Fiction, Reviews

‘The Train in the Meadow,’ by Robert Nathan

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“For the artist,” said Mr. Freundlich, “the problem of immortality comes second only after the problem of staying alive. Of all people, the artist is the one most horrified at the thought of a catastrophe which would end everything, including music, poetry, ceramics, art, and making mobiles out of chicken wire and bits of string.”

Robert Nathan published his novel, The Train in the Meadow, in 1953. I have to wonder if he ever read C. S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce, which came out in 1945. Because there are few novels as similar as those two, though they have very different conceptual foundations.

In a meadow in a high mountain pass, a railroad train rolls to a stop. After a while, another train, headed in the opposite direction, pulls up next to it. As they wait for something to happen, the two groups of passengers are supposed to stay apart, but there are some interactions.

The passengers in the first train are a mixed lot. There’s an old Jewish couple, one of them a famous art critic. They’re rather dejected to have been summoned in the middle of the night and expelled from their home for the second time in their lives. There’s a salesman, and also a waitress with whom he once had a one-night stand. There’s a Catholic priest, and a former president of the United States. A hard-working, embittered woman who was abandoned by her daughters. And a little orphan boy, worried because he doesn’t have any “papers” to present at the border. Before long we suspect – and then we know – that these people are all dead, on their way to the next world.

After a time a table is set up in the meadow, and two officials take their stations there. This spot is, apparently, the border. A long line forms, and each person presents his or her papers and gives an account of his or her life. (Though each of them is worried about not being allowed to enter, it doesn’t appear that there’s anywhere else to go.)

It should be no surprise that The Train in the Meadow handles such matters differently than The Great Divorce. Author Nathan did not subscribe to Christian doctrine, as far as I know. His concept of eternity seems to be based on mercy, which is pleasant to read (sometimes heartbreaking, too). His Catholic priest seems to me a pretty poor Catholic, as his hopes for eternity seem to rest on the authority of his office, rather than the grace of God.

The Train in the Meadow is a charming book, and comforting. Theologically, that’s not a great thing, but it was enjoyable and moving to read.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Requiem for Innocence,’ by B. V. Lawson

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Book Two of B. V. Lawson’s pretty good Scott Drayco mystery series is Requiem for Innocence. This story finds our hero, a former concert pianist who sees color patterns in sound, once again in Cape Unity, a struggling town on the eastern shore of Chesapeake Bay where he has inherited a crumbling opera house. He made good friends there in his last adventure.

A client has hired him to investigate a string of murders of disabled people in the Washington, D.C. area. When he hears of attacks on two people in wheelchairs in Cape Unity (one fatal, the other a near-miss), he thinks they might be connected. He drives there and checks in again at the bed and breakfast where he stayed previously. The survivor of the near-miss is a young girl born without legs, the daughter of a single mother. She is smart, and a talented painter. In the circle around her are a burn-scarred watch repairer and his misfit son, her best friend. There’s a local midwife with a mysterious source of income, an aristocrat running out of money, and an area crime lord. Scott has to sort through a tangle of lies and guilty secrets to finally uncover the killer and protect the girl. Meanwhile trying (not always successfully) to fight off the women who keep throwing themselves at him.

I quite enjoyed Requiem for Innocence. I dislike (of course) the female lay preacher who’s a main side-character, and the author misused the phrase, “beg the question” once, but the story was worth it. Only minor cautions for mature material. There is an abortion plot thread, but not in a way that offended me.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Sir Henry,’ by Robert Nathan

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“However,” he said, “if you will not enter the tournament, promise me that you will stay for the banquet afterwards, when there will be some very interesting discourse on love, in which I would be glad to have you join.” “I should be delighted to,” said Sir Henry, “though I do not think I can add anything to the general knowledge on the subject.” “No matter,” said King Anselm, “for no one else knows very much about it anyway.”

Robert Nathan was an eccentric author; I suspect he reveled in that quality. In Sir Henry, first published in 1955, he provides us with a medieval romance – of a sort.

The titular Sir Henry is a middle-aged knight of no great distinction, riding about seeking chivalric adventure on his horse Ponderer, accompanied by his hound Manfred. (Charmingly, the animals talk to one another.) He comes upon a fiery dragon and slays it pretty much by accident. Thereby he frees the dragon’s captive, the lady Alisane, a practical-minded maiden who immediately starts discussing their future home and domesticity.

Further along, they encounter another knight who insists on combat, and Sir Henry slays him as well, again by mischance. This leaves that knight’s companion, the lady Meghan, in his care as well. Sir Henry has a carriage constructed to carry the three of them, and they proceed to various adventures, most of them bloodless.

Alisane is focused on establishing a home. Meghan, on the other hand, is keen for adventure and glory, and finds Sir Henry rather a disappointment. Eventually they do find a home and start constructing a castle, but the upshot of that arrangement will be a total surprise to Sir Henry.

I’ve gotten used to not deriving clear lessons from Robert Nathan’s books (though I think I understand Portrait of Jennie to some extent). Sir Henry is a gentle (and well-crafted) riff on chivalric literature, and also an allegory, with a touch of psychomachia. It’s fun and likeable and bittersweet. I enjoyed it.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Inducement,’ by Peter Rowlands

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The business mystery is not the most popular branch of the genre, but such stories can be quite interesting. In his novel, The Inducement, Peter Rowlands (who knows his business) combines such a plot with a romantic story line, and it works.

Rob Crichton is an executive with a London brewing company, specializing in logistics. He recently suffered a nervous breakdown and has been instructed to get away from the pressure for a while. So he heads to the scenic Northumberland coast, where he books a room in a pub. There he meets Catriona, the landlady, who is in the midst of a stormy divorce from her husband Shaun. There’s immediate chemistry between Rob and Catriona, which is not a major problem until Shaun shows up dead, and the police suspect Rob and Catriona of conniving to murder him.

But that’s not Rob’s only problem. He discovers that someone has deposited 50,000 pounds into his bank account. Soon he’s accused of taking a bribe from a contractor, although he was unaware of the deposit and certainly provided no quid pro quo. Then he starts getting threatening notes. All this looks suspicious both in London and in Northumbria, and he’s soon in danger of losing not only his job but his liberty.

Fortunately, Rob is not the kind of man who just lies down and takes it. He pushes back, leading to a final, violent confrontation.

I was reminded of Dick Francis as I read The Inducement. It was the same kind of story, introducing the reader to an unfamiliar corner of the business world, and following a hero who is honest and refuses to be intimidated.

I thought the book could have been shorter, but the writing, dialogue, and characters were all good. I recommend The Inducement, with cautions for mature themes.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Played to Death,’ by B. V. Lawson

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Well, she caught me. I was taken in, I’ll admit it. As I’ve told you, I generally avoid woman authors – not because I consider them inferior, but because I so often find them uncongenial. But I bought a package of three Scott Drayco novels whose author, B. V. Lawson, turns out to be a woman. (The initials should have tipped me off. Fiction authors using initials – at least nowadays – are almost always women.)

Nevertheless, I liked Played to Death, the first book in the series, quite a lot. So sue me.

Our hero, Scott Drayco, is almost top-heavy with backstory. He was a musical prodigy and had a concert career, before an accident damaged one of his arms. He can use it, but it’s not up to playing in public anymore. He became a private investigator, and now he’s suffering trauma after failing to save lives in his last case. He also has chromesthesia, a condition that makes him see sounds as colors.

A legacy from a former client leaves him the owner of a decrepit opera house in the town of Cape Unity on Chesapeake Bay. The town was once fashionable, but is now a backwater; the beautiful building seems hardly worth refurbishing. When Scott goes inside to look the place over, he finds a corpse on the stage next to a piano – shot through the head, with the letter “G” carved into its chest.

The victim turns out to be a local character, a genealogy expert. Scott joins forces with the genial local sheriff, following lines of inquiry that lead back into the town’s past, and to a violent confrontation.

Played to Death was pretty good. The characters were eccentric and well-drawn, and the dialogue was interesting. My only real problem was with some comments expressing admiration for nihilistic philosophy. I’ll go on to the next book, and see whether this worsens.

Fiction

The First Robin Hood Tale

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Gavin the Medievalist tells us about one of the earliest and most significant poems of the famous English yeoman Robin Hood. This is a 15th century poem of 456 stanzas that is remarkably engaging. Gavin reads four stanzas to give us a feel for the verbiage then recounts the rest of the tale in his own words.

Fiction, Reviews

‘One More Spring,’ by Robert Nathan

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He was playing Bach, to keep his spirits up. The great German, who wasted nothing in his life, asks of the performer only attention and respect; in return for which his music, in which there is no evidence of self-pity, gives courage to those able to perform it.

I read several of Robert Nathan’s books back in the 1980s, and One More Spring was one of that number. I had fond – but vague – memories of it. Reading it again now, I found it very enjoyable, though I came away a little uncertain exactly what the exercise was in service of. (Which is probably the wrong question to ask in the first place.)

The year is 1933, the height or (low point) of the Great Depression. Mr. Otkar, an antiques dealer in New York City, has just lost his business. He sits for the last time in his shop, left with only a few cooking utensils and an ornate, carved bed he can’t find a buyer for. In wanders Mr. Rosenberg, a young, starving violinist. Mr. Otkar, sadly, gives him his last egg to eat. Then they join forces, piling the disassembled bed into a pushcart and taking it to the park, where they spend the night in the open.

The next day, playing for change in the street, Mr. Rosenberg meets Mr. Sweeney, a street cleaner who agrees to let the two men stay in the little shed where his cleaning cart is kept, in exchange for violin lessons. (Mr. Sweeney has great passion for music, but no talent.) Later they are joined by Elizabeth Cheney, a hungry young prostitute with nowhere to go, whom Mr. Otkar meets while they’re both out stealing food.

It’s a strange household they form. Mr. Otkar finds himself surprisingly carefree, liberated from the burdens of owning things. Mr. Rosenberg is tortured by finding no outlet for his art. And Elizabeth just wants love. In time they are joined by Mr. Sheridan, president of a failed bank, saved by Mr. Otkar from a suicide attempt.

Most of Robert Nathan’s books, in my experience (Portrait of Jennie is an exception) tend to fade out in the end, rather than having a dramatic climax. That happens in One More Spring too, though the plot is better resolved than the one in The Bishop’s Wife. This is a book without villains, where everyone means well, and salvation comes through understanding. Also, remarkably, there’s no fantasy element (unless you count so much human kindness as a fantasy). I had a good time reading it.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Cutler’s Return,’ by Colin Conway

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I like Colin Conway’s books generally, so I figured I’d try Cutler’s Return, the first installment in his new John Cutler series. It’s rather different from his other work, and presents certain challenges.

John Cutler used to be a policeman in Seattle. His career blew up through a combination of bad luck and bad decisions. One of his bad decisions was his relationship with Paige, a stripteaser. He understood as well as anyone that there was no future with her, but she was like an addiction to him.

Since then he’s been living in the eastern part of the state, subsisting on temporary jobs. One day Paige calls him up out of the blue – she says something has been stolen from her, and she’ll pay him to come back and find it for her. He needs the money, but the chance to see Paige again is an equal draw. But when he gets back to Seattle, things start going wrong from the beginning. The detective who destroyed his career is still around, and still gunning for him. There’s a murder, and John is an obvious suspect. Everybody is lying, and John may not possess the self-mastery he’ll need to solve the mystery and keep himself out of prison.

Colin Conway knows how to write, and delivers his usual solid prose. Unsympathetic main characters are always a challenge for a writer, and it must be stated that John Cutler is often hard to like. He has major anger issues, and doesn’t always control them. However, this is the first book in a series, and it seems probable that John will be learning hard lessons as he goes on.

I also have to mention that I found the final showdown scene a little weak – it’s one of those action sequences where the hero survives almost purely through good luck.

Still, it’s a promising series. If you haven’t read Conway before, though, I’d suggest you start with something else. Cautions for language and mature themes.

Fiction, Reviews

‘My Man Jeeves,’ by P. G. Wodehouse

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It was one of those jolly, peaceful mornings that make a chappie wish he’d got a soul or something…

I picked up this P. G. Wodehouse collection, My Man Jeeves, which proved to be a series of stories from the early stages of the Wooster/Jeeves saga. I tend to forget that Bertie Wooster first appeared to readers as an Englishman residing in America. His saga begins with the story “Extricating Young Gussie,” which does not appear in this collection, and for good reason. “Extricating Young Gussie” features Bertie and Jeeves, but the author had not yet had the Great Brainstorm. In that story, Bertie’s last name is unclear, and all Jeeves does is answer the door and take people’s coats. It’s so jarring to the unsuspecting reader that some Wodehouse fans consider it non-canonical – though this collection belies that. In it, Bertie refers a couple times to the fact that his current residence in New York City is due to the fact that his Aunt Agatha had sent him there on the Gussie mission – and since he failed to complete it to her satisfaction, he’s waiting for the heat to die down so he can go home. (When he says, “What I mean is, much as I like America, I didn’t want to have England barred to me for the rest of my natural…” I thought sadly of Wodehouse’s actual exile after World War II.)

The book’s title is slightly misleading, as some of the stories are in fact not about Bertie and Jeeves, but about Reggie Pepper, a sort of proto-Bertie. Like the Bertie of “Extricating Young Gussie,” Reggie lacks the blessing of an omniscient valet (though there’s a valet with feet of clay in one story), so his problems tend to be solved by some kind of deus ex machina. Wodehouse, of course, uses dei ex machina in the majority of his non-Jeeves stories, because they’re a silly device and suited to the idiom.

If you watched the excellent BBC Jeeves and Wooster TV series with Hugh Laurie and Stephen Frye, many of these stories will be familiar to you – they based a whole season on them, I think, though the TV writers made some judicious alterations.

In short, My Man Jeeves is very funny and entertaining, as you doubtless knew from the outset. If you’re an admirer of Billy Sunday, you might resent a disguised reference to him (under the name of Jimmy Mundy) in the last story — but he’s an instrument of happy story resolution, so I don’t see why you should.

Fiction, Reviews

Homer’s Odyssey: How Dumb Is the Crew?

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Here’s my attempt at a video review of Homer’s Odyssey. I’d like to make a series of one-star reviews of classics. I may not be smart enough to pull it off. May not be dumb enough either. Let me know if you enjoy it and any other comments you wish to share.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture