Re-reads

The Car Thief – Theodore Weesner

This is the story of a boy in his mid teens who isn’t making it in life. He lives in a shabby apartment with his father, who’s an alcoholic, and  he’s an outsider at school. He’s full of amorphous feelings that bring on a restlessness, and to ease the pressure he steals cars and drives about aimlessly before abandoning them. It’s a purposeless act, and he’s not sure why he does it. He winds up being arrested and sent to a detention center for wayward youths. When released he returns home and tries to get straight. But it’s hard. Weesner makes Alex and his predicament believable. We’re in his mind for over 300 pages, but he isn’t presented in an outwardly sympathetic way; he’s not made a victim, or particularly sensitive or insightful. And yet – as they say – I felt for him. His father plays a big role in his life. He’s a good man – kind and understanding – and he holds a steady job at a factory, but his unhappiness constantly leads him to the bottle. The mother is an uncaring absentee in Alex’s life, and I felt antagonistic toward her. Yes, this book generated strong feelings in me. It was Weesner’s first novel, written when he was in his late thirties. It’s clearly autobiographical; he was Alex, complete with the theft of cars, the stay in a detention center, the dropping out of school and joining the army (which is where Thief ends). It’s very hard to write about oneself – to do it truthfully. But this unadorned work rings true. 4

The Ox-Bow Incident – Walter Van Tilburg Clark

In the first twenty or so pages I had problems. There was too much detailed description of men whose role in this affair had not been established. And then, when news of a cattle rustling and murder are delivered to the saloon, and a posse is proposed, with the intent of capturing and lynching the perpetrators, one character goes into a long speech about Justice and the Law vs. mob rule. He reappears at the end, wrestling with the issue of guilt. These are lapses – readers can arrive at their own conclusions about such issues without a spokesperson expounding them. In his Introduction to the edition issued by the Time Reading Program, Clark writes that the book “overexplains itself, to some extent.” True. The book is at its best when it simply allows the strength of the tale to take over. And with the arrival of the authoritative figure of Major Tetley things start to move with purpose. Move slowly, but the with an inevitability that’s unsettling. Unsettling because the reasonable option of bringing the three accused men into town is rejected. The person telling the story, in the first person, is Art Croft, and he constitutes the novel’s main strength. He’s an observer who sees both sides, but doesn’t back either. In his telling the inner natures of various people are revealed, and the moral issues emerge naturally. The atmosphere Clark creates is as bleak as the lives of people who live in Bridger’s Wells. This is a “western” without one bit of glamour or heroics. Incident was another first novel (I’ve been rereading a lot of first novels, haven’t I?). 4

No Laughing Matter – Joseph Heller and Speed Vogel

No, it isn’t a laughing matter. I’ve started three books by and about writers, and have been hugely disappointed in all of them. I’m reviewing Laughing because I got further into it than I did with the other two (though not to the halfway point). I abandoned ship because I couldn’t bear to spend any more time with Heller and his pal Speed. The story: Heller comes down with Guillain-Bare syndrome and is hospitalized for six months. His chapters alternate with Speed’s. Seems Heller is a quite a character, cranky and rude, but everybody just loves the guy. They’d give their eye teeth for him. And all these people are Somebodies, many with names you’d recognize: Mel Brooks, Zero Mostel, Dustin Hoffman, Mario Puzo. Everybody who runs in the Heller/Vogel gang is a colorful character, and they know all the In Places in New York. They do such things as form a Gourmet Club; every week they go to Chinatown and gorge themselves while carrying on with tremendous wit (according to Speed, they far exceed the Algonquian Club in witty repartee). But I saw no evidence of wit. What stands out – glaringly– from the Speed sections is the word “friend.” If I had the energy I’d count how many times that word appears in one of his chapters; it would surely set a world record. Everybody is a friend if you’re famous and wealthy. If you’re neither, New York can be a dismal place. Sour grapes? Well, back when I first read this book I was young and impressionable. Now I’m old and cynical. Who sees the truth more clearly? This is a phoney book, a lame attempt to make money. Heller offers up descriptions of his condition and treatment, but in only one chapter does he touch (lightly) on emotions like fear and  depression. Instead he meets a nurse who’s just about perfect, and love takes over. That’s when I checked out. The other two books? Both had an ass-kissing feel. In A Friendship Willie Morris gives a loving portrait of James Jones. Too much love for me to stomach. In A Private Correspondence Lawrence Durrell exchanges letters with Henry Miller. It begins with an adoring fan letter, and what proceeds is a high-blown literary discussion. How I was ever able to follow this convoluted nonsense is a mystery to me. I guess it was that impressionable stage I was in. I thought, as someone with literary ambitions, that this was the life fo me. But now I see the callousness and indifference of that exclusionary world. (All three books are deletions)

The Watchful Gods and Other Stories - Walter Van Tilburg Clark 
The Watchful Gods is a short novel. A boy wakes up on his twelfth birthday; he very much wants a rifle. He gets his wish and immediately goes hunting; after he kills a rabbit he feels remorse. Buck comes across as a normal boy in his interactions with his family and his fantasies about a girl, but he’s quite out of the ordinary. He has a strong spiritual/mystical side; he feels the presence of gods who are directly involved in his life. Some are good, some are malevolent (there’s also an indifferent god presiding over all). And there are sprites – spirits of happiness. By killing the rabbit, Buck believes that he has sided with the malevolent god; he tries to right the wrong he’s committed in an elaborate burial ceremony. Buck’s spirituality is linked to nature, for which he has great affinity; large portions of the novella are made up of descriptions of the natural world. Clark had something to say, but he layered so much onto his character and situation that they got buried under too many words (along with any point he wanted to make). Not helping matters is an indeterminate ending. In the stories Clark also had a larger purpose in mind; most are good, and one unobtrusively rises to greatness. “The Indian Well” opens with a long description of nature, but here the words relate to living creatures – road runners, lizards, coyotes, rabbits, antelope. And then man. A man and his mule arrive at the spring; they’re the latest in a long line of travelers, stretching back to time immemorial. Clark describes the ordinary events and the drama of this lone man’s stay. After a year he leaves (this time more alone than when he came); at his departure “the disturbed life of the spring resumed.” This story evokes the great and harsh cycle of existence, and man’s uneasy place in it. 

Red Harvest - Dashiell Hammett 
There’s a grimy feel to this novel, and that’s its main virtue. Hammett’s unembellished prose efficiently captures the disreputable denizens of Poisonville. Dinah Brand stands out, fascinating and formidable; I almost kept reading just to get more of this tough dame. Almost. I quit the book at the halfway point, after a couple of ridiculous shootouts. Actually, my doubts began early on, when the nameless private eye states that he knows who murdered a guy. Huh? I had no clue who did it (things had gotten complicated quick). It turns out to be a character who appears for only two pages and who’s presented (by the author) as the most unlikely suspect of all. This isn’t playing fair with the reader. Then a boxer knocks out an opponent who’s supposed to win (the fix is on) and immediately gets a knife in the neck. This knife is thrown from somewhere in the back of a crowded arena. I’m supposed to swallow this nonsense? The real crime that needs solving is why the Library of America devoted two volumes to the work of Hammett. 

The Radiant Way - Margaret Drabble 
I consumed this book like comfort food – and it wasn’t junk but carefully-prepared dishes like smoked salmon with morel sauce. It gave me a warm feeling of comradery, which is the strength of TV series featuring an enduring set of friends (though this novel’s three female characters are too discerning to waste their time watching sitcoms on the telly). Alix is the most grounded; Esther is otherworldly and enigmatic; Liz vacillates between contentment and turmoil. The novel opens with a New Year’s Eve party given by Liz and her husband at their posh Harley Street home; as 1980 is rung in Liz learns that her husband is leaving her for another woman. What follows covers a span of five years; the women’s lives are altered in many ways, some good, some bad. England itself (there’s a strong element of social commentary) is greatly changed, much for the worse. This is an ambitious, complex, intelligent book. It’s also a messy melange. But I have no desire to go into its faults. For nearly four hundred densely-packed pages it kept alive in me those feelings of comfort and comradery, and feelings sweep aside criticism. I thought Drabble might be going seriously off course in the book’s last fourth, but she righted the ship and sailed it into its berth – to the very place where it belonged. * 

Death of a Doxy - Rex Stout 
Archie takes center stage, and he’s as lively and engaging as ever. My problem with this Nero Wolfe outing is that the murderer’s identity is based entirely on an alias he uses in an extortion note. Does the name Milton Thales mean anything to you? It didn’t to me, but to Nero Wolfe it pointed directly to one person. If this character hadn’t chosen that particular name there wouldn’t be a scrap of evidence against him. That’s flimsy. A mystery should present a preponderance of evidence that enables the attentive reader to identify the bad guy. Stout usually does this, but not here. Also, in the three Wolfe mysteries I’ve previously read the guilty party commits suicide; in this one he’s murdered, though the police rule his death to be a suicide. Case closed.

You Can’t Get Lost in Cape Town - Zoe Wicomb

These interconnected autobiographical stories begin when Frieda is a child in South Africa and end when she’s a young woman living in England, soon to have a book published (the one we’re reading). None of the stories have England as a setting, so only her formative years in Cape Town are covered. Race plays a major role because Frieda, who is “mixed,” is growing up during the time of apartheid. In a prose that’s dense and inventive (though not daunting), we get Frieda’s observations of herself, the people she interacts with (mainly family), and the place where she lives. As she matures she acquires an array of negative emotions (anger, obstinacy, etc.). We all have our flaws and demons, and honesty is laudable; still, a groundwork of understanding must be established to create empathy with the reader. It was the waywardness of some of Frieda’s actions that I found hard to accept. I wouldn’t have wanted her to be sugarcoated, but Wicomb seems determined not to win the reader over in this portrayal. I wondered what kind of person the adult Frieda turned out to be; maybe Wicomb’s defiant attitude answers that question.

The Track of the Cat - Walter Van Tilburg Clark

Clark explores big themes in this novel. The cat (not the one that’s killed at the end, but the mythical “black painter”) is a symbol of evil. Evil cannot be killed. It takes many forms. It’s in the implacable blood lust of all predators. It’s in nature’s brutal indifference for life. Most importantly, it’s present in the human heart. A withdrawal from the world (which the almost-saintly Arthur does) or passionate love (as Harold and Gwen have) can possibly counteract it. But, overall, this is a dark novel. The explosive tensions in the snowbound ranch house are the equivalent of savagery; with words people tear at one another. In Part Three, when Curt goes to hunt down the cat, human evil is pitted against animal evil. The description of the hunt is nature writing at its best, for it conveys a powerful sense of the forbidding environment that Curt is struggling to survive in. The novel is unusual in its structure and tone. There’s the early death of a person who seems to be the main character. Interspersed in the narrative are italicized dream sequences that portend the future. An undercurrent of spirituality is present – not in a religious sense, but as if a spirit world exists (one that the old Indian, Sam Joe, knows how to interpret). In the midst of much darkness, a pure light is cast by the love between Harold and Gwen. All these elements work, as does the moving and enigmatic ending. *

The Unvanquished - William Faulkner

I was mildly engaged with the characters and plot, so I made it halfway through this book. Seems the author was also mildly engaged, for this is watered-down Faulkner. For the most part he writes clearly (he published all but the last chapter in popular magazines), and he makes an attempt at humor, particular with the “nigger” boy, Ringo. So he wrote this to appeal to the general public. Though there’s one long riff of prose that’s full-blown Faulkner – a convoluted cascade of words, many of them obscure – and I thought: What bad writing! The scene is supposed to be descriptive, but it describes nothing. It comes off like a parody of Faulkner. But sometimes he’s a parody of himself without trying to be. Was he a genius? Yes, in some of his work, but his genius bordered precariously close to the ridiculous.

The Ox-Bow Incident - Walter Van Tilburg Clark
A great novel, flaws and all. The main flaw is that in some scenes the characters say too much, almost to the point of expounding. But the greatness comes from the theme and how it’s handled. This is a morality tale in which humans (including, significantly, the narrator and his friend, both decent men) fail to do the right thing. There’s an inevitability driving this book; events move slowly, gathering intensity. Clark creates a large cast of vivid characters, and the reader sees, and believes in, the forces (some never stated) that propel these people to commit a terrible injustice. The landscape where this takes place is forbidding; the frontier world was a hard one, making people hard. A dark novel, but it presents harsh truths in a way that moves the reader to ponder them. *

The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
Endearing. It was a delight to enter the world of Mole, Ratty, Badger and Toad. Though a book for children, and a funny one, there are deep aspects for adults to consider. How do we live our lives? What is our place in the great cycles of nature? What is contentment? Also, the eminently decent way the characters treat one another – with compassion, kindness, consideration, generosity – are a model of the way things should be between people (but, of course, aren’t). *

The Aerodrome - Rex Warner
The characters are stilted, one-dimensional puppets. The philosophical point is vague. The book is almost devoid of action. It’s drab and the writing is pedantic (as each emotion is slowly pondered to death). At the end the main character performs an about-face unjustified by events: he opts for Life!

In Transit - Mavis Gallant
Gallant’s talent is obvious on every page, but I didn’t care to read all the stories. She studies her characters at a moment in time; we’re given fragments of life. I want something more fully developed; when she does this the results are excellent. Or sometimes the fragment suggests much more, and again the story succeeds. But far too often I felt shortchanged.