Re-reads

Decline and Fall – Evelyn Waugh

Welcome to the Wonderful World of Waugh! He stated that he intended this first novel to be funny – nothing more. It’s a humor based on absurdity in characters and events. But it’s not silly or even far-fetched; it’s an intelligent humor. Our “hero” is Paul Pennyfeather, a name which pretty much defines his personality. He goes from a student at Oxford (he’s expelled for “indecent behavior”), to a master at a disreputable private school for boys in Wales, where one of the students, Peter Beste-Chetwynde, takes the hapless Paul under his wing and guides him on how to act and what to do (which is as little as possible). From there he progresses to the country estate of Peter’s widowed mother, the beautiful and fabulously rich Margot. She and Paul get engaged to be married, but that plan goes bust when Paul is arrested for human trafficking for the purpose of prostitution, and he’s sent to prison for eight years. There’s a happy ending, of sorts. In none of these events is Paul guilty of any misdoing; he’s simply a bystander for more dynamic personalities. One character describes Life as big spinning wheel. Most people on the wheel flounder around under its momentum; some seek the center, where all is calm; others, like Margot, go to the very edge of the wheel, where the momentum is greatest, and hang on. Paul sits on the sidelines and watches. Nothing fazes him, not even prison (“. . . anyone who has been to an English public school will always feel comparatively at home in prison.”) That quote is my only attempt to replicate Waugh’s unique humor. Anyway, read this one, it’s a lark, a sparkling gem, and is written with a lovely simplicity. 5

The Way West – A. B. Guthrie

I have a reference guide to American literature, and I looked up Guthrie, only to find he wasn’t included. They had Zane Grey, but not Guthrie. I’m also aware that few people today have any interest in a novel about a trip by wagon train to Oregon in the 1840s. I consider both of these facts to be regrettable. It was an epic and important event in our country’s history, and a novelist who could so vividly recreate it should not be forgotten. Guthrie gives us the mechanics of how the trip works, the hardships endured, and – most important – the people who did the enduring. These people are a varied lot, and run the gamut of human nature. We get to know them, some more intimately than others, and when tragedies happen they have real emotional clout. I was impressed by the courage and grit and resourcefulness on display, by women as much as men. And I wondered if people today could endure and prevail such a physically and emotionally taxing journey. Someone from a prior novel by Guthrie – the equally excellent The Big Sky – plays a major role. Dick Summers is persuaded to leave his home in Springfield to lead the train. This former Mountain Man, now fifty, is impressive not only in his knowledge, but in his character. The book received the Pulitzer Prize in 1949, but people were different back then, mainly in their values. 5

A Good Man in Africa – William Boyd

For quite a long stretch I found this book to be entertaining. It tells of the misadventures of Morgan Leafy, a British official stationed in the West African county of Kinjanja. Boyd uses the third person, but we’re always in Morgan’s mind. It’s quite a messy mind. Much of the humor – it’s a comic (or, rather, farcical) novel – derives from the difference between how Morgan feels (which is often rage, exasperation, dislike, etc.) and how he speaks and acts (in a proper, acceptable manner). He gets immersed in predicaments romantic/sexual and political (involving a corrupt African vying for power in an upcoming election). This was Boyd’s first novel, and its authenticity of place derives from the fact that he grew up in West Africa. This adds to the book’s virtues. So I’m enjoying myself when, at the halfway point, annoyances began to set in. One involves the sex; all the attention to the needs of Morgan’s penis seemed imposed for cheap laughs. And the plot got so complicated that it became unwieldy; by the last third the book’s structure was tottering under the weight. Then totter some more as Boyd simply piled on more complications. Eventually I got to the point where I didn’t want to continue reading. Well, I did, to the unsatisfying and ridiculously chaotic end (in which nothing is resolved). How can I evaluate a novel for which I had initial admiration that soured so completely? Since my negativity was far greater than my pleasure, I have to relegate it to a Delete.

Re-reads

The Big Sky – A. B. Guthrie

In our country’s northwest, in the mid-1800s, there existed a strange breed called mountain men. Guthrie’s considerable achievement is to bring them and their world alive. This panoramic novel rings true, and the truth is often brutal. To survive these men had to be resourceful, courageous, hard. If they were to eat, they must kill. If they were to make the little money they needed (they mostly lived off the land, but certain necessities must be bought), they had to kill beaver and buffalo for the skins and hides. They faced the constant threat of Indians (who are depicted as far from noble), wild animals, the weather – it was a hostile world. Yet it’s the world the mountain men chose, with no personal gain in mind. Populated places were alien to them. That’s not to say they were solitary – they usually traveled in small groups, partly for protection. Boone Caudill, the novel’s main character, makes two friendships that last for many years. Jim Deakins is a philosopher with a humorist’s bent, old Dick Summers is a teller of yarns; both contribute rich, colorful dialogue (Boone uses words sparingly). The Big Sky is a tragedy on several levels. The Native American culture begins its disintegration, the great buffalo herds start to dwindle, the pure and wild land sees the arrival of settlers. But before all that comes to completion, Boone – who’s too hard, too unflinching – will alienate himself forever from the only world he can live in. We understand what makes this deeply flawed man what he becomes, though we shrink from his decisions and actions. When I first read The Big Sky as a teenager I thought it was a great novel. I still do. 5

End of the Road – John Barth

I found the ending of this novel to be very disturbing, and to elicit such a response Barth deserves credit. Mostly the novel resides in the realm of the bizarre. Jacob suffers from an inability to make decisions. A doctor spots him sitting in the same spot, motionless, in a train station on consecutive days, and Jacob enters his therapy (the nameless doctor’s speciality is nihilistic paralysis). Part of Jacob’s therapy leads him to a job at a State Teachers College where he meets another teacher, Joe Morgan, and his wife Rennie. This couple share a marriage based on a highly rigorous dedication to authenticity. All these elements are buried in convoluted intellectual verbiage. And they’re unconvincing. Indecisive Jacob constantly makes decisions, and the authenticity Joe imposes on Rennie (once with a punch on the jaw that knocks her out – simply because she continually apologizes) struck me as insane. At one point Rennie says “I think all our troubles comes from thinking too much and talking too much.” My response was: Exactly! So why did I read the book, why did I get emotionally involved? Partly because for long stretches it was intelligible and inventive, even stimulating. And partly because I grew to care about Rennie. She bears a good deal of responsibility for what befalls her, but if she never met Joe and Jacob she could have led a normal life. Road is early Barth – before he started writing 800 page postmodernistic blockbusters. It’s strong stuff. 4

S. S. San Pedro – James Gould Cozzens

This odd little novel takes place entirely aboard a ship sailing from New York to Argentina. Besides 172 passengers and a full crew, it’s loaded with cargo (cars, cash registers, machine guns, cotton shirts, children’s toys, a million dollars in gold, etc.). We begin in port, where a doctor who has been seeing the captain is about to leave. This doctor, so weird looking as to cause people to recoil, asks for a tour of the ship, and this task is assigned to a senior officer, Anthony Bradell. At one point the doctor makes an offhand remark: “But you do not float quite level, do you?” Bradell will remember these words near the end of the book, when the ship is going through the final agonizing stages of sinking. He will also remember that the doctor, when describing the captain’s condition, says, “People grow old, Mr. Bradell. They break down, they wear out.” This turns out to be true: the captain cannot make decisions, though continuing to demand that he be obeyed. What makes the book odd is the way it’s told. There’s a sense of detachment. With a single exception (and that’s a brief one) we see things only from the perspective of various members of the crew. And though they diligently struggle on, they recognize their inadequacy: the uncaring, devouring sea will have its way. This is early Cozzens – before he, like Barth, expanded his scope. Which was unfortunate. He did his best work when he was short and concise. 4

The Postman Always Rings Twice – James M. Cain

What a disappointment! I can forgive myself for once liking this crime novel, for I was probably in my twenties when I first read it, and its serving of sadomasochistic sex and tough guy action must have impressed me. Now it seems fake and ridiculous (Cora’s “Bite me! Bite me!” made me cringe in embarrassment). The occasional musings by Frank of a religious nature are corny (looking in Cora’s eyes “was like being in church”). Not even the plot, involving the murder of Cora’s “greasy” Greek husband, is convincing. Like the attempts to kill him, the book is an ill-conceived mess. Yet on publication in 1934 it was a huge hit with the public and the intelligentsia (well, some of them). It gained praise from big name critics (Edmund Wilson) and writers (Albert Camus). Dorothy Parker claimed it was a love story; how a cynic like her could have found any love on these pages is beyond me. The Modern Library included it in its list of the one hundred greatest novels of the 20th Century; there are many movie versions, and even an opera. Am I missing something? The terse dialogue and minimalistic approach may have been innovative at the time. Yet even with those virtues, the plot drags on when Cain tries to explain things at length. Maybe the harshness of this review stems from the fact that I’ve actually recommended this book to people. 1 (Delete)

Cotters’ England - Christina Stead

I’m using the book’s original title, when it was first published in England (it appeared in the United States as Dark Places of the Heart, which is too conventional for such an eccentric work). Stead was a writer of extravagant dimensions who let her passion and intuition have free rein; she didn’t abide by rules or limits. Her strength is her weakness; she has so much energy that she can tire the reader out. As her characters talk – and do they talk! – it’s as if floodgates have been opened. The voices of Nellie and Tom, a brother and sister, are the most insistent. But what lies behind their words? We get insight into the tangled alleyways of Nellie’s mind, but Tom is nebulous; I don’t think Stead dug her claws into him to the degree that she did with his sister. The England of the Cotter family is a dumping ground, sordid both physically and morally. Despite this setting, the book has indefatigable verve and spirit; it soars in a crazy, crazed way. And behind Stead’s seemingly haphazard approach is a sense of unity. Though she veers off in a unexpected new direction in the last paragraph, I was left feeling that a circle had been closed. A fitting way to end this review is to give you a taste of the voice of Nellie, as she talks to Tom: “Ah, ye devil! Come, chick, let’s have your news, don’t tease! Tell it in your own deprecating style, at the rate of one hint a half-hour, to be tiresome. Come, what did you do last night, chick?”

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner - Alan Sillitoe

The long-distance title story (over fifty pages) is good, but its potential is meaty enough to be better than good, so in a sense it falls short. Early on we know too much. The boy’s intention to lose the race (which is stated on page six and never wavers) is part of his overall attitude toward life – he’s far beyond any hope for rehabilitation. Sillitoe arms his protagonist with a thoroughly worked-out defiance toward society (“. . . by Christ, I’d rather be like I am – always on the run and breaking into shops for a packet of fags and a jar of jam – than have the whip-hand over somebody else and be dead from the toe nails up”). The boy’s voice is good, but that one note – defiance – is sounded too often. As for the next two pieces – “Uncle Ernest” and “Mr. Raynor the School-Teacher” – the first was weak, the other inconsequential. “The Fishing-Boat Picture” (about a failed marriage) was initially interesting, but it needed an emotional kick at the end. To achieve this the reader must be made to feel emotions, and this won’t happen if they’re directly stated – which is what Sillitoe winds up doing.

These Thousand Hills - A. B. Guthrie, Jr.

When I was in my teens Guthrie’s The Big Sky and The Way West played an important role in furthering my love of books, so reading These Thousand Hills was disheartening. It follows fifteen years in the life of Lat Evans as he moves up in the world of the Montana Territory in the late1800s. I became increasingly uninvolved with this taciturn, stoical, colorless character. I also felt no empathy for him; Guthrie doesn’t develop a basis for some judgmental decisions Lat makes, so he seems heartless. The ending is a melodramatic grab bag (including a gratuitous murder mystery). Lat owns up to his shortcomings, but the impact is diminished because it has no repercussions; on the last page his wife lyrically forgives all. As for that wife, and the prostitute with a heart of gold who precedes her, they’re merely role players. There’s a mechanical, paint-by-numbers feel to this book. The prose is inventive, but in a diligent way, and the re-creation of the past has the type of authenticity that seems researched. Maybe a determination to finish his “Big Sky” series was spurring Guthrie on. Missing is the inspiration that marked those two earlier novels of my boyhood. Or, at least, that’s what I want to believe.