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pays read books on impulse, not in the if Work or for knowledge. Because my Revii.lses are regulated by the events of the lNs night, I find it is the second illitlg that counts. Having said that, I kite,c't say I enjoy reading Alexander 44tilenitsyn — my anger and revulsion at and still goes on, is too great — let a ,und myself re-reading him whenever I ruit tired of our free system and socie- ltrejle Gulag Archipelago (Collins) — all 1i 0 — I re-read this year while ly- t s my back and lotus eating in Greece NI. Ummer. No one who has read it will ex,Perience undue fear of communism. the , what appals me the most when I read ),.teatest Russian of them all, is not the state's ability to torture, but the tl; of men like Sartre in France, Pritt in 'lld and other fellow travellers like 'optiti011111-lellman in the United States, to glevs! as if nothing happened. Maria b007, Napoleon's greatest love, was stineI most enjoyed in 1982. Written 'hzo t rtSutherland, a Pole who is mar- an Englishman, the book contained he ,ges that literally had me in tears. Like 'verle when the old Polish lancers charg- on a suicide mission, ran over the enemy's guns, and turned around and saluted the emperor, all eight of them out of a full regiment. It also tells us how even the great Napoleon betrayed the Poles, one of the noblest of races as well as the most betrayed. Steaming to Batnboola by Christopher Buckley (Collins) is a must for anyone remotely interested in the sea and the people who sail on it. For once, the dust jacket didn't exaggerate when it said that Buckley was on a par with Melville and Conrad.
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