Introductory Practical Biochemistry

Product Description

Introductory Practical Biochemistry, designed to cater to the requirements of students of biochemistry, microbiology, molecular biology, cellular biology etc. covers modern techniques employed for qualitative and quantitative analysis of biomolecules. The techniques for genetic transformation etc., have been included to give preliminary information to the beginners in the field of genetic engineering. Radioisotopic and immunological techniques also find a place in the book. Each chapter starts with introductory details of the techniques followed by simple laboratory exercises. The book provides concise information on theoretical and practical aspects of the techniques employed in biochemical studies for the Undergraduate and Postgraduate students, Instructors and Research workers.

Practical biochemistry;: An introductory course

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Practical biochemistry;: An introductory course
Fiona Frais
Manufacturer: University Park Press
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Unknown Binding

A manual of practical biochemistry: For the use of students doing introductory courses

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A manual of practical biochemistry: For the use of students doing introductory courses
Hereward Leighton Kesteven
Manufacturer: Angus and Robertson
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Unknown Binding
ASIN: B0008BRJIM

Book Description

In Delta of Venus Anaïs Nin penned a lush, magical world where the characters of her imagination possess the most universal of desires and exceptional of talents. Among these provocative stories, a Hungarian adventurer seduces wealthy women then vanishes with their money; a veiled woman selects strangers from a chic restaurant for private trysts; and a Parisian hatmaker named Mathilde leaves her husband for the opium dens of Peru. Delta of Venus is an extraordinarily rich and exotic collection from the master of erotic writing.

Customer Reviews:

Keep this book away from kids.......2007-08-13

I read this book when I was 10, and it absolutely horrified and disgusted me. I had nightmares for years about being sexually molested and was often afraid of boys and men. Now in my early twenties, I realize that the detached style of narration does not mean that the author condones these acts or implies that they are normal and healthy (I refer especially to the rape and pedophilia), and that is a unique, even ground-breaking book due to Nin's style and breadth of imagination.

However, I still think no review of this book is complete without this caveat: Some of what is protrayed is not erotic--it is violent and abusive.

Please, keep this book out of the reach of kids and yes, I would say even teenagers who may not be mature enough to comprehend that difference. Leave something lying around that portrays healthy, loving relationships.

interesting but not necessarily erotic.......2007-05-27

there is a lot of interesting prose in this book but it's not the erotica I was expecting. she's got interesting things to say and discuss but if you're looking for something to turn you on, this might not be it.

Nin in fine form...sort of.......2007-05-16

The great work of Anais Nin's life was her diary, and everything else she wrote, no matter how much energy and passion she invested in it, seemed distracted and a bit colorless. This erotica is no exception, and it also has the distinction of being composed to the tune of a tightrope act; Nin was required to deliver hardcore sex, but she could not help adding her own poetry to it. The conditions of composition are here important to whether or not you'll enjoy this semi-hardcore, semi-erotica writing.

If you're a Nin fan, however, this is a must-have.

One of the classics.......2007-03-30

This is one of the classics of sex and eroticism. As a teen, I stole my mother's copy and it inspired many a fantasy. The writing is wonderful and the sex is, well, just hot. I've ready many similar books since then, like right now I am reading Abby Lee's Diary of a Sex Fiend: Girl with a One Track Mind. Reading about sex is always "stimulating" but this classic has lasted generations.

I expected something deeper.......2007-03-09

I guess I was expecting better writing from Nin. I have heard so many good things about her writing and I have read a few books by one of her "good friends", Henry Miller, that I decided to pick up Delta of Venus and was a bit disappointed. In the introduction Anais Nin describes the conditions under which she wrote much of what is contained in this book. Some wealthy "collector" had commissioned erotica at the rate of $1/page and he was not interested in anything but the physical act of sex. Well, Nin delivered. Much of the content is the description of various sexual situations and lacks what I would consider art. Reading Delta of Venus I felt like I was reading at more tasteful version of Letters to Penthouse. I must admit, this is my first exposure to Nin so I am not saying she is not a gifted author. I understand she was commissioned to write stories of this nature, I'm just saying I expected something more.

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Delta of Venus: Erotica
Anais Nin
Manufacturer: Bantam Books
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Mass Market Paperback
ASIN: 0553134302

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Illustrated Delta of Venus
Anais Nin , and N Clarke
Manufacturer: W.h. Smith And Son Publishers
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Hardcover

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Riveting Images of Female Desire

Fragments From The Delta Of Venus
Judy Chicago , and Anais Nin
Manufacturer: powerHouse Books
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Hardcover

General | Painting | Arts & Photography | Subjects | Books

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ASIN: 1576871827

Book Description

Iconic erotic writer Anais Nin wrote of feminist artist Judy Chicago in the seventh volume of her Diaries, "Our first meeting was very interesting. I was intimidated by [Judy's] powerful personality. She was intimidated by the lady of the Diaries...But what happened is that we immediately felt a tenderness and recognized that we needed each other." From this encounter, a personal friendship and professional alliance flowered and continued to bloom until Nin's death in 1977. Nin, a feminist of the first wave, considered Chicago her "radical daughter." Where Nin was graceful, Chicago was confrontational. Where Nin was evocative, Chicago was provocative. Yet both sought the same goal: freedom for female self-expression, unfettered by the constraints of patriarchal posturing. Their relationship - a dialogue between the early and latter halves of the twentieth century - helped Chicago transcend her internalized taboos and fully express her creative power. As a tribute to the legacy of her mentor, Chicago shares some of her memories of their encounters in her introduction to Fragments From The Delta Of Venus, a collection of twenty artworks pairing Chicago's sensuous watercolor images with extremely evocative phrases from Nin's famed collection of stories. The book promises to be a breakthrough in the history of erotic art, which - for centuries - has belonged almost exclusively to male artists and a male audience. Fragments From The Delta Of Venus might be said to be a continuation of Chicago and Nin's earlier dialogue, illuminating, in both images and words, the powerful fantasies and desires of the female mind. Fragments From The Delta Of Venus will be released on Valentine's Day, 2004, perfectly timed to warm your lover's heart - and more.

Customer Reviews:

Riveting Images of Female Desire.......2005-07-18

Fragments from The Delta of Venus is a collection of 20 watercolors by the famous feminist artist, Judy Chicago. The paintings were inspired by 20 fragments from the erotic short stories of Anais Nin published in the collection The Delta of Venus. These stories, written for a private collector of erotica in the 1940s, were published in 1974 at the height of both the Sexual and Feminist Revolutions.

Judy Chicago found short fragments, five to seven lines long, that she found "riveting" and they became the inspiration for these paintings that "articulate a feminine perspective on sex." The paintings depict genitalia and sexual activity, and use color and line to create an image of sexual excitement and passion.

Each painting is depicted on a page of its own, with the text from The Delta of Venus that inspired in on the facing page. These are preceded by a page that has the title of the story from which the text was taken. It is a very simple presentation with a list of the painting titles and the date of composition at the end of the book. The paintings were done over a three year period from 2001 - 2003.

At the beginning of the book are one page biographies of Anais Nin and Judy Chicago. These are followed by a nine page memoir of Anais Nin written by Judy Chicago that tells of their friendship and Nin's influence on her. It also goes into why she created this particular set of paintings.

This is a beautiful and erotic book. It is well-produced with a pink binding. PowerHouse Books has done a wonderful job of presenting these works.

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Delta of Venus Erotica By Anais Nin
Anais Nin
Manufacturer: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Hardcover
ASIN: B000J56TCE

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Delta of Venus
Anais Nin
Manufacturer: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Hardcover

General | Erotica | Literature & Fiction | Subjects | Books

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ASIN: B000B43AEI

Product Description

Novel, memoir by Anais Nin

Erotica: Delta of Venus and Little Birds

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Memory and desire

Erotica: Delta of Venus and Little Birds
Anais Nin
Manufacturer: Harcourt
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Paperback

Contemporary | General | Literature & Fiction | Subjects | Books

General | Erotica | Literature & Fiction | Subjects | Books

Story of O

ASIN: 0156074702

Customer Reviews:

Memory and desire.......2002-09-22

A wonderfully written, highly poetic book. It leaves the reader wanting more. Each story is a perfect little world full of beguiling characters. Anais Nin travels the world of Eros and leaves no territory uncharted. You'll love it, trust me!

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Delta of Venus

Manufacturer: Harcour
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Mass Market Paperback
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ASIN: 0553114700

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Delta of Venus

Manufacturer: Smithmark Publishing
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Paperback
ASIN: 999994129X

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DELTA OF VENUS
ANAIS NIN
Manufacturer: ALLEN
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Paperback
ASIN: B000S9BMN2

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Learn a Little, Love a Little

Loved it first two times, getting ready to read it a third!

Diappointing...

Hellenga is simply versatile - not just a "male author"

Italy, a great story, and some intrigue. Wow!

The Sixteen Pleasures: A Novel
Robert Hellenga
Manufacturer: Delta
ProductGroup: Book
Binding: Paperback

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The FALL OF A SPARROW: A NOVEL

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Blues Lessons: A Novel

The Stones of Florence

ASIN: 0385314698
Release Date: 1995-05-01

Amazon.com

In 1966, 29-year-old Margot Harrington heads off to Florence, intent on doing her bit to protect its precious books from the great floods--and equally intent on adventure. Serendipity, in the shape of the man she'll fall in love with, leads her to an abbey run by the most knowing of abbesses and work on its library begins. One day a nun comes upon a shockingly pornographic volume, bound with a prayer book. It turns out to be Aretino's lost erotic sonnets, accompanied by some rather anatomical engravings. Since the pope had ordered all copies of the Sixteen Pleasures burned, it could be worth a fortune and keep the convent autonomous. The abbess asks Margot to take care of the book and check into its worth: "We have to be cunning as serpents and innocent as doves," she warns.

Soon our heroine finds her identity increasingly "tangled up" with the volume and with Dottor Postiglione, a man with an instinct for happiness--but also one for self-preservation. Margot enjoys the secrecy and the craft (the chapters in which she rebinds the folios are among the book's finest). Much of the book's pleasure stems from Robert Hellenga's easy knowledge, which extends to Italian complexities. Where else would you learn that, in cases of impotence, legal depositions are insufficient: "Modern couples often take the precaution of sending postcards to each other from the time of their engagement, leaving the message space blank so that it can be filled in later if the couple wishes to establish grounds for an annulment." Luckily, however, there are also shops that sell old postcards, "along with the appropriate writing instruments and inks."

Though The Sixteen Pleasures is initially in the tradition of American innocent goes abroad to encounter European experience, Hellenga's depth (and lightness) of characterization and description lift it high above its genre. And what better book than one about loving and loving books?

Book Description

Chapter One

Where I Want to Be

I was twenty-nine years old when the Arno flooded its banks on Friday 4 November 1966. According to the Sunday New York Times the damage wasn't extensive, but by Monday it was clear that Florence was a disaster. Twenty feet of water in the cloisters of Santa Croce, the Cimabue crucifix ruined beyond hope of restoration, panels ripped from the Baptistry doors, the basement of the Biblioteca Nazionale completely underwater, hundreds of thousands of volumes waterlogged, the Archivio di Stato in total disarray. On Tuesday I decided to go to Italy, to offer my services as a humble book conservator, to help in any way I could, to save whatever could be saved, including myself.

The decision wasn't a popular one at home. Papa was having money troubles of his own and didn't want to pay for a ticket. And my boss at the Newberry Library didn't understand either. He already had his ticket, paid for by the library, and needed me to mind the store. There wasn't any point in both of us going, was there?

"The why don't I go and you can mind the store?"

"Because, because, because . . ."

"Yes?"

Because it just didn't make sense. He couldn't see his way clear to granting me a leave of absence, not even a leave of absence without pay. He even suggested that the library might have to replace me, in which case . . .

But I decided to go anyway. I had enough money in my savings account for a ticket on Icelandic, and I figured I could live on the cheap once I got there. Besides, I wanted to break the mold in which my life was hardening, and I thought this might be a way to do it. Going to Florence was better than waiting around with nothing coming up.

My English teacher at Kenwood High used to say that we're like onions: you can peel off one layer after another and never get to a center, an inner core. You just run out of layers. But I think I'm like a peach or an apricot or a nectarine. There's a pit at the center. I can crack my teeth on it, or I can suck on it like a piece of candy; but it won't crumble, and it won't dissolve. The pit is an image of myself when I was nineteen. I'm in Sardegna, and I'm standing high up on a large rock–a cliff, actually–and I don't have any clothes on, and everyone is looking at me, telling me to come down, not to jump, it's too high.

It's my second time in Italy. I spent a year here with Mama when I was fifteen, and then I came back by myself, after finishing high school at home, to do the last year of the liceo with my former classmates. Now we're celebrating the end of our examinations–Silvia (who spent a year with us in Chicago), Claudia, Rossella, Giulio, Fabio, Alessandro. Names like flowers, or bells. And me, Margot Harrington. More friends are coming later. Silvia's parents (my host family) have a summer house just outside Terranova, but we're camping on the beach, five kilometers down the coast. The coast is safe, they say, though there are bandits in the centro. Wow!

It's my birthday–August first–and we've had a supper of bluefish and squid that we caught with a net. The squid taste like rubber bands, the heavy kind that I used to chew on in grade school and that boys sometimes used to snap our bottoms with in junior high. Life is sharp and snappy, too, full of promise, like the sting of those rubber bands: I've passed my examinations with distinction; I'm going to Harvard in the fall (well, to Radcliffe); I've got an Italian boyfriend named Fabio Fabbriani; and I've just been skinny-dipping in the stinging cold salt sea.

The others have put their clothes on now–I can see them below me, sitting around the remains of the fire in shorts and halter tops and shirts with the sleeves rolled up two turns, talking, glancing up nervously–but I want to savor the taste/thrill of my own nakedness a little longer, unembarrassed in the dwindling light. It's the scariest thing I've ever done, except coming to Italy in the first place.

Fabio sits with his back toward me while he smokes a cigarette, pretending to be angry because I won't come down, but when I close my eyes and will him to turn, he puts his cigarette out in the sand and turns. Just at that moment I jump, sucking in my breath for a scream but then holding it, in case I need it latter, which I do. I hit the Tyrrhenian Sea feet first, generating little waves that will, in theory, soon be lapping the beaches along the entire western coast of Italy–Sicily and North Africa, too. The Tyrrhenian Sea responds by closing over me and it's pitch, not like the pool in Chicago where I learned to swim, but deep and dark and dangerous and deadly.

The air in my lungs–the scream and I saved for just such an occasion–carries me up to the surface, and I strike out for the cove, meeting Fabio before I'm halfway there, wondering if like me he's naked under the water and not knowing for sure till we're walking waist deep and he takes me by the shoulders and kisses me and I can feel something bobbing against my legs like a floating cork. We haven't made love yet, but it's won't be long now. O dio mio. The waiting is so lovely. He squeezes my buns and I squeeze his, surprised, and then we splash in to the beach and put on our clothes.

What I didn't know at the time was that my mother had become seriously ill. Instead of spending the rest of the summer in Sardegna, I had to go back to Chicago, and then, after that, nothing happened. I mean none of the things I'd expected to happen happened. Instead of making love with Fabio Fabbriani on the verge of the Tyrrhenian Sea, I got laid on a vinyl sofa in the back room of the SNCC headquarters on Forty-seventh Street. Instead of going to Harvard, I went to Edgar Lee Masters College, where Mama had taught art history for twenty years. Instead of going to graduate school I spent two years at the Institute for Paper Technology on Green Bay Avenue; instead of becoming a research chemist I apprenticed myself to a book conservator in Hyde Park and then took a position in the conservation department of the Newberry Library. Instead of getting married and having a daughter of my own, I lived at home and looked after Mama, who was dying of lung cancer. A year went by, two years, three years, four. Mama died; Papa lost most of his money. My sister Meg got married and moved away; my sister Molly went to California with her boyfriend and then to Ann Arbor. The sixties were churning around me, and I couldn't seem to get a footing. I tried to plunge in, to get wet, to catch hold, to find a place in one of the boats tossing and turning on the white-water rapids: the sit-ins, the rock concerts, the freedom rides, SNCC, CORE, SDS, the Civil Rights Act, the Great Society. I spent a lot of time holding hands and singing "We shall overcome," I spent a lot of time buying coffee and doughnuts and rolling joints, and I spent some time on my back, too–the only position for a woman in the Movement.

I'd had no sleep on the plane; my eyes were blurry so it was hard to read; and besides, the story I was reading was as depressing as the view from the window of the train–flat, gray, poor, dreary, actively ugly rather than passively uninteresting. And I kept thinking about Papa and his money troubles and his lawsuits, and about the embroidered seventeenth-century prayer books on my work table at the Newberry that needed to be disbound, washed, mended, and resewn before Christmas for an exhibit sponsored by the Caxton Club.

So I was under a certain amount of pressure. I was looking for a sign, the way some religious people look for signs, something to let them know they're on the right track. Or on the wrong track, in which case they can turn back. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I was trying to pay attention, to notice everything–the faces of the two American women sitting opposite me in the compartment, scribbling furiously in their notebooks; the Neapolitan accent of the Italian conductor; the depressing French farmhouses, gray boxes of stucco or cinder block, I couldn't make out which.

That's what I was doing–paying attention–when the train pulled into the station at Metz and I saw the Saint-Cyr cadet on the platform, bright as the Archangel Gabriel bringing the good news to the Virgin Mary.

I'd better explain. Papa did all the cooking in our family. He started when Mama went to Italy one summer when I was nine–it was right after the war–to look at the pictures, to see for herself what she'd only seen in the Harvard University Prints series and on old three-by-four-inch tinted slides that she used to project on the dining room wall; and when she came back he kept on doing it. My sisters and I did the dishes and Papa took care of everything else, day in and day out, and whether it was Italian or French or Chinese or Malaysian, it was always wonderful, it was always special. Penne alla puttanesca, an arista tied with sprigs of rosemary, paper-thin strips of beef marinated in hoisin sauce and Szechwan peppercorns, whole fresh salmon poached in white wine and finished with a mustard sauce, chicken thighs simmered in soy sauce and lime juice, curries so fiery that at their first bite unwary guests would clutch their throats and cry out for water, which didn't help a bit. Those were our favorites, the standards against which we measured other dishes; but our very favorite treat of all was the dessert Papa made on our birthdays, instead of cake, which was supposed to look like the hats worn by cadets at Saint-Cyr, the French military academy. We'd never been to Saint-Cyr, of course, but we would have recognized a cadet anywhere in the world, if he'd been wearing his hat.

That's why I was so startled when I looked out the window of the Luxembourg-Venise Express and saw my cadet standing there on the platform–the young man Papa had teased me about, the Prince Charming who had never mat...

Customer Reviews:

Learn a Little, Love a Little.......2006-09-02

A fine read with well-drawn characters, touches of accademia and eroticism--all set in one of the world's more charming cities.

Poignant and well written. I appreciated learning a bit, even fictionalized, about the 1966 flood of the Arno River, which destroyed many books and works of art.

Loved it first two times, getting ready to read it a third!.......2006-03-24

I read very few books more than once. This book is just so charming. It's easy to get into the main character's life and feel as if you're living it with her! The writing style is fluid and easy to follow. I just love it!

Diappointing..........2006-02-27

Being a lover of love, the arts, Florence and tales of strong, discovering women, after reading the description of this book, I was very excited to begin!

By page 20, I started feeling misled. By page 100, I started wondering if I was reading the right book. By page 200, I was debating whether or not I cared enough to finish.

This book is barely about any of the subjects I mention above. Moreso, it includes a few drawn out parts about book conservation that, well, just weren't that interesting.

I'm just glad I bought it used. And back to the used book store it shall go.

Hellenga is simply versatile - not just a "male author".......2004-04-01

Books that go into rich details typically don't interest me. "Get to the point already!" is something I might think if an author diddles around too long on description without advancing the plot or the character development.

Hellenga goes into a great detail about art and books and their restoration and somehow makes it all interesting. Perhaps he's tapped into the psyche of book lovers by addressing one of our fears: Imagine your most favorite, rare books that you've collected have been damaged and need to be restored or they'll be lost forever. In this case, the author is talking about the treasures of an entire country and not just one person.

But this is just the setting and background. Hellenga is also able to apply his same sensual descriptions to his characters and describes the thoughts and life of an American woman in Italy quite ably.

I've given several copies of "The Sixteen Pleasures" to my friends, particularly women. It's that good. Quite simply, it is sumptuous and sensual and a pleasure to read.

Far too many readers make a point of Hellenga being a man. Donna Tart wrote as a man in "The Secret History" and Jeffrey Eugenides wrote as a hermaphrodite in "Middlesex." In both cases the authors nailed their characters. Why so hard to believe that Hellenga, as a man, can't handle a female character? Besides, anyone with the illusion that Hellenga is all touchy feely only needs to read his book "The Fall of the Sparrow" in which he describes the life of a typical older professor who has frequent sex with one of his female students. If anything, he's versatile. If you love "Pleasures" you might not be as enthralled with "Sparrow" which, although a good read in my opinion, just has a different reading audience.

Italy, a great story, and some intrigue. Wow!.......2003-10-01

When you combine Italy with a great story, it wins every time for me! This is a wonderful story about a young American woman who has her heart and soul in Italy. The characters in the book are so well described...from the ladies on the train to the top of Sandro's head. If you love Italy (especially Florence!) and love a good story that is slightly erotic, pick up a copy of this book!

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