John Gardner’s new novel is bloated by his

Though I admire John Gardner’s talent, ambition, and inventiveness, I’ve never been able to warm up to his work. The author has what might be called a sweet tooth for philosophy. He is often so determined to inject philosophical dialogues, concepts, and references into his work that he will introduce them even if they break the mood of the tale he is telling, interrupt the action, appear totally absurd, pretentious, and contrived in context. For example, in Grendel, Gardner’s clever, though at times stifling takeoff on the Beowulf story, the title character visits a dragon who speaks in the following manner: “Importance is primarily monistic in its reference to the universe. Limited to a finite individual occasion, importance ceases to be important.” The reader is, of course, willing to accept the fantasy of the book and go along with the talking monster business, but must he contend with a dragon who sounds as if he’s conducting a seminar in philosophy? Such a passage not only destroys the mood of the fiction (for we can only believe that the philosophic author is spouting these very carefully chosen words), but it also gives the piece a bloated quality.

Almost all of Gardner’s books have suffered from this peculiar brand of inflation and heavy-handedness. Although the reader appreciated the meticulous rendering of small-town life in The Sunlight Dialogues, he couldn’t accept the contrived philosophical tug of war between Sheriff Clumly and the Sunlight Man (whose at-the-drop-of-a-hat monologues were too artfully structured to be believed). Once again, in the poem Jason and Medeia, a long, misguided venture, Gardner’s characters often became mere mouthpieces for their obsessively philosophic creator. Nickel Mountain, Gardner’s next work, was almost a welcomed change of pace. In this somber rural tale focusing on an inarticulate outsider, the irritating philosophical passages were noticeably, mercifully absent. The novel really didn’t work—it was too cold and studied and the characters never truly sprang to life—but at least it did promise a less pretentious Gardner to come.

RF

About the Author

Ronald De Feo

Though I admire John Gardner’s talent, ambition, and inventiveness, I’ve never been able to warm up to his work. The author has what might be called a sweet tooth for philosophy. He is often so determined to inject philosophical dialogues, concepts, and references into his work that he will introduce them even if they break the mood of the tale he is telling, interrupt the action, appear totally absurd, pretentious, and contrived in context. For example, in Grendel, Gardner’s clever, though at times stifling takeoff on the Beowulf story, the title character visits a dragon who speaks in the following manner: “Importance is primarily monistic in its reference to the universe. Limited to a finite individual occasion, importance ceases to be important.” The reader is, of course, willing to accept the fantasy of the book and go along with the talking monster business, but must he contend with a dragon who sounds as if he’s conducting a seminar in philosophy? Such a passage not only destroys the mood of the fiction (for we can only believe that the philosophic author is spouting these very carefully chosen words), but it also gives the piece a bloated quality.

Almost all of Gardner’s books have suffered from this peculiar brand of inflation and heavy-handedness. Although the reader appreciated the meticulous rendering of small-town life in The Sunlight Dialogues, he couldn’t accept the contrived philosophical tug of war between Sheriff Clumly and the Sunlight Man (whose at-the-drop-of-a-hat monologues were too artfully structured to be believed). Once again, in the poem Jason and Medeia, a long, misguided venture, Gardner’s characters often became mere mouthpieces for their obsessively philosophic creator. Nickel Mountain, Gardner’s next work, was almost a welcomed change of pace. In this somber rural tale focusing on an inarticulate outsider, the irritating philosophical passages were noticeably, mercifully absent. The novel really didn’t work—it was too cold and studied and the characters never truly sprang to life—but at least it did promise a less pretentious Gardner to come.