Saul Bellow's novel, "Mr. Sammler's Planet," presents an interesting yet somewhat uneven improvisational sketch.

When Bellow is at his most brilliant and extemporaneous, the novel is rich with vivid descriptions and engaging details. However, when he delves into Mr. Sammler's thematic concern with modern life, it sometimes wanders.

The story begins with Artur Sammler, who clings to a fabricated past as a journalist in London. He spends his final days relying on the generosity of his nephew, a Westchester gynecologist with a troubled family. Sammler is unable to solve the various problems plaguing his nephew's family or his own daughter.

Despite his sharp eye for detail and astute judgment of human frailties, Sammler lacks the energy and vision to convincingly sum up his disquiet. This leads to a strange and somewhat forced moment near the end of the book.

As Bellow himself once admitted, "Don't they know we just make this stuff up?" This sentiment is palpable in "Mr. Sammler's Planet," which feels somewhat fabricated and lacking a core.

Nevertheless, Bellow's vibrant prose makes the book worth reading, or in my case, rereading after many years. However, it is clear that this is not one of his best works.

Sammler is an amazing one-eyed man who survived World War II and was rescued from a concentration camp by his nephew. His novel takes us on a journey through the corrupt and stratified structure of American society after the war, along with Sammler, leaving us in awe. Among these strange people, Sammler beautifully presents his own planetary ideas to us. It is the best choice to get to know Saul Bellow.

This is the book that I truly desired The Adventures of Augie March to be. Of course, it's not Saul Bellow's fault.

While I was engrossed in reading Augie, my attention would suddenly wander - it was so intellectually dense and at times extremely difficult to understand.

"Mr. Sammler's Planet" is equally philosophically profound, yet it was an absolute pleasure to peruse.

The page and a half paragraphs, similar to those in Augie, were present, but they were enjoyable to read, and I actually felt a sense of increased intelligence after going through them.

It seems that "Mr. Sammler's Planet" managed to strike the perfect balance between depth and readability, captivating the reader's attention and leaving them with a sense of fulfillment and intellectual growth.

Perhaps it's the way Bellow weaves his words and ideas in this particular work that makes it stand out from "The Adventures of Augie March" for me.

Nonetheless, both books are testaments to Bellow's literary genius and his ability to explore complex themes and human nature with great insight and skill.

My first Bellow in decades — reading Amis's "Inside Story" compelled me to give the writer, who I've never really warmed to, another shot.

This was a rewarding experience, and only ever so slightly confounding. The book's portrait of late '60s Manhattan is truly remarkable. It presents a city that is filthy, grimy, and venal, a place that is ever so alienating to its title character, a Holocaust survivor. As he tries to navigate his environment and the people around him, he is losing his sense of meaning.

The description of this world is dyspeptic but not inaccurate. It gives a vivid and detailed picture of a time and place that was充满了 challenges and difficulties. As they used to say in third-grade book reports, I look forward to reading more by this author. I am eager to see how he will continue to explore these themes and characters in his future works.

I am now more open to the idea of reading more of Amis's books and seeing what else he has to offer. Maybe I will discover something new and exciting that will change my perspective on his writing. Only time will tell.

What do I think?

I think Saul Bellow truly, truly loathed 1970s NYC. He despised its hippies with their free-spirited ways that perhaps clashed with his more traditional views. The muggers who prowled the streets, instilling fear in the hearts of the citizens, were another aspect he couldn't stand.

The subways, often dirty and overcrowded, and the so-called "subhumans" who inhabited them, were also targets of his disdain. The crackling youth-urgency and the cryptozoic youth-energy, which seemed to come from an unknown source, perhaps made him feel out of touch.

The mystic-crystal renovated buildings, which might have represented a new and unfamiliar aesthetic, also didn't sit well with him. Additionally, the civic losses and the cultural cashouts that were happening in the city during that time were, in his eyes, signs of decline.

Overall, it's clear that Bellow had a strong aversion to many aspects of 1970s NYC.

“Mr. Sammler’s Planet” appears to be a rather distinct offering from Saul Bellow, at least in the perception of some critics. They view it as lacking a clear plot, with the main characters engaging in extensive mental and verbal ruminations.

Well, to a large extent, this accusation holds true. Although “Mr. Sammler’s Planet” does have its merits, if it had been my initial encounter with Bellow, it might have deterred me from exploring his other works and prevented me from reading superior novels like “Herzog” and “Humboldt’s Gift.”

In this 1970 novel, Holocaust survivor Artur Sammler, from his home in New York, spends a great deal of time contemplating the fate of the planet, even as discussions about moon landings and H.G. Wells swirl around him. Sammler knew Wells, and his daughter Shula is fixated on getting him to resume an old memoir of his experiences with Wells. Shula steals an Indian professor’s manuscript, “The Future of the Moon,” hoping it will inspire Sammler to continue writing.

Sammler himself has had disturbing encounters with a large black pickpocket he spots on the bus. Aware that Sammler knows, the pickpocket intimidates him by following him home, cornering him, and exposing his penis.

Meanwhile, Sammler’s nephew, Dr. Gruner, is on the verge of death, and a younger relative is searching for a stash of money he believes the doctor has hidden in his home, funds obtained from performing abortions.

That, in essence, is the “plot.” However, as I’ve recounted it early on, the plot isn’t really the essence of Bellow’s work, and this is especially true here. Sammler and his friends and relatives (as a reader, it can be quite challenging to keep track of their relationships) engage in lengthy discussions about man’s weaknesses and motivations, society’s obligations, and,隐约可见 through the clouds of conversation, the moon.

Bellow peppers the text with sharp lines like “You seldom get people to long for what was possible — that was the cruelty of it.” These lines keep you reading. (“Everyone needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door.” “Men, thought Sammler, often sin alone; women are seldom companionless in sin.”) But, to be honest, such brilliant lines don’t appear nearly as frequently as in “Herzog” and “Humboldt’s Gift,” and “Mr. Sammler’s Planet” can be a bit of a struggle to get through. Sometimes you lose track of who is speaking, which is not a good sign. Fortunately, the novel isn’t as long as many of Bellow’s others.

The novel gains strength as Sammler recalls his wartime experiences: killing a disarmed German, narrowly escaping death after being thrown in a pit with other shot Jews and covered in dirt, and clawing his way out. But Bellow keeps these scenes brief, even though we crave more. Instead, Bellow prefers to put Sammler and other characters on their soap boxes, which can occasionally become tiresome. Many readers would find it difficult to clearly define Bellow’s theme in this novel. For my part, I think I mostly understand it, but I’m not sure I could adequately describe it, so I haven’t made a great effort.

“Mr. Sammler’s Planet” is decent and worthwhile, but some readers — perhaps many — will give up on this largely plotless story. For me, I wouldn’t recommend this as your first Bellow novel; I’m glad it wasn’t mine.

4/5. Bellow, in his autobiographical Sammler, that is, the "novel of ideas", presents the "urgent task" of every intellectual - to be skeptical of everything and everyone - even if the reflections lead to scientific (behavior) and scientific (knowledge) implosions - representing the (un)limited planet of Sammler. On the sweetly presented world, there adheres grime, acidity... Sammler proclaims that it is necessary to "taste" every flavor that society "offers".

Bellow's work delves deep into the psyche of the intellectual. By advocating skepticism, he challenges the status quo and encourages individuals to question the norms and values that society presents. This skepticism, however, is not without its consequences. It can lead to a breakdown of established knowledge and behavior, as seen in the scientific implosions he mentions.

Despite these potential drawbacks, Sammler believes that it is essential to engage with the world and "taste" all that it has to offer. This includes the unpleasant as well as the pleasant, as it is through this process of exploration and questioning that true understanding can be achieved.

In conclusion, Bellow's Sammler presents a complex and thought-provoking view of the role of the intellectual in society. His call for skepticism and engagement serves as a reminder that we should not simply accept what we are told, but rather strive to understand the world around us through our own experiences and reflections.

Mr. Sammler’s Planet is like a stop-action photograph that captures a century hurtling by at full speed. It's not just any century; it's the twentieth, a time when traditional society was upended. The author focuses his lens on New York City, and what we get is a truly fascinating still. Taken in 1969, this snapshot reveals a world that has been transformed in a single generation. We witness madness and eccentricities, and their meanings are unclear. The book documents this change, but more importantly, it attempts to make sense of it. Fortunately for me, Mr. Sammler’s Planet is a book full of ideas.

The protagonist, Artur Sammler, contemplates the turmoil of the times. He is transfixed by the new types of people, a cosmopolitan breed who seem to be able to go anywhere and do anything. Smart and sharp, this emerging tribe is always on the cutting edge, there one moment and gone the next. However, they lack good sense. The shopping, schlepping daughters and the obsessed, nutcase sons all vie to amaze their father, the proper, London-bred Sammler. But it's not just the kids; everyone seems to be caught up in the theatrical improvisation that now defines personality.

Mr. Sammler tries to puzzle out the century's changes, and his musings give the book its depth. He believes that the incessant urge to "explain" is flawed; it's more important to "distinguish." He thinks that today's histrionic madness stems from an individualism that may not be based on any truth. He sees that this individualism is rooted in the loss of personal power caused by the century's complexities. Trying to change society or fit in is a doomed project in this century. The moon motif represents the unprecedented need of modern people to break away from the rest of humanity. But Mr. Sammler begins to doubt this striving. He wonders whether personal standards are best created internally and individually, or whether a freely chosen Kantian devotion to some external duty might better serve the new world. Modern society is in the midst of a perfect existential crisis.

The writing style of Mr. Sammler’s Planet bears Bellow's distinctive stamp. If we could see his prose, it would have clean lines; if we could eat it, it would taste crunchy. This style held my attention throughout, and it's a big part of the reason why I rate the book so highly. Mr. Sammler's planet is still very much our planet, and the ideas in the book are relevant to our lives today.

Bay Sammler is an interesting and straightforward Jew with a unique mind. It is necessary to emphasize his Judaism because he is one of the few people who survived the Holocaust. He has such interesting thoughts that the book makes us curious about the mind of an old and tired person who knows and comments on many things in philosophy, history, physics, religion, and many other fields.

Actually, at the beginning of the book, I was so disgusted by the words of sexuality and excretion that I thought I couldn't read this book. But soon it took on a very interesting form. When Bay Sammler is in a safe environment where he can say that humanity has been saved after experiencing so many terrible things, the fact that young people are becoming immoral, normalizing this immorality, lacking values, and making sexuality, crime, and all kinds of filth the mainstream in the world makes him question what he is really living for. And you are also questioning with him.

Three stars for this novel means four for Augie March; I'm rating the author against himself! Bellow's later work, of which this might be the first harbinger, tends to muse rather than move given the lack of energetic plot.

After the first hundred pages, which set up the major and minor characters and promise a half-satirical, half-serious look at intellectuals in 1970 NYC--sort of an updated Glass family from Salinger's oeuvre--MSP's pace settles into a rut until it wears out 150 pp. later. Yet, the last paragraph is beautiful!

Parts of this novel do shine. Especially at the start, the bruised condition of Sammler invites pity more than put-downs, and the criticisms he makes of his urban jungle have only become more prescient, sadly, with 45 years to erode further the Gotham infrastructure. I found much less ranting than obituaries of the late Bellow had set me up to expect here.

Stanley Crouch's introduction helps place the context of the novel within black-Jewish relations at the end of the 60s and the slide into the catastrophic 70s decade and "drop dead, New York." Crouch, understandably given his predilections, promotes the black pickpocket figure that motivates the first section of the book, but this character largely drops out until the rather forced, awkwardly staged, and overly symbolic climactic scene very late in the story. Still, I wish the introduction in the 2004 Penguin paperback was inserted at the end of the novel, as Crouch does include story spoilers.

Equally crucial are the Dr Lal's and the setting's lunar subtexts, the aftermath of a napalm attack by the Israelis in the Six Day War (the best scene in the book, and I wish there was more of the Jesuit photojournalist Fr Newell), the Holocaust and the return from the grave and the murder of a German soldier, the post-60s collapse of a livable city, liberal cant, Wellesian asides, and failed Olaf Stapleton Cosmopolis world scheme--Crouch correctly draws your attention to these as key elements that carom off Sammler's own musings and longings, as with many of his later novels from this point on, especially on Judaism and the (non?) postmortem persistence of the soul, in the minds of aging protagonists. The use of "we" by an omniscient narrator a couple of times only unsettles the reader.

But Shula, Eisen, Fetter, Wallace, and Lim all disappoint as the supporting cast after initially promising entrances, the subplot of Wallace and Fetter's plane never engages, and that of Lim makes the middle of the book (as Crouch notes) sag for at least fifty pages as the Indian prof and Sammler chat in a conversation that probably only Goethe could have pulled off, not two speakers in English as a second (or fifth) language after a weary day in a sultry city, no matter how learned they both were.

This is Bellow's flaw: much of his high-flown thought here could've been placed better in essays rather than as fiction. Far too much of this content drifts and loses dynamism. I do not believe this is intentional for the character of Sammler, for it characterizes Bellow's figureheads that from this novel on began to take over his novels. They're fascinating in small doses, but fail to leap off the page into convincing figures you could imagine meeting given your own presumed lack of erudition and creature comfort that his metropolitan bon vivants possess.

The terms which, in his inmost heart, each man knows.

It is a truth that lies deep within us all. Just as I know mine, every individual is aware of those unspoken and perhaps unacknowledged aspects within themselves.

We all know, in some profound and intuitive way. God, that we know. It is a knowledge that persists, a recognition that we carry within our souls.

We know, we know, we know... It is a refrain that echoes within us, a reminder of the hidden truths that reside within our hearts.

These are the terms that shape our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. They are the foundation upon which our beliefs, values, and actions are built.

Whether we choose to confront them or not, they are there, waiting to be discovered and embraced.

For in knowing these terms, we can begin to truly understand ourselves and find a deeper sense of meaning and purpose in our lives.

At first, it was all the lists that truly got to me. They weighed on me as if they were unfinished work. Lists of words seemed to appear on every other page, clogging the capillaries of my eyes.

Enlightenment, universal education, universal suffrage, the rights of the majority acknowledged by all governments, the rights of women, the rights of children, the rights of criminals, the unity of the different races affirmed, Social Security, public health, the dignity of the person, the right to justice-- the struggles of three revolutionary centuries being won while the feudal bonds of Church and Family weakened and the privileges of aristocracy (without any duties) spread wide, democratized, especially the libidinous privileges, the right to be uninhibited, spontaneous, urinating, defecating, belching, coupling in all positions, tripling, quadrupling, polymorphous, noble in being natural, primitive, combining the leisure and luxurious inventiveness of Versailles with the hibiscus-covered erotic ease of Samoa.

pgs. 25-26

That single sentence is mirrored throughout the early chapters, making Mr. Sammler's Planet more of a manifesto than a novel. And then there's the interminable chapter V. I'm no doctor, but I'm confident in saying that that chapter, that blasted chapter V, nearly gave me an aneurysm.

Oh, Sammler is intelligent, and many of his observations are pure and perfect. However, many of them are also foolish and old-fashioned. And I don't think the toll this book takes is worth it. Not if you're prone to having a stroke.