K's dominion is the 'real', that which according to Lacan, 'resists symbolisation absolutely'. The real is that which paradoxically gives meaning to the symbolic order and, at the same time, fundamentally escapes symbolisation. Human beings cannot thrive in the order of the real. They simply suffocate by an absence of meaning. The Life and Times of Michael K. is a philosophical thought experiment: Coetzee has created an avatar which he sends out on the vast and dark ocean of the real to study how he survives in the face of this immensity. What we are reading then is a phenomenological study of a human being who tries to carve out a foothold of utmost symbolic precariousness ('mother', 'earth') at the treshhold of the great black hole of meaninglessness.

I am convinced that Coetzee's argument is basically metaphysical, not ethical. The South African context has led to a strong and unjustified moral and political bias in the reading of this author. J.M. Coetzee is not Nadine Gordimer. Nowhere in this book is there a condemnation of the ravages of war. The violence is simply there, as an inevitable part of the symbolic order. Michael K. is not a pacifist: for him the war simply does not exist.

It is difficult to evaluate this book. As a novel it has enormous merit but also a number of flaws. What troubles me most is the difference in mood and style between the brief second part (narrated by the rehabilitation camp doctor) and the two other sections (where the narrative is told from K's point of view). I believe that Coetzee added the final two parts to show how the human, symbolised world deals with the mystery of K's appearance. Clearly, neither force nor bribery allow to neutralise the disquieting impact of the 'real'. From a didactic point of view this narrative strategy may work, but I am less certain that it enhances the quality of the book as a novel.

The philosophical mind and the writerly imagination are subject to different laws and dynamics. It is very difficult to have them work in sync. Kafka and Nietzsche could do it. Coetzee is not (yet) in the same league. His scintillatingly clear prose and his philosophical acuity are still forming a somewhat uneasy marriage. But this only fuels our hope for a definitive, 21st century masterpiece by this very gifted artist.

The other world is represented by the ubiquitous dogs in the story and by Lurie's daughter, who lives a modest life in a rural setting. Animals have never been admitted to the symbolised world of human beings. Their life is lived outside the whirlpool of signs and meaning. It is a 'dumb' world, if you like, but with its own kind of somatic intelligence: they are in touch with the earth, with their own unarticulated being. The deep and unbridgeable schism between the 'real' and the 'symbolic' (to use Lacanian categories) is epitomised by the unability to communicate about and to come to a shared understanding of what father and daughter experienced during a violent assault at the farm. Lurie tries to convince Lucy that she has to prosecute the perpetrators, but she refuses to articulate the violation, to personalise it and to let her actions lead by abstract principles such as 'justice', 'friendship' and 'fatherhood'.

Whilst her motives remain opaque to the reader, we understand that this is more than waywardness or fatalism. There is a certain kind of primal strength in her behaviour that draws respect and awe. The tension between these two worlds is not resolved by the end of the novel. Despite all the upheavals, Lurie remains stricken in his familiar universe of language and Lucy encapsulates herself in the mute routines of the rural life and traditional customs. Maybe the father's fascination for song is an indication that he has an intimation of the pre-cognitive origins of our life world that his daughter seems to inhabit. But is only an intimation and by the end of the book David and Lucy have drifted off in their private universes.

'Disgrace' is an uneasy and provocative book. Coetzee confronts us with impossible choices that incrust themselves in one's mental armoury: a powerful strategy for renewal.

Let me try and list my main points of criticism:

* Already, the introduction bodes ill: "Because the field is so vast, it is impossible to be comprehensive about the older equipment; therefore, some of your favourite cameras may be omitted. Don't worry about it. Likewise, you may feel that we've got the balance wrong with new kit. Again, don't worry about it. This is a book by enthusiasts, for enthusiasts'.
From a reader's point of view this is nonsensical and it shows that the pair started out on this book with a very fuzzy editorial concept. The choice of which camera systems to treat in more depth than others is a crucial editorial decision in this kind of book and should not be left to personal predilections only. It is only fair that the Leica system gets discussed in more detail than, for example, the Russian Zorkii. But H&S do not like the classic Contax and the system is given very short shrift indeed: 'The trouble is that classic Contaxes are wilfully complicated (...); and the shutter resembles nothing so much as a roll-top desk made of brass slats.' I don't think that any budding rangefinder enthusiast is helped by this kind of idiosyncratic assessment. There are many other instances of this kind of sloppy, arbitrary and sometimes outright dumb criticism: swing-lens are not covered at all but are characterised as a 'curiosity, because most of them are not very useful'. Tell that to great artists such as Pentti Samalaahti who built a career on these kinds of cameras. Another victim is the Mamiya 6 rangefinder camera. Still very sought after because of its excellent handling and optical qualities, the camera is simply not discussed at all. The reason is that H&S do not like the square format and hence they choose to ignore it. The Fuji RF cameras (6x7 and 6x9) are discussed in exactly 7,2 lines (with, I admit, a picture of the GSW 690 Mk I somewhere 70 pages apart). There are many other inexplicable omissions (classic compact rangefinders such as Canonet QL17 and Minolta 7sII arenot discussed at all). A book that is marketed as 'the' guide to users and collectors should aim for comprehensiveness, and not succumb to the kind of arbitrariness in selecting material for inclusion as demonstrated in the present volume.

* I agree that it is not easy to systematise the sprawling subject of rangefinder and direct view cameras. But the classification proposed by H&S is erratic and does in many instances not help the newbie rangefinder enthusiast. We know that the authors have a boon for the Swiss-made Alpa (S)WA cameras and they are separately and prominently treated under a heading 'multi-format cameras', because they accept backs for different sizes. However, it would be more logical to group the Alpa with, for example, the Silvestri T30, the Cambo Wide, the Linhof Technar, the Plaubel SW690, Horseman 612, and the Corfield WA67 (of which only the latter two discussed, the Plaubel is only mentioned in passing elsewhere) as rigid body (super) wide angle cameras (most of them accept backs of various sizes). Now the discussion is fragmented over 'multi-format', 'panoramic' and 'other current rigid-bodied 4x5 cameras'. Confusing indeed. The section on large format cameras is equally muddled: look at how it is structured:

LARGE FORMAT
('Baby' 6x7 and 6x9 cameras)
4x5 technical and press cameras
NPC

GRAN VIEW
Other current rigid-bodied 4x5 cameras
Graphics/Speed Graphic
MPP
Other format

POLAROID CAMERAS

Wouldn't this be more clearly structured?

LARGE FORMAT
- Baby cameras
- 4x5 press cameras
Graflex cameras
MPP
Other press cameras (Linhof)
- Rigid body (wide angle) 4x5 cameras
Gran View
Alpa
Others
- Polaroid cameras
- Other formats

* Although the book numbers 181 pages, it could easily have been printed on, say, 80 pages. Size of fonts, line spacing and margins have been set at ridiculously large values. The book looks as if it has been printed for 8 year old children. Pages are 18 cm wide, only half of which is filled with text (1 column 9 cm wide). In short, the information density of a given page is very low. That would be ok if we were dealing with a coffee table book. The real rangefinder enthusiast would be happy with some more substance, I am sure.

* Further to the previous point, an inordinate amount of space in this book is reserved for pictures by the authors. In many cases they fail to make a point or support the argument in the text (if there is one). The photography itself is wholly unremarkable: in its motivic choice and composition it is classic to the point of being tedious. It is a pity that at least 25 of the 181 pages are allocated to full-page photographs, with many others sctattered over the text.

* A cosmetic point, but one which continues to distract the reader, is the quality of the photographs of cameras, lenses and other gear. Probably to enhance the feeling of nostalgia, these have all been printed in a black and white that is particularly 'dirty' and unappealing: very contrasty and with a lot of grain. Sadly, in many cases the perfunctory quality of the photographys obscures details that could be of great interest to the real rangefinder enthusiast.

All in all this book gives the impression of being compiled opportunistically and in great haste. For the beginning rangefinder enthusiast it would perhaps have been better to produce a book on the great classic 24x36 rangefinder systems of yesterday and today: Leica, Contax, Canon, Nikon, Voigtländer. For the connoisseur I would have wished much more depth and a more systematic covering of the field. Given the book as it is now, I would prefer to see it published in a slim paperback volume, for quick reference, for half the price.

As a successful, professional lawyer, as a member of a respected family, patron of a vast network of clients, as an accomplished writer, a more or less efficient administrator and prosperous land owner, Pliny embodies the quintessence of the political and cultural elite in the imperial capital. His carefully groomed letters reveal a fascinating picture of the mature Empire. What emerges from this book is a panoramic picture of a world that is not even very different from our own. Admittedly, the summit of the societal pyramid in 2nd century Rome was populated by a much smaller and more select group of people compared to the upper middle class in the advanced economies of today. But apart from the numbers, the life style of these two groups seems to have a lot of things in common. Take geographical mobility as an example. Pliny was originally descendant from the Como area in Northern Italy. Obviously, most of his time was spent in the capital, where he had a villa at the shores of the Thyrannean Sea. Additionally, he had an estate in what is now Tuscany. Finally there was his wife's estate in Campania, which is pretty far down the heel of the Italian peninsula. Much the same as today's professional elite, and undettered by vastly more primitive means of transportation and communication, Pliny shuttles back and forth between his estates, hundreds of kilometers apart. I take this as anecdotal evidence of the fact that, irrespective of historical epoch, elites have always transcended geographical distance in exercising their professional and social obligations. And many other aspects of Pliny's professional and social life remind us of our life world today. In sum, I find the texture and 'feel' of this collection of letters decidedly modern.

Another aspect that filters through Pliny's correspondence is the fact that Rome could be a very dangerous place to live, at least for those in the spotlights of the political scene. The Empire can, perhaps, be best described as a 'quasi-totalitarian' state. A bit like the China of today, or worse. We now from Suetonius' account how damaging and dangerous the paranoia of individuals such as Domitian could be for whoever opposed them. Pliny confirms this through many of his more or less oblique references to Domitian's despotic reign of terror.

The final bundle of letters contains the correspondence with the emperor Trajan, whom Pliny obviously reveres. The insights into the workings of Rome's administrative machinery to govern such a vast empire, are fascinating. Ultimately, one is astonished by the patience and competence that this particular emperor brings to bear to the many and sometimes trivial issues that his man in the East requests his advice on. One would think that Trajan would have better things to do. This testifies of the impressive efficiency and robustness of Rome's governance apparatus.

This collection of letters is thoroughly recommended to anyone interested in studying the predicament of our own time through the distorting but fascinating mirror of the past.

With portraits of Chaplin, many of the leading Surrealists, Picasso, Stravinsky, T.S. Eliot, Dylan Thomas, Henry Moore and many others, Miller's twin eye Rolleiflex produces a very intimate view of the artistic scene in the middle of the 20th century. Some of the pictures were taken in the artist's studio, some in Miller's own studio, but most show the sitters informally and relaxed in mundane surroundings, weaving the mystery of artistic inspiration into the fabric of daily life. Whatever the context, Miller's portraits show the mark of a great artist, with composition, lighting and atmosphere invariably matched to the personality of the sitter. A great deal of her pictures are quite classical in conception, but many are spiced up with an occasional Surrealist wink.

The war pictures are a different matter. When Miller registers the ravages of this savage conflict, irony makes way for tragic grandeur. For example, the portrait of a Nazi suicide, daughther of the Leipzig Mayor, reconnects with the dramatic clair obscur of Carravaggio. Many of the images of wrens and ordinary service men reveal the quiet determination of people amidst a whirlwind of extreme violence. One of the most impressive pictures of this period, and in a sense an untypical one, depicts a murdered German prison guard floating in a canal bounding the Dachau camp, producing a mixture of the bucolic and the tragic which is very moving.

This book is beautifully produced and is a delight to hold in your hands. The captions that go with the pictures are well written and very informative. I would have wished for a more extensive lead essay by Richard Calvocoressi, but maybe we can find more information elsewhere. Pity also that the UK version of this book sports the Hein Heckroth portrait on its cover, which I do not find one of the most attractive pictures in this collection. But these minor quibbles do not detract for this valuable addition to my library.

That is not to say that reading this novel is an unpleasant affair. This is a very gifted author that produces prose that is virtuosic in its cinematographic directness. But it is a pity that this impressive gift is not used for loftier purposes. However, with Atonement, McEwan seems to have liberated himself from the creative gridlock he seemed to suffer from. Instead of constraining his literary imagination to the confines of a carefully planned, linear plot, Atonement, according to the author's own statements, grew under his pen in much more organic way. The relinquishing of control over the final shape of the narrative resulted in incomparable depth and richness. I hope McEwan will continue to experiment in this vein and relinquish his infatuation for little, but ultimately uninteresting tales of obsession.

For me the main attraction of this book lies indeed in the quality of the photography, irrespective of the technique used. All photographers, whatever the gear they use, can benefit from studying these masterly landscape pictures.

With respect to view camera technique, Dykinga refers to Leslie Stroebel's book for an exhaustive treatment of the subject. I would think Dykinga' book - in its broad brush treatment of technique and LF philosophy - to be especially suitable for readers who have not yet made the jump to working with a view camera. Although I can image that seasoned users can pick up a lot of interesting tips and tricks throughout.

Currently this is one of my favourite photography books. It happily strengthens me in my resolve to move to large format photography.

The book is conceived as a primer. Contributions are organised in brief chapters, each one focusing on one important aspect of Japanese culture. One learns about rituals, aesthethic categories, myths, principles of social organisation, role models, etc. Each chapter concludes with a series of assignments for discussion activities in classes.

With short chapters, a glossary and a fairly extensive bibliography, the book is obviously conceived as a broad brush introduction to Japanese culture and a stepping stone towards further study.

For those unitiated to this complex and sometimes baffling culture, the modest price of this book is money well spent. But for an in depth treatment one definitely needs to look elsewhere.

Of course this book implicitly invites to be read as a story. From this vantage point, it reveals a number of interesting subtexts. To my mind, there are at least two protagonists playing a key role in the background of this narrative. First there is 'the stranger', or 'the outsider'. He can be an external or internal consultant, who joins a constituency and reanimates it with the power of story-telling. It can also be a full member of the organisation who, after having developed a certain level of proficiency in the discipline, takes her leave from her erstwhile peer group. This implicitly forces the insight upon us that stories by their very nature are subversive. The narrative paradigm constitutes a deep antithesis to the command-and-control approach which is still dominating many of our contemporary organisations. Stories are 'Fremdkörper', wayward entities that develop their own viral logic once they're out in the open. A commitment to introducing story-telling in an organisation, therefore, is a serious affair. It constitutes a leap of faith which over time literally might change the organisational dynamics beyond recognition. It seems that the capacity for story-telling can only lead a tenuous, unstable existence within the confines of organisations as we know them today.

This brings us to the second mysterious protagonist: the 'senior manager' or the 'decision taker'. At first sight he seems conspicuously absent from the scene. But he is present enough, and in not a terribly flattering role, as a 'corporate bully'. Isn't it striking that the capacity for story-telling is, with exception of the start-up company, invariably injected at lower management levels? It's as if the top of the hierarchy is simply incapable of mustering a level of trust in their own organisations that allows them to constructively embrace the power of the tale.

If Allan, Fairtlough and Heinzen are right, then we have no choice but to wage a guerilla war in our own organisations. Long term viability is at stake. Whether we like it or not, the larger system we are part of is self-organising. So we'd better measure up and, humbly, unleash the power of story-telling. There are no guarantees, only that we'll be better prepared for the pains of failure and the glories of success. It may not be what the average reader of business books these days likes to read. At least we need to congratulate the authors of this book for their honesty.

For those in need of convenient shortcuts in dealing with strategic issues, Normann's book carries mixed messages. The good news is that shortcuts are indeed possible. The bad news is that this requires serious conceptual thinking and reformulation of the issues at a higher level of abstraction. The key word, therefore, is 'elegance' rather than 'simplification'.

'Reframing Business' talks about 'maps' and 'landscapes'. The landscape denotes the dominating logic of value creation that forms the backbone for a given configuration of business systems. Maps are a metaphor then for the symbolising processes of the mind, the conceptual frameworks we use to make sense of what happens in the business environment. Between these two lines of thought Normann posits a dialectical relationship: our strategic paradigms are shaped by the existing business context, which in turn is influenced by the mental frameworks we espouse to approach it. The co-evolution between business reconfiguration and mental reframing is the central theme of the book. Normann's approach is obviously indebted to systems theorists such as Maturana and Varela who introduced the idea of a fundamental interdependency between mind and world almost 30 years ago. This is not new and neither are the implications that Normann elaborates from these basic principles: the experience of the outside world as a dynamic continuum of opportunities and the need for an organisational infrastructure that supports recurrent purposeful emergence (autopoiesis) in order to thrive in it.

This is the hard part of course for those seeking quick fixes in this book. As the author rightly points out, the ability to look at the world as a continuum of opportunities constitutes a fundamental choice. Normann believes that to a certain extent, this way of being in the world can be consciously learned and a large part of the book is in fact a very cerebral introduction to the sister disciplines of 'mapping' and 'landscaping'. The latter centers on the ability to recognise and shape the business offering as a tool for organising co-production between various players in the environment. 'Mapping' requires conscious 'upframing' of the strategic issues to higher levels of abstraction, which Normann undergirds with a rather generic thinking process.

For those with sufficient conceptual agility, Normann's landscaping and mapping toolbox indeed constitutes a rich collection of 'shortcuts' for thinking through strategic issues. They will have no problems of buying into the argument, even if it is occasionally more suggestive than substantial. In fact, for these readers the book will fit snugly into their mental breast-pocket, ready to yield any of the numerous goodies hidden between its covers. However, those readers who have no feeling for the founding principles of this theory, will have a hard time in finding their way in what will seem a sprawling and arcane conceptual edifice.

It is clear by now, I hope, that I worked through this book with considerable enthusiasm. However, to my mind it doesn't qualify for a five star rating, for two reasons. An important reservation concerns the kaleidoscopic variety of sources that is mobilised in order to substantiate the main argument. Normann dips into systems theory, cognition theory, social constructionism, complexity theory and much besides. Swiftly and imperceptibly, he crosses disciplinary borders and switches from metaphorical use of concepts into rigorous explanatory mode. I am convinced this methodological eclecticism obscures the argument. A focused and economical effort at integrating systems and management science would have yielded a more elegant and timeless contribution.

Secondly, as indicated this work takes a conceptual angle in trying to come to grips with the issue of securing organisational viability in a complex environment. This is only part of the story and Normann knows it. In the final chapters on leadership, which I find amongst the weakest of the whole book, he discusses these issues only briefly. Groundedness, authenticity and humility are key aspects of the more spiritual side of leadership and they imperatively need to complement the more cerebral view of leaders as people with a strong capacity 'to perform the mental process of imagining and synthesising in the domain of the upframed conceptual future'. Margaret Wheatley has written eloquently on the 'softer' side of leadership in her books 'A Simpler Way' and 'Leadership and the New Science' but then, as a woman, she can probably afford to strike a more 'emotional' tone in the macho world of management and management science. The problem with Wheatley's book is also that they lack the conceptual incisiveness of Normann's approach. For a combination of intellectual rigour and humane wisdom we need to move out of management science altogether, with the exception, perhaps of Luc Hoebeke's 'Making Work Systems Better' (also published by Wiley) which in its systemic, sober, low-key approach to the discipline of human value creation does not fail to make a deep impression.

Despite these reservations, I have no doubt that Richard Normann's book is a very valuable addition to the management science canon. It deserves to be recommended to thoughtful practitioners and managers.