70 tioned, notably Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Paul Rycaut, George Sandys, Thomas Smith, Richard Knolles, and others. But many travel books that have a much larger presence in EnglishMiddle East history, such as John Chardin ’s Travels in Persia and the East (1686), Jean Thevenot’s Travels into the Levant (1687) (both of these read by Lady Mary while preparing for her sojourn in Turkey), and Aaron Hill’s notorious Present State of the Ottoman Empire (1709), go untreated. His arbitrary selection ‘‘retell[s] these journeys.’’ He has produced a partly scholarly monograph with extensive bibliography , with a personal memoir of his own impressions guided by these four seventeenth-century accounts. (One chapter relates the life of an early female visitor , Anne Lady Glover, the ambassador ’s wife, and a forerunner of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu). For example, traveler Biddulph remarks that on his way to Damascus, he stayed in the bustling town of An’nabk at the Sinan Pasha Kahn (inn), which Mr. MacLean informs us is exactly the same today: ‘‘From the street entrance a covered stairway on the left leads from the street to upstairs rooms, while straight ahead opens onto a cloistered courtyard from which, on the right, a small immaculately kept mosque boasts a fine blue dome.’’ The travelers admired as well as condemned Turkish mores, religion, and government policies. Mr. MacLean is ambivalent about ‘‘Orientalism’’ as interpreted by Edward Said and his followers . Early English travelers were not the vanguard of an imperial European policy of conquest: ‘‘Far from perceiving the Ottoman Empire to be an orientalizing space awaiting Western penetration and dominance, Blount argues that understanding the great Eastern empire required European visitors to put aside received opinion well in advance of setting out.’’ Mr. Maclean does not say so, but these were exactly the thoughts of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu when she came to Constantinople in 1716. He glosses over her enlightened travel letters, the exception being her undressing episode in the female hama (public bath), in but one paragraph. Another weakness lies in the selection of travelers. Other observers were not so kind to Turkish ruthless militarism, an unindustrious elite, sequestration of women, slavery, pederasty, and strangling rivals. Although these four writers do not provide the full picture, for the nonspecialist, nevertheless, this retelling supports the Enlightenment project. Arthur J. Weitzman Northeastern University The Cambridge Companion to John Dryden, ed. Steven N. Zwicker. Cambridge : Cambridge, 2004. Pp. xiv ⫹ 300. $65; £23.99 (paper). This collection of fifteen essays offers a lively, informative introduction to the literary techniques, politics, and character of one of England’s greatest poets. Ronald Paulson illuminates Dryden’s satires as works that were shaped by the poet’s reaction to libertine wit. When Rochester and Buckingham disputed the poet’s qualification for ‘‘practicing wit,’’ due to his lower than aristocratic social class, Dryden shot back with Mac Flecknoe , a supremely witty poem that embodies the Christian definition of evil as the absence of good—including the absence of the real. In Absalom and Achitophel , Dryden again mocked libertine wit, now ‘‘politicized’’ by Whigs and linked to bigotry, and in The Medal he 71 took up ‘‘Juvenalian denunciation’’ to show the Whigs as having locked themselves in an unreal world like Mac Flecknoe ’s kingdom. Mr. Paulson also finds Juvenal in Religio Laici, and in the post1688 works, such as Eleanora, where Dryden’s satire turns to elegy. Two essays illustrate that Dryden’s use of ancient Roman poetry was highly original. Paul Davis claims that Dryden created a ‘‘nuanced and radical’’ interplay of Virgil, Horace, and Ovid. Dryden ’s subtlety and daring were beyond imitation and the unique culture he ‘‘invented ’’ ended with him. Mr. Davis finds a topsy-turvy Augustanism in Mac Flecknoe and a rift between Restoration reality and Augustan ideal in Absalom and Achitophel. Like Mr. Davis, Anne Cotterill emphasizes Dryden’s independence , such as in the way he imitates Plutarch and Montaigne in their ‘‘wandering ways of reading, thinking, and writing.’’ Instead of ‘‘preconceived ideas of beauty and morality as organizing principles for art,’’ she explains, Dryden offers ‘‘the passionate mind and temper of the mature poet.’’ The Fables are an ‘‘exuberantly unsentimental...
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