pretentious, sometimes slick and slangy, often unclear. George Orwell once wrote that “good prose is a window-pane.” Duffy’s tends to be opaque. One longs for a little loyalism on Professor Duffy’s part to the good old plain style of the best English essayists, and the good old plain Anglo-Saxon words. He refers to a passage of Wilfrid Campbell’s which “entangles itself in its own ideas.” Duffy too entangles himself in the dense, trailing vines of his own ideas, until the reader can’t see the path. When one comes to such an inele gant phrase as “some battered individual struck down by the inexorableness of inexorability,” it is as painful as stumbling over an ugly root. Duffy gives us plenty of imagery, to be sure, but much of it seems somehow inappropri ate and jarring. “Upper Canada survived the war, chiefly through the inep titude of American strategists,” writes Duffy, “who kept grabbing their opponent about his Upper Canadian chest when they could so easily have clamped their fingers around his Montreal jugular.” Only the most loyal devotees of CanLit will hack their way through his dense bush, and students will turn back as soon as they bump into words like “chiliastic” and “catastrophist.” The Loyalists themselves carved from the wilderness orderly gardens with well-weeded paths and well-wrought urns. One wishes that Duffy had learned from them how to do it. marian fowler / York University Warren U. Ober, The Story of the Three Bears: The Evolution of a Classic (New York: Scholars’ Facsimiles and Reprints, 1981). xxiii, 274. $35.00 (U.S.) It is a novelty (and a pleasure) to be reviewing for a learned journal a book on “the celebrated nursery tale,” The Story of the Three Bears. But its scholarly standards require no apology. Warren U. Ober’s introduction and headnotes to the fifteen versions of the tale are thoroughly informed, and show an impressive range of knowledge both of original sources and of secondary material. His book is not a Pooh Perplex, sending up solemn criti cism by applying it to a children’s story; but his tone of scholarly enthusiasm appropriately sets off the tales that he edits. As the story of a story, the book makes fascinating reading, and not the less so because this story is a relatively short and contained one. The Three Bears, at least in any written form, have been going only since early last century, whereas a similar study of, say, “Beauty and the Beast” would have to go back to the “Cupid and Psyche” of Apuleius in the second century, and a collection of “Bluebeards” would necessarily involve some considera 120 tion of the claims of Comorre the Cursed in the sixth century and Gilles de Rais in the fifteenth to be the historical originals of Bluebeard. Compared with such complicated sets of analogues, the evolution of little Goldilocks through a hundred years or so might be expected to be a little tame. But in fact, rather spectacularly, she grows backwards in age, starting off as an old woman and ending up as a little girl; she captures her authors’ and readers’ sympathies, changing from a wicked intruder to a charming innocent; and she steals not only Little Bear’s share of the porridge, but the lion’s share of the story, which had originally been “The Story of the Three Bears,” but ends, ingloriously for the bears, as “Goldilocks; or the Three Bears.” Ober’s fifteen versions of the story, in verse and prose, are arranged in chronological order from 1831 to 1904. They are presented in facsimile, complete with the original illustrations, and the varied types that represent the great huge voice of the Great Huge Bear, etcetera. All the versions are in English, with the exception of Tolstoy’s in Russian, for which the editor supplies a literal translation; and most are published in England, though we see how the three bears crossed the Atlantic to arrive in a school reader published in Philadelphia, and so to become lore in North America. The facsimile reproduction serves well, for the appeal to the eye of a children’s story is...