Re-reads

Morte D’Urban – J. F. Powers

A novel about a Catholic priest? Not interested? Well, it’s your loss. I too avoid novels with a religious orientation, but what Powers gives us is a character study of a man, and we only get the nuts and bolts of the religious life. A leaky roof or a faulty heating system at the remote Minnesota retreat house to which Father Urban is assigned get more attention than spiritual matters. This assignment by the Bishop seems punitive; Urban could have been utilized much more usefully. For many years he “operated” from Chicago. He enjoyed the pleasures to be found in a big city – the high-end restaurants, where he could have a cocktail and champagne with his meal (and an expensive cigar afterward). When he traveled, to deliver sermons (he’s a highly gifted speaker, one with the common touch), he stayed at the best hotels. He seems, at first glance, to be a wheeler dealer. A salesman, a promoter who caters to the wealthy, a man with an innate sense of what is the most diplomatic thing to say or do. But when we get to know Urban – and gradually we do – we see someone worthy of respect. He has flaws, but none are serious; in a real sense he’s a man of the clothe, and his wheeling and dealing is directed at getting those wealthy benefactors to contribute financially to the church (with a few perks coming his way). In all his interactions, decency prevails – at times to his detriment. Powers seems to both hold respect for the moral underpinnings of the Church and to lament its pettiness and limitations. Some have labeled this a “comic” novel, which is way off base. Though it’s infused with a deft humor, there’s an unsettling aspect, which emerges fully in the dark ending: Father Urban is promoted to the office of Provincial in the province of Chicago, but it’s too late – several events have occurred that have broken his spirit. In that sense he dies (the “morte” in the title). As for Powers’ prose, it’s lovely, smooth and unobtrusively inventive. 5

The Old Boys – William Trevor

I looked up Trevor at this Jack London site and saw that I’ve reviewed twelve of his books. Twelve! That must be a record. Obviously, I like his subject matter (life’s outcasts) and his no frills approach. Though most of the reviews were lukewarm, and some novels I thought were failures (though I completed them), four were promoted to my MMB list, one of which was The Old Boys. It was his first novel (he disowned a previous one) and it was awarded a prestigious prize. He wrote it at age thirty-six and populated it with people twice that age. Also, his characters attended a British boarding school, which Trevor did not. The life in that type of school has been often portrayed in a highly negative light, as it is in this book. It suited a certain type of boy, but for many (George Orwell being one) it was a horrendous experience The assigning of a new boy to be a fag for an older boy (a servant, who can be punished by beatings) seems to me a sick tradition. A character named Nox was a fag for Jaraby, and develops a deep hatred for the man. Skip sixty years: Mr. Jaraby covets the job of president of the Old Boys Association, Mr. Nox plans to block his election. That’s the core of the plot, but what Trevor gives us is a look into the lives of a half dozen old men. It’s not a pretty sight. Only one of the men – Jaraby – is married, and his arguments with his wife take up a lot of space. As she says at the end, they are like “animals of prey turned in on one another.” All this is entertaining – often funny – but grim. In my reviews of Trevor’s other novels, I appreciated those in which he shows compassion. He shows no compassion here. Not for age, not for relationships. I once had more of a taste for this type of bleakness than I do now. Still, the novel moves along at a fast clip, it’s engrossing. 3

The Tenants of Moonbloom – Edward Lewis Wallant

Lot of problems. For starters – the number of characters. Must be over fifteen. You’d need a scorecard to keep track of them (I soon gave up trying). The prose has an inventiveness which is laid on pretty thick and is somewhat obtrusive. Then there’s the main character, Norman. We’re to believe that this thirty-something man has lived in a sort of cocoon, isolated from feelings and experiences (eg., he’s still a virgin). But no reason for how he got in this state emerges, nor is any convincing one given for his awakening – his “opening up” to emotions. As for plot, Norman is an agent who collects rent on a weekly basis from the tenants in four apartment buildings owned by his rapacious brother. These places range from one that is marginally decent to outright slums. On Norman’s visits we get glimpses of the various characters. I just let them wash over me as a wave of ragged, despairing humanity. All have problems, and most have complaints about something in their living premises, which they want Norman to fix. The pre-awakening Norman listens politely and does nothing. The post-awakening Norman tries to fix everything. Wallant’s obvious purpose is to make a point about life. He has one character say, “Courage, Love, Illusion (or dream, if you will) – he who possesses all three, or two, or at least one of these things wins whatever there is to win, those who lack all three are the failures.” Does Wallant succeed in making this point – through Norman’s awakening? Well, yes, to an extent, though it didn’t get to me emotionally. The novel is unique, and has a cluttered, rampant energy. It’s a work of passion, an abundance (overabundance) of creative fervor. Interestingly, Wallant existed in a world quite unlike that of his characters. He was an art director at a major New York public relations firm and was married, with three children; he lived in the affluent community of Norwalk, Connecticut. Though you could question what he knew of lost, despairing and often lonely souls, it’s clear that something in him responded to them, for they occupy all four of his books. Wallant had his say about life before his came to an abrupt end. He died at age thirty-six of a cerebral aneurysm. Tenants and another novel were published posthumously. 3