fundamentals of guerrilla warfare - hit and run, propaganda, recruitment, plunder. Along with Feisal, he understood the absolute necessity of securing local chieftains' support and participation in their guerilla operations. (These are lessons American and British commanders currently in Iraq should consider. Informants during the Arab Revolt were especially dangerous in defeating guerrilla activities. Also, ongoing tribal conflicts often prevented combined attacks on the Turkish occupiers.) In fact, with Lawrence's charisma and near continual stream of successes he receives a steady flow of personal adherents who become his bodyguard force, towards the end of the war numbering over 90 persons. The book also explicitly describes his capture, torture, and escape in Deraa. But the vast majority of the book vividly captures his personal experiences during his continual travels across the expansive and geographically-varied Arabian peninsula. The book is not so much a historical narrative of the Arab Revolt as it is a personal narrative, by turns descriptive, poetic, anthropological, and philosophical. And although the book is generously complemented by numerous portraits of the 100+ personalities mentioned in the book, I found it difficult to remember each person's background and significance. Likewise, although there are a few maps in the book I had a great deal of trouble following his journeys on those maps. Finally, despite that a few chapters are written in high poetic style the majority of the book is easily read and comprehensible. An excellent adventure book with a truly unique story!

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 14, 2005

    How Then is like Now

    Want to understand the bloody mess Americans find themselves in? Read this book. Lawrence made two accurate statements: All of Arabia wasn't worth the life of one single Englishman and that Britain wasn't honest with the Arabians. This book is a fantastic travelog of the Middle East, circa World War I. I have never seen the movie based on this book, but now that I've read it I will see it. Lawrence tends to stray from his subject at times, but overall an insightful read. It's interesting to note Lawrence writes that no sooner than the British remove the Turks than the Arab tribes already begin fighting one another in Damascus.

    5 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 12, 2003

    Will Power Catalyst of Strength Through Unity

    T.E. Lawrence narrates with passion and in his peculiar style the years he spent in the Middle East, first as archeologist before WWI then as ¿free agent¿ of the British government in its fight against Turkey and Germany during WWI. Lawrence knew from the beginning of the Arab campaign that he was a ¿fraud¿ because of the duplicity of the French and British. Lawrence rightly perceived that if the Arabs won the war against Turkey and its German ally, the powerbrokers of that time would steal from the Arabs the fruit of their victory. Promises of self-government afterwards would be dead paper. After the end of the hostilities, Lawrence skillfully advised King Feisal and his delegation to get as many of the spoils of war as possible from the victors at the Conference of Paris. After the conference, the French could largely be blamed for undermining the regime of King Feisal in Damascus and pushing him to ultimately leave for Baghdad. The contemporary Middle East could have been very different from what it is now. History has the annoying habit of repeating itself over time because of the widely shared inability of mankind to learn from past mistakes. Despite Lawrence¿s disclaimer in his introduction, his ¿Seven Pillars of Wisdom A Triumph¿ offers valuable lessons to a contemporary audience to better understand the enduring complexity of the Middle East. Whoever has had the chance to journey through the Middle East can vividly remember at least some locations that Lawrence describes. The Middle East is one of the cradles of the Western civilization. Its cultural heritage is almost unmatched. The ancient law of hospitality is not an urban legend, but remains a reality of which Semitic people can be proud. Lawrence understood very well that condescending attitude towards Semitic people could only backfire. Treating its inhabitants with respect and understanding earned him their enduring trust. For those who have not had the opportunity to crisscross the region, Lawrence¿s narration provides a rare opportunity to gain valuable insights into the minds of Semitic nations. For example: ¿Semitic people had no half tones in their register of vision. They knew only truth and untruth, belief and unbelief, without our hesitating retinue of finer shades. Semitic people never compromised; they pursued the logic of several incompatible opinions to absurd ends, without perceiving the incongruity (pg. 38).¿ Does it not sound familiar for example in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict today? ¿Semitic¿s largest manufacture was of creeds; almost Semitic people were monopolists of revealed religions (pg. 39-42).¿ Three of the most enduring faiths were born there and exported to the rest of the world with resounding success to this day. ¿Semitic tenacity showed itself in the many rebellions of Syria, Mesopotamia and Arabia against the grosser forms of Turkish penetration; and resistance was also made to the more insidious attempts at absorption (pg. 43-44).¿ ¿The Arabs had tasted freedom; they could not change their ideas as quickly as their conduct. Deprived of constitutional outlets the Arabs became revolutionary. The Arab societies went underground, and changed from liberal clubs into conspiracies (pg. 46).¿ ¿British forces won battle after battle in Iraq. There followed their rash advance to Ctesiphon, where they met native Turkish troops whose full heart was in the game, and were abruptly checked. They fell back, dazed; and the long misery of Kut began (pg. 59).¿ ¿Till the end of the war, the British in Mesopotamia remained substantially an alien force invading enemy territory, with the local people passively neutral or sullenly against them (pg. 60 see also pg. 636).¿ Does that assessment not sound similar to the experience of the Coalition forces in Iraq today? Working tirelessly by both indirect influence and education rather than by forceful direction is key to avoid becoming or remaining a target p

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 24, 2003

    History, culture and adventure.....where do I sign...

    The phrase "fact is less believable than fiction" absolutely applies to this book. Not just to the book, but to the personal experiences the author recounts. Always an individual character, set apart from his peers this story is of true caliber well written and surprisingly reader freindly. Any person who has a dust speck of interest in adventure, not to mention travel, history and the world should read this book. It offers a fascinating glimpse of the attitutes of the time, complemented by an extraordinary man initially reluctant to tell this epic story. Perhaps this can offer some insight into current world events if only a small glimpse at a totally different culture and time.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 24, 2000

    A lynch pin book

    When I saw that there were no reviews for this incredible book, I had to write one. Winston Churchill thought this was one of the greatest books ever written. Chairman Mao used it when planning guerilla war strategy. This book has it all: history, adventure, betrayal, epic splendor, exotic locale, and an introspective hero/antihero at the center. One of the best biographies I have ever read.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 3, 2012

    T.E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom is a miraculous war stor

    T.E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom is a miraculous war story. It shows how a little-known soldier can leave behind the legacy of a war hero. Lawrence was a British intelligence officer during World War I, who was sought out to become the leader of British-supported revolts against the government of the Ottoman Empire. It was a difficult read, packed with details and at an abnormal pace. The book covers physical occurrences as well as his own psychological confusion. The book is an amazing epic, although he makes it known that he is not a perfect human. He points out the other soldiers and leaders who helped him through his journeys, and the hardships he struggled through as a rebel leader. Lawrence's actions are important to history because they helped the Allies overcome the Ottoman Empire during the war. Although he is the author and main protagonist of the book, it is clear that he did not stretch the truth for his own glory. I recommend this book not only as a great read, but also to delve deeper into how war twisted the morals of governments and peoples.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 21, 2002

    long but good

    This book was very long and hard to understand in certain parts but overall it was excellent. I learned about a part of history that I knew nothing about. really gives good insight into the arabian culture.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 2, 2013

    A Classic Flawed by Nook Typo's

    This is an incredible story. So much so, some historians discount Lawrence as a novelist as opposed to his first-hand account. Regardingless, Lawrence has insight into the tribes, alliances, ongoing feuds and the Muslim mindset of the early 20th century. The biggesst disappoint is that like so many books ported to Nook, there are dozens of typos that interrupt what would be an enjoyable flow to the book.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 24, 2012

    Not an Easy Read

    Perhaps I decided to read this book because I had seen the movie Lawrence of Arabia many years ago and somehow thought the author would come across in his writings as dashing as he appeared in the movie. Alas, I was mistaken. While Lawrence writes fairly well, too much of the book is a description, in excruciating detail, of his movements between obscure places somewhere in Arabia. Occasionally he makes a cogent observation of the main players in the Arabic war against their Turkish masters during World War I (with the help of the British) but, overall, it was a slow read. However, if you have an interest in Middle Eastern politics, it is a book you should read. Just give yourself lots and lots of time to get through it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 13, 2012

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 7, 2012

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted July 24, 2011

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 27, 2011

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    Posted December 17, 2010

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    Posted April 2, 2012

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 26, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted March 26, 2012

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 7, 2011

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