Martin Dressler left me cold.
Steven Millhauser generated a lot of hullabaloo with this book – and won the Pulitzer Prize – because it is something bigger than itself. No mere historical novel – it is “allegory,” “fable,” “myth.” But good allegories, fables, and myths also have conflict and drama. This book does not.
The story marches from the hero's childhood, through his early career years and successes as a young entrepreneur, to his “final downfall” as it says on the dust jacket. But this march follows a perfectly straight path. Martin is restless at his job; he moves to a better job. Martin is bored with his new job; he opens his new business. Martin is unsatisfied with his business, he expands it. He moves on to bigger and bigger enterprises until he moves on to one that is too big. Yes, hubris is his eventual downfall, but nothing trips him up on the way. He never faces any substantive opposition and never has a set back, until the very end.
What is missing is conflict (a key element of any drama) and character development. The characters, pretty flat to begin with, are all the same at the end of the book as they are at the beginning. Several reviews compared the novel favorably to Greek tragedies, but the characters in those classic tales had complex relationships, nothing but conflict, and learned lessons along the way.
Here, many characters drift in and then fade away without any further mention of them. Martin's parents, for example, never make an appearance in his adult life. His mother-in-law, who is a major character through the middle part of the book, disappears after he marries her daughter, who literally sleeps through their marriage. Not only do the characters not grow as individuals, every relationship Martin has with another character is static.
I did not think there was much to recommend the book, other than some marginally interesting descriptions of New York City at the turn of the Twentieth Century and the ever more elaborate attractions of Martin's hotels. It just didn’t do anything for me.
OTHER REVIEWS
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Well, no. Of course Christmas will be here tomorrow, no matter what. But this could be the first of my 42 Christmases not spent with my family. As much as they are clamoring for us to drive across the mountains to Bend, the thought of driving 200 miles with tire chains seems like a pioneer-level adventure that I am just not up for. All I can imagine is throwing a chain somewhere on Mt. Hood and -- off on the shoulder in a sleet storm -- trying to jerry-rig something out of bungee cords and Christmas ribbon.
To distract myself from the idea of my mother weeping over her empty Christmas nest -- or, in truth, drinking martinis and eating oysters Rockefeller without me -- I have been playing with my blog. I have a couple of ideas for organizing and rearranging things.
For one, I think I have figured out how to have an alphabetized directory of past reviews over on the right side. Right now, I have every book review listed, but that is getting too long, and will just get longer. I think I can make a series of alphabet letter links that will lead to a list of books sorted by title.
Using that same system, I also plan to have a list on the right side of my annual reading lists. Not necessarily of interest to anyone but myself, I have kept track of the books I read, in order, each year for the last five years or so. I am going to make a list of links that will lead to each year's book list. I can use these lists to keep track of when I read what.
We will see how it goes. But I think I will have a couple more snowy days to play around with all these changes.
And to celebrate Christmas, of course. Although it won't really be Christmas without oysters Rockefeller. Or my mother. .jpg)
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