BOOKS IN REVIEWBLACK COMEDYAge. Mac-GUY VANDERHAEGHE, My Presentmillan, $19.95.GUY VANDERHAEGHE HAS FOLLOWED hisimpressive debut as a writer <strong>of</strong> shortstories — Man Descending is certainly aworthy winner <strong>of</strong> the Governor General'sAward, with its deadly accurate dialogue,its effective imagery and descriptions, itswit, and its humorously harrowing insightinto the feelings <strong>of</strong> people who havesomehow found themselves on the outsidelooking in, yet in a quaintly twentiethcenturybourgeois fashion are so aware <strong>of</strong>the failings <strong>of</strong> those who are inside theywouldn't (and couldn't) join them foranything — with an equally impressivedebut as a novelist in My Present Age.Some early reviews <strong>of</strong> My Present Age,while acknowledging Vanderhaeghe'scontinuing power as a writer, suggest anunease with the novel. It is precisely thatunease, plus the crafty way he goes aboutdeveloping it, which convinces me thatMy Present Age isn't simply the apprenticework <strong>of</strong> a coming writer but a highlysuccessful work <strong>of</strong> art in itself. For Vanderhaeghe,in choosing to write at evengreater length about, and in the narrativevoice <strong>of</strong>, Ed, the feckless protagonist <strong>of</strong>the final two stories in Man Descending,has chosen to attempt one <strong>of</strong> the mostdifficult feats in fiction — to make an unsympatheticcharacter sympathetic withoutever losing focus on the traits thatmake him such an unloveable S.O.B. Hesucceeds; in fact, he succeeds so well hehad me laughing out loud one minuteand stunned into silent shock the next.Such success is more than reason enoughto praise and recommend My PresentAge to all who care about contemporaryfiction.As Marsha, one <strong>of</strong> Ed's old "friends,"tells him near the end <strong>of</strong> the novel, Ed is"a fuck-up, and infantile jerk. We've alwaysbeen embarrassed for you, the wayyou act." And later she adds this: "Nobodyfelt comfortable around you, everybodyfelt you were judging them, evenpoor Victoria, who was so patiently andpathetically waiting for you to join thehuman race. Do you have any idea howgood the rest <strong>of</strong> us felt believing weweren't going to end up like the walkingdead all around us? Do you? And thenthis messy shlub, this twenty-two-year-oldzombie, would shuffle into the room andpiss on our parade." Marsha has Edpretty well pegged, though he might tryto tell us that he never judges people;the point for the reader is that Ed pisseswith so much energy and glory that ifone is not in the line <strong>of</strong> fire (and asreader one is not) one can't help butadmire the act.Those who have read Man Descendingwill recall that in the title story and"Sam, Soren, and Ed," Ed and Victoriasuffered marital difficulties and breakup,though Ed fought hard to prevent Victoriafrom getting wholly out <strong>of</strong> hisclutches. Many must have felt, as I did,that Ed's story was far from finished, andwanted to find out what happened next.What is causing unease in some readersis not that My Present Age doesn't answerthe question but that it pulls nopunches, and that although there are stillscenes <strong>of</strong> extreme if also excruciatingcomedy it is essentially a work <strong>of</strong> palpabledarkness, perhaps even defeat.Ed is still fighting his ex-friend Benny,the lawyer representing Victoria, and heis still capable <strong>of</strong> savagely funny anger atpeople like the radio Hot-line host hecalls "the Beast" and the prying old manin the apartment below him. But he hasretired from life. When Victoria askshim for lunch, and in the face <strong>of</strong> his"attack-is-the-best-defence" approachonly manages to hint that she has amajor problem <strong>of</strong> her own before disappearing,Ed is hauled out <strong>of</strong> the safe
BOOKS IN REVIEWharbour where he has been indulging inbittersweet memories <strong>of</strong> their early marriageand imaginative escape through theadventure novels <strong>of</strong> his youth. Finally,with the aid <strong>of</strong> an ex-convict who attendshis creative writing class and wants hishelp in polishing his memoirs, Ed sets outto find Victoria where she has gone tohide in some motel in the city, hoping to<strong>of</strong>fer her some real help.During his crazy journey around thewinter city, Ed encounters various charactersfrom his past and his present.Vanderhaeghe masterfully shows everythingfrom his point <strong>of</strong> view yet alsoreveals his failings as an observer. Nevertheless,for all his faults, Ed has an unerringeye and ear for phoniness, andVanderhaeghe allows that to emergeagain and again. Indeed, it is because Edis so wittily insightful that we put up withhim, for he is even capable <strong>of</strong> seeinghimself clearly upon occasion. But he isalso obsessed: with a vision <strong>of</strong> a perfectionthat never existed except in his mindand which drives him upon his quest butmakes him unable to <strong>of</strong>fer Victoria anythingshe needs when he finally finds her.Vanderhaeghe has created a sad-sackloser whose wit and intelligence renderhim somehow worthy <strong>of</strong> our complicityin his superb failure to measure up tosociety's demands. As his tale careensfrom slapstick comedy to unnervingangst, Ed holds our attention and ourconcern.There are a number <strong>of</strong> influences onecould point to, but Vanderhaeghe hasalready moved beyond them to discoverhis own novelistic manner and a languagecapable <strong>of</strong> rendering particularvoices, such as Ed's, in the context <strong>of</strong> acontemporary, Canadian, prairie city.Where he will go next, I don't know, buton the evidence <strong>of</strong> My Present Age asmuch as Man Descending he will go far.I for one look forward to reading themaps he will surely send back from hisfuture forays. Meanwhile, My PresentAge is black comedy at its intimate andsubversive best.DOUGLAS BARBOURLITTLE MAGAZINEOF THE AIRROBERT WEAVER, ed., The Anthology Anthology.Macmillan, $17.95.ANTHOLOGY, THE CBC PROGRAMME, isthirty years old, and the appearance <strong>of</strong> acollection <strong>of</strong> broadcast pieces to celebratethe occasion reminds me <strong>of</strong> the circumstances<strong>of</strong> its origin. One evening in 1953my wife Inge and I were having dinnerwith Robert Harlow, then a Talks Producerin Vancouver, and we fell to talking<strong>of</strong> the lack <strong>of</strong> literary magazines.Contemporary Verse had gone out <strong>of</strong>publication; Northern Review was appearingat long intervals as John Sutherlandslowly died; Fiddlehead was all thatremained apart from the CanadianForum and the university quarterlies.Something, we felt, had to be done toprovide an outlet for writers, and thenmy wife said, "Why not a little magazine<strong>of</strong> the air?" Immediately, it seemed theideal solution, for in those days beforethe Canada Council the CBC was theonly organization with adequate fundsand enough <strong>of</strong> a commitment to the artsto get such a project working withouttoo much delay.Harlow passed on the suggestion toRobert Weaver, who accepted it as fittingin with the trend <strong>of</strong> his own thinking,and who talked the CBC authoritiesinto providing air time and funds. As anacknowledgement <strong>of</strong> the Woodcock partin the programme's beginning, I wasappointed editorial advisor to Anthologyat $100 a month, which in those daysbefore inflation was a reassuring addition
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