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Helen in Egypt
The fabulous beauty of Helen of Troy is legendary. But some say that Helen was never in Troy, that she had been conveyed by Zeus to Egypt, and that Greeks and Trojans alike fought for an illusion. A fifty-line fragment by the poet Stesichorus of Sicily (c. 640-555 B.C.), what survives of his Pallinode, tells us almost all we know of this other Helen, and from it H. D. wove her book-length poem. Yet Helen in Egypt is not a simple retelling of the Egyptian legend but a recreation of the many myths surrounding Helen, Paris, Achilles, Theseus, and other figures of Greek tradition, fused with the mysteries of Egyptian hermeticism.
304 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1924
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About the author
H.D.
118books324followersAn innovative modernist American writer, Hilda Doolittle (1886�1961) wrote under her initials in a career that stretched from 1909 to 1961. H.D., most well known for her lyric and epic poetry, also wrote novels, memoirs, short stories, essays, reviews, a children’s book, and translations. An American woman who lived her adult life abroad, H.D. was engaged in the formalist experimentation that preoccupied much of her generation. A range of thematic concerns resonates through her writing: the role of the poet, the civilian representation of war, material and mythologized ancient cultures, the role of national and colonial identity, lesbian and queer sexuality, and religion and spirituality.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 47 reviews
September 10, 2017
Why must you recall
the white fire of unnumbered stars,
rather than that single taper
burning in an onyx jar?
This is a tale of veils and ramparts, the gaze of the author and perhaps a refracted mirror of personal/mental matters drifting awry. Helen in Egypt is a palimpsest, a blotted scribbling--a flight from Troy to the darkened cults of Osiris. I kept heeding Doolittle's advice and pleaded incessantly aloud to learn how not to remember. Time adds folds and our persistent treading leaves torn sandals and a dimming vigor. There is an ancient rhythm on display. There is a little and crest. Heroes fall and odes warble across the centuries. I finished this meditation on our porch on a September morning, one whose beauty was almost indecent.
the white fire of unnumbered stars,
rather than that single taper
burning in an onyx jar?
This is a tale of veils and ramparts, the gaze of the author and perhaps a refracted mirror of personal/mental matters drifting awry. Helen in Egypt is a palimpsest, a blotted scribbling--a flight from Troy to the darkened cults of Osiris. I kept heeding Doolittle's advice and pleaded incessantly aloud to learn how not to remember. Time adds folds and our persistent treading leaves torn sandals and a dimming vigor. There is an ancient rhythm on display. There is a little and crest. Heroes fall and odes warble across the centuries. I finished this meditation on our porch on a September morning, one whose beauty was almost indecent.
May 25, 2011
In deceptively simple phrases, Doolittle builds an ever-more complex structure of themes, symbols and stories.
Helen is on Leuke, or in Egypt, or perhaps Troy. Or is she anywhere at all? Perhaps she is dead (she died, or seemed to die). As an entirety it made the most sense to me if interpreted as a liminal experience at the point of death, or in a transitional state from life to death. All the places, times, people compressed into one timeless instance of experience, change, knowledge, unknowing. So many contradictions and retractions, conflations and reinterpretations...
But if this is the experience of death, must it not be Helen's death? And who is Helen? As in mythology, she remains a cipher, the catalyst and pivot of so many events, actions, stories, feelings yet somehow herself unreal, blank. For this reason I was never able to care much about Helen, or Achilles either, and that made it more difficult for me to care about this poem. And I intensely disliked the way Doolittle speaks of other female characters, as if their rape, enslavement, pain meant nothing. Only Helen matters. I do not think I was intended to feel greater sympathy for Paris, especially when he urges,
Pluto-Achilles -- his is a death-cult
to drag you further and further underground,
underneath vault and tomb;
to rise in long corridors,
to re-read your old script?
Obsession with self to the degree that it becomes spiritual death, self-removal from the world. Metaphysical solipsism.
But perhaps I'm missing the point -- I frequently felt that I was missing something, reading this at the wrong time or in the wrong frame of mind. Probably I would get more out of it if I read it again but, as is so often the case with texts of which that is true, I did not enjoy it enough that I'm likely to do that.
I'll probably read something else of hers instead. I did think the writing was skilled, and at times lovely. Despite her continuous grammar some sections could almost stand as poems on their own:
and multiplied to infinity,
the million personal things,
things remembered, forgotten,
...
the sun and the seasons changed,
and as the flower-leaves that drift
from a tree were numberless
tender kisses, the soft caresses,
given and received; none of these
came into the story,
it was epic, heroic and it was far
from a basket a child upset
and the spools that rolled to the floor.
Also, someone should invent a prize for most frequent use of the question mark just so H.D. could win it.
February 28, 2024
Although individual lines are lovely off the tongue, ‘Helen in Egypt� by H.D. is for my taste 280 pages too long. The poem drags on and on and on to my admittedly poetry illiterate mind.
Hundreds of pages go on repeating the same dozen telephone book entries of gods, goddesses and heroes in a monotonous laundry list. It literally goes on for hundreds of lines (I thought the printer made a mistake and was repeating pages, but no). Throughout the poem there is no drama or movement or intention of any kind. Three hundred pages of disassociated angst where everyone repeats over and over, stanza following stanza, "who am I, when am I, where am I?" No one can remember if they were in Troy or not, killed or not, alive or not. The gods can't keep their identities clear in their minds either, constantly wondering if they are Greek or Egyptian. Sometimes Helen is on a beach with Achilles, sometimes on a stair in Troy with Paris, sometimes standing on Sparta or with Theseus - always wondering what happened, whether she wants to remember or not, then comes the pages of gods and goddesses names again, listed practically in the same order as earlier or later in the poem. The effect is cold, boring and tedious. There are these prose 'explanatory' introductions by the poet almost every page that explain the same inner life confusion that she puts into poetry form below her explanation. Supposedly these characters are having identity/memory worries because they are living in different universes simultaneously. But no matter which reality plane they experience, they all just stand there wondering for 300 pages.
I approved of her statements pointing out how men and women operate so differently in the world, particularly given the retrenchment of Western society on women's rights after WWII.
During the war, in America, women were doing the work of men; when the soldiers returned from the war, women were fired from their jobs and encouraged to clean toilets and raise children. HD must have lived through that. However, her grief and powerlessness to keep her men sensibly at home and alive, safe in a home of love and affectionate relationships was foremost in her mind, I think. But being fair, she recognized the act of falling in and out of love is the human condition, too. Being intelligent and thoughtful, the ache of her losses must have been a 'real bee in her bonnet' to write this poem, even though her focus was about how men and women order their lists of 'things I love' on different levels. It's obvious to me today that, generally speaking, women loving their men and children are in the top three of their list, while, again generally speaking of young men, it's sex, food, explosive things that go bang, fast moving anything, and THEN comes the close relationships.
As a 1970's women's 'libber' I have a thickly exercised nerve bundle that activates instantly on the subject! ; )
I'm sure the interchanging identities was her way of expressing, despite the exact listing of names, her characters were really one Man, one Woman. Über people. The same reason for where they actually were - beach, Troy, Greece or Sparta. Über location. And the uncertainty of past, present and future. Über life.space.time. War being war being war. The Über relationship between men and women since at least caveman art (those little statues of heavy bellied women says a lot, don't you think?).
I actually love the varied ways artists and writers express these meta-issues, but I could have done without the naming and naming and naming. I wondered if I should get out my Bulfinch and look up the individual little stories. I am sure the Naming of gods refers to ancient Greek/Egyptian myths which would be about how men make war and women pine for love as they get tossed aside, murdered, married off and moved about without any input or consent to the process.
Hundreds of pages go on repeating the same dozen telephone book entries of gods, goddesses and heroes in a monotonous laundry list. It literally goes on for hundreds of lines (I thought the printer made a mistake and was repeating pages, but no). Throughout the poem there is no drama or movement or intention of any kind. Three hundred pages of disassociated angst where everyone repeats over and over, stanza following stanza, "who am I, when am I, where am I?" No one can remember if they were in Troy or not, killed or not, alive or not. The gods can't keep their identities clear in their minds either, constantly wondering if they are Greek or Egyptian. Sometimes Helen is on a beach with Achilles, sometimes on a stair in Troy with Paris, sometimes standing on Sparta or with Theseus - always wondering what happened, whether she wants to remember or not, then comes the pages of gods and goddesses names again, listed practically in the same order as earlier or later in the poem. The effect is cold, boring and tedious. There are these prose 'explanatory' introductions by the poet almost every page that explain the same inner life confusion that she puts into poetry form below her explanation. Supposedly these characters are having identity/memory worries because they are living in different universes simultaneously. But no matter which reality plane they experience, they all just stand there wondering for 300 pages.
I approved of her statements pointing out how men and women operate so differently in the world, particularly given the retrenchment of Western society on women's rights after WWII.
During the war, in America, women were doing the work of men; when the soldiers returned from the war, women were fired from their jobs and encouraged to clean toilets and raise children. HD must have lived through that. However, her grief and powerlessness to keep her men sensibly at home and alive, safe in a home of love and affectionate relationships was foremost in her mind, I think. But being fair, she recognized the act of falling in and out of love is the human condition, too. Being intelligent and thoughtful, the ache of her losses must have been a 'real bee in her bonnet' to write this poem, even though her focus was about how men and women order their lists of 'things I love' on different levels. It's obvious to me today that, generally speaking, women loving their men and children are in the top three of their list, while, again generally speaking of young men, it's sex, food, explosive things that go bang, fast moving anything, and THEN comes the close relationships.
As a 1970's women's 'libber' I have a thickly exercised nerve bundle that activates instantly on the subject! ; )
I'm sure the interchanging identities was her way of expressing, despite the exact listing of names, her characters were really one Man, one Woman. Über people. The same reason for where they actually were - beach, Troy, Greece or Sparta. Über location. And the uncertainty of past, present and future. Über life.space.time. War being war being war. The Über relationship between men and women since at least caveman art (those little statues of heavy bellied women says a lot, don't you think?).
I actually love the varied ways artists and writers express these meta-issues, but I could have done without the naming and naming and naming. I wondered if I should get out my Bulfinch and look up the individual little stories. I am sure the Naming of gods refers to ancient Greek/Egyptian myths which would be about how men make war and women pine for love as they get tossed aside, murdered, married off and moved about without any input or consent to the process.
June 29, 2018
Well, half the times I was like wow, and the other half I was like what. So I will most likely have to re-read it
May 1, 2019
What a wonderful book! I'm just in complete awe of the writer's imagination. A brilliant project, beautifully executed. The language and structure of H.D.'s poem has all the mysterious beauty of fragmented Greek lyric poetry and the powerful emotion of Greek tragic plays.
I just loved reading this, and I savored and reread many sections. Reading this also brought to mind another mind-boggling work of imagination: Roberto Calasso's , which I read ages ago and now want to reread. I feel now, having finished Helen in Egypt, as I did when I first read the Calasso book. I'm in a bit of a trance.
Here's just a bit of Helen in Egypt to enjoy:
Strive not to wake the dead;
the incomparable host
with Helen and Achilles
are not dead, not lost:
the isles are fair (nor far)
Paphos, the Cyclades;
a simple spiral-shell may tell
a tale more ancient
than these mysteries;
dare the uncharted seas,
Achilles waits, and life;
beyond these pylons and these gates,
is magic of the wind, the gale;
the mystery of a forest-tree,
whispering its secrets upon Cithaeron,
holds subtler meaning
than this written stone
or leaves of the papyrus;
let rapture summon
and the foam-flecked sand,
and wind and hail,
rain, sleet and the bewildering snow
that lifts and falls,
conceals, reveals,
(the actual
and the apparent veil),
Helen -- come home.
I just loved reading this, and I savored and reread many sections. Reading this also brought to mind another mind-boggling work of imagination: Roberto Calasso's , which I read ages ago and now want to reread. I feel now, having finished Helen in Egypt, as I did when I first read the Calasso book. I'm in a bit of a trance.
Here's just a bit of Helen in Egypt to enjoy:
Strive not to wake the dead;
the incomparable host
with Helen and Achilles
are not dead, not lost:
the isles are fair (nor far)
Paphos, the Cyclades;
a simple spiral-shell may tell
a tale more ancient
than these mysteries;
dare the uncharted seas,
Achilles waits, and life;
beyond these pylons and these gates,
is magic of the wind, the gale;
the mystery of a forest-tree,
whispering its secrets upon Cithaeron,
holds subtler meaning
than this written stone
or leaves of the papyrus;
let rapture summon
and the foam-flecked sand,
and wind and hail,
rain, sleet and the bewildering snow
that lifts and falls,
conceals, reveals,
(the actual
and the apparent veil),
Helen -- come home.
December 28, 2021
There are a few poems or poem cycles rather that I hold entirely sacred--Rilke's Duino Elegies, Pearl, and there are probably a few others not readily springing to mind right now...--and H. D.'s Helen in Egypt is certainly one of them. I returned to it when Christa Wolf's Cassandra sent me down a rabbit hole of ancient Greek drama and verse, and even reminded me of Madeline Miller's recent classical reduxes. Of all of these, both the Greek classics and their modern adaptations, H.D.'s re-imagining of Helen and Achilles in a mystical or poetic Egypt is one of the most beautiful, ineffable, and moving. It does, I think, what Jung and Campbell tried to do intellectually and failed at so miserably, and Freud did only a tad more successfully, that is to make ancient stories relevant and explain why they remain so despite how humankind has refashioned the world daily for centuries now, out-dating almost everything about its culture--religions, books, methods of storytelling--and certainly its technology faster and faster every day now. This is a poem that resonates, that opens space for feeling and thought about love, war, death, duty, transcendence, masculinity, femininity, childhood, adulthood, parenting... It's just amazing.
June 29, 2010
Hilda Doolittle’s interpretive version of Stesichorus� poem Pallinode tells a new version of Helen and Achilles superimposed over a fabric of mythologies. Each section begins with a meditation in prose, followed by verse written in tercets. The writing is dense, erudite and beautifully crafted in terms of language and music. The prose serves as a kind of introduction but is more of a primer. The information in the prose passage and the poem overlaps, interlocks; yet this preparatory lead in asks questions, diverges in small ways with a powerful simplicity. Like a Greek chorus, this is the place where she can show Helen’s thought, or Achilles� fears. The interaction of these two forms is consistent throughout the text, and is an excellent example of how multiple forms create a juncture in a piece of writing.
January 4, 2015
This is my first encounter with H.D.'s work. This is an imaginative, deep meditation of Helen and her meaning(s) in Greek mythology. Inspired by a passage in the Pallinode of Stesichorus, H.D. asks the question, "What if Helen never made it to Troy? What if the Greeks and Trojans fought over an illusion?"
To fully appreciate this poem, you should have some familiarity with Greek mythology. At a minimum, you should know The Iliad. Also helpful would be The Odyssey, The Oresteia, Sophocles Three Theban Plays, and a few of Euripides' plays as well as Jason and the Argonauts. Also, the names of the major Egyptian deities would be good to know. Barring that, keep a copy of Bulfinch's Mythology or something similar on hand.
To fully appreciate this poem, you should have some familiarity with Greek mythology. At a minimum, you should know The Iliad. Also helpful would be The Odyssey, The Oresteia, Sophocles Three Theban Plays, and a few of Euripides' plays as well as Jason and the Argonauts. Also, the names of the major Egyptian deities would be good to know. Barring that, keep a copy of Bulfinch's Mythology or something similar on hand.
February 1, 2023
“Time with its moon-shape here,
time with its widening star-circles,
time small as a pebble,
with bones or stones for counters,
(what did you say?)
there was always another and another and another
…]
(Paris said, why must you recall
the white fire of unnumbered stars,
rather than that single taper
burning in an onyx jar�
After finishing an epic like this, I don’t think words of my own would be sufficient.
time with its widening star-circles,
time small as a pebble,
with bones or stones for counters,
(what did you say?)
there was always another and another and another
…]
(Paris said, why must you recall
the white fire of unnumbered stars,
rather than that single taper
burning in an onyx jar�
After finishing an epic like this, I don’t think words of my own would be sufficient.
February 7, 2019
A really lovely read. Her cadence reminds me of waves crashing, and the feeling of reading it is like that tranquil state where you're half awake and aren't sure if you are dreaming or awake. It's very skillfully constructed.
May 28, 2012
HD's modern interpretation of the story of Helen of Troy reminded me of Ursula Le Guin's version of Lavinia. In both, we are introduced to a famous woman who is most often portrayed as an archetype, known for her influence on famous men and historical events, rather than for her own thoughts and achievements.
HD explores Helen and the events surrounding the Trojan War in a combination of prose and poetry. HD explores the same story from different points of view, changing facts, rearranging the timeline, and questioning what is real and what is imagined. She creates a network of images and possible readings leading to a final contrast between accepted interpretation of a symbol or event and other interpretations.
The poetry is beautiful and I think it must have been written to be performed or read out loud. The alliteration and repetition that at times fall flat on the page, could be beautiful if heard.
HD explores Helen and the events surrounding the Trojan War in a combination of prose and poetry. HD explores the same story from different points of view, changing facts, rearranging the timeline, and questioning what is real and what is imagined. She creates a network of images and possible readings leading to a final contrast between accepted interpretation of a symbol or event and other interpretations.
The poetry is beautiful and I think it must have been written to be performed or read out loud. The alliteration and repetition that at times fall flat on the page, could be beautiful if heard.
September 1, 2020
it's beautiful but i don't really like what she's doing tbh
December 24, 2019
HD is a Zeus damned genius. A rewriting of the classic mythology of western civilization to undo that other classic (misogynist) myth, that of the bewitching woman who is responsible for the mistakes of man. No, Helen is her own woman, she is in love, but she is not to blame.
January 18, 2022
i don't really know what happened but i understood everything
September 22, 2022
ничего не понятно но очень интересно
May 15, 2024
3.75/5
December 2, 2018
I needed to take a breather (and walk off the urge for something like a post-coital cigarette) before writing a review because the only thing I could think of after I finished was, Oh. My. God. And I rarely get religious over anything.
Not that I am significantly more coherent now--reading this was that kind of experience--but at least I can string some sentences together, and they amount to this: more than any other literary form, the enjoyment of poetry is subjective to the point of being absurd.
With Helen in Egypt, H. D. hit every last mother effing one of my buttons.
Greek mythology aplenty? Done. Trojan War references? You bet. Achilles having feels? Oh, yes. Buckets of inner conflict? Right here. Ambiguity so dreamlike it becomes mystical? And how. Layered, complex symbolism? Check. Spare language? Yep.
It will take me a few more rereads to begin understanding what just happened; there is no way to absorb everything in just one go. This is a rare, beautiful book.
Not that I am significantly more coherent now--reading this was that kind of experience--but at least I can string some sentences together, and they amount to this: more than any other literary form, the enjoyment of poetry is subjective to the point of being absurd.
With Helen in Egypt, H. D. hit every last mother effing one of my buttons.
Greek mythology aplenty? Done. Trojan War references? You bet. Achilles having feels? Oh, yes. Buckets of inner conflict? Right here. Ambiguity so dreamlike it becomes mystical? And how. Layered, complex symbolism? Check. Spare language? Yep.
It will take me a few more rereads to begin understanding what just happened; there is no way to absorb everything in just one go. This is a rare, beautiful book.
July 26, 2007
Not my favorite HD book, but an interesting book. Read in conjunction with the novel, Bid Me To Live, I read a lot of HD's personal life into the poem (whether it all belonged there or not). Once heard a tape of HD reading from this, and behind the corny cadence (all of the poets sounded that way back then, except maybe Auden) was an eerie meditation on death and dishonesty.
May 25, 2015
I read somewhere that one of H.D.'s purposes in writing this was to have it serve as an answer to Pound's Cantos. It doesn't really, but it is reminiscent of the Cantos in that it has a lot of exceptional beauty buried between pseudo-profundity and dross. Definitely worth reading and surely one of the major works, if only in terms of ambition, of a 20th century poet.
December 10, 2017
With simple language, HD weaves a complex retelling of Helen and Achilles. An esoteric mystery, this is a book of compelling voices and such nuance I feel like I need to reread it to fully grasp it.
If you love poetry, myth, and the question of identity vs. persona, check this out.
If you love poetry, myth, and the question of identity vs. persona, check this out.
March 14, 2008
Modernist, but poetic regardles.
December 7, 2015
One of my favorite books.
August 16, 2014
Which is the true Helen? I'm not sure we find out. I'm sure it doesn't matter.
April 5, 2018
YESSSSS.
March 29, 2025
Out of this whole book, there's maybe like 5 pieces that appealed to me. But that's it. The prose summery beginning each poem really was redundant, since often the very same poem would reuse or restate in almost the same way some line or idea, with nothing further added. So very many poems here were just open-ended questions, or just name-dropping random mythology characters and stating that "this one is like that one" as if that had any meaning. Or, worse yet, just hybridizing Egyptian and Greek gods because I guess she's in Egypt or something?
Speaking of that... the plot is non-existent. I get this work is a lengthy lyrical sequence, a sort of epic based on chorus rather than story (or something?) but whatever it is that is supposed to be happening, who is talking to who, or why, or where we even are (I guess Helen is in Egypt? And Achilles too???) is completely missing. Vague questions and wonderings about characters who have nothing to do with anything... not a great plan really. If this was supposed to be some mystical inner meditation on anything it utterly fails since there is not one iota of scenery to work with, and even less information - and this from an "imagist" poet too! And then to have the dreadful summary at the start which tells NOTHING of what is needed to set anything up!
UGH. This was a long, slow and dreadful read about absolutely nothing that, as far as I can tell, served no point whatsoever.
Speaking of that... the plot is non-existent. I get this work is a lengthy lyrical sequence, a sort of epic based on chorus rather than story (or something?) but whatever it is that is supposed to be happening, who is talking to who, or why, or where we even are (I guess Helen is in Egypt? And Achilles too???) is completely missing. Vague questions and wonderings about characters who have nothing to do with anything... not a great plan really. If this was supposed to be some mystical inner meditation on anything it utterly fails since there is not one iota of scenery to work with, and even less information - and this from an "imagist" poet too! And then to have the dreadful summary at the start which tells NOTHING of what is needed to set anything up!
UGH. This was a long, slow and dreadful read about absolutely nothing that, as far as I can tell, served no point whatsoever.
December 12, 2021
Helen in Egypt is a mystical/psychological retelling of the Greek and Trojan epics through the eyes and experience of Helen. In HD’s interpretation, the real Helen never went to Troy, but was switched with a spectre by Zeus. All the mythological characters are doubled and tripled in a complex interplay of love and war, masculinity and femininity.
To me, the conflict or central tension never takes shape and the language is not compelling. I also found the intros the poems kind of annoying, and after a while skipped them completely.
But it is a unique and adventurous retelling of the ancient classic. If you like HD or subtle psychologizing, you will enjoy Helen in Egypt.
To me, the conflict or central tension never takes shape and the language is not compelling. I also found the intros the poems kind of annoying, and after a while skipped them completely.
But it is a unique and adventurous retelling of the ancient classic. If you like HD or subtle psychologizing, you will enjoy Helen in Egypt.
December 4, 2020
I love H.D.'s work dearly and I plan to study it in as much depth as possible. However, every time I approach a new text of hers, I am reminded how hard it is to read. Every single time. This particular time I may have had a bit of a personal crisis over it. The language is beautiful, the concepts that I can manage to grasp are sophisticated and expertly crafted, and I look forward to the day that I am able to appreciate it fully. But right now, I don't believe I am quite ready. Maybe next week? Ten years from now? I couldn't tell you for certain.
Read
December 29, 2022I read this for uni, I choose it for the mythological aspect and I really don't regret it. It was complicated at first since i'm not used to poetry and the books is long. I'll need (and want) to read it again because I don't know if I understood eveything that the book convey
I'll also need to buy it because I read it digitally and I want to really anonate the physical book. I don't know what I could say more because I already did a 4k word paper on it but yeah I really recommand it!
I'll also need to buy it because I read it digitally and I want to really anonate the physical book. I don't know what I could say more because I already did a 4k word paper on it but yeah I really recommand it!
Read
June 12, 2022The text
My head
The commentary that goes alongside this made me feel an idiot in the sense it so consistently took me out of the flow of the poem it was like... Having someone explain a task to you yet that explaining how to do it makes it harder to do. I think it robbed the actual text of its flow and power to make itself known by itself. Maybe just me...
My head
The commentary that goes alongside this made me feel an idiot in the sense it so consistently took me out of the flow of the poem it was like... Having someone explain a task to you yet that explaining how to do it makes it harder to do. I think it robbed the actual text of its flow and power to make itself known by itself. Maybe just me...
September 28, 2022
This was An Experience. I can't say I understood all of it, but equally I'm not sure total and incontestable understanding is meant to be something desirable. Even the little academic analysis/summary prose bits are filled with words like 'perhaps', and the poem itself is based on a fragment - something we can never know to its fullest extent. Definitely a book I want to revisit in future!
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