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"In 1763, the painter Joshua Reynolds proposed to his friend Samuel Johnson that they invite a few friends to join them every Friday at the Turk's Head Tavern in London to dine, drink, and talk until midnight. Eventually the group came to include among its members Edmund Burke, Adam Smith, Edward Gibbon, and James Boswell. It was known simply as "the Club." In this captivating book, Leo Damrosch brings alive a brilliant, competitive, and eccentric cast of characters. With the friendship of the "odd couple" Samuel Johnson and James Boswell at the heart of his narrative, Damrosch conjures up the precarious, exciting, and often brutal world of late eighteenth-century Britain. This is the story of an extraordinary group of people whose ideas helped to shape their age, and our own"--Dust jacket.… (more)
User reviews
I expected a different approach by the author; his decision to develop mini-bios on several of the Club’s eventual 44 members was far different than my preference of imagined conversations by Club members on issues of the day. Obviously, the responsibility is my own for not doing a better job of researching the book ahead of time.
Some of my favorite history authors are Chernow, Meacham, Jean Smith, Goodwin. What they all have in common is that they are great storytellers, and a big part of history is the stories. I didn’t find Damrosch’s book to be very readable. I thought it was dull, and about as interesting as reading a grad student’s thesis. While much of the book focuses on Johnson and Boswell I came away feeling I didn’t really get a good grasp of their relationship. I strongly suggest that anyone considering buying the book give it a road test and read one of the early chapters beforehand. “The Club” is 2 ½ stars in my opinion, and not recommended.
This book is good. I was particularly interested in the chapters about Garrick, who invented modern theater, and about whom I knew very little.
Most entertaining, as expected, are many of Johnson’s criticisms; he was the man who coined the phrase Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel. Once during a violin recital, Johnson became visibly bored. A friend, to pique Johnson’s interest, told him how difficult the piece was to perform. Johnson replied, Difficult do you call it, Sir? I wish it were impossible.