N O V E M B E R 1 9 9 5
by Phoebe-Lou Adams
by Fiona MacCarthy.
Knopf, 800 pages, $45.00.
Ms. MacCarthy's superbly thorough and elegantly written
life of Morris (1834- 1896) is a very large book--legitimately so, for Morris was a very large man.
He was born to money and the uppermost levels of the Victorian middle class,
and although he never objected to money, he early repudiated piety and
antimacassars to join the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. He was a painter, a poet,
a novelist, a translator of old Icelandic literature, an expert admirer of
early Gothic architecture, and an influential advocate of individual
craftsmanship, as opposed to the mass production of the Industrial Age.
Craftsmanship led him into the design and production of fabrics, furniture,
wallpaper, embroideries, and books. He learned to be an expert dyer. He
developed ideas, still current, on land conservation and the dangers of air and
water pollution. As an angler, he was versified by his friend Rossetti: "Enter
Skald, moored in a punt, / And Jacks and Tenches exeunt." Morris eventually
became an enthusiastic socialist, joining the medley of rich radicals,
adventurous intellectuals, and working-class protesters which constituted "that
mix of class and culture that has given British socialism such a bizarre
character." Socialism put a strain on Morris's long friendship with Edward
Burne-Jones, who was painting his way to a knighthood, but not on that with
Georgiana Burne-Jones (Rudyard Kipling's aunt), who lavished tea, buns, and
socialist exhortations on baffled Devonshire farmers. Ms. MacCarthy does not
ignore Morris's faults, which included an alarming temper, but the reader
cannot fail to share her admiration and affection for his extraordinary energy
and versatility. The book is generously and intelligently illustrated with
photographs, color plates, and Burne-Jones's roly-poly caricatures. Morris was,
in addition to his other outsize qualities, definitely stout.
by F. Gonzalez-Crussi, photographs by Rosamond Purcell.
Harcourt Brace, 160 pages, $16.00.
Dr. Gonzalez-Crussi is a professor of pathology and
understandably interested in "the preservation of bodily parts." His widely learned, quietly witty essays
on this subject range from his confusion, as a young intern in a Catholic
hospital, over the proper treatment of "products of conception" to the
elaborate wax anatomical models created in the eighteenth century. The subject
matter may be somewhat arcane, but Dr. Gonzalez-Crussi makes it both
interesting and relevant to current discussions on medical research. Ms.
Purcell's handsome and eerie photographs parallel but do not illustrate the
The History of Danish Dreams
by Peter Hoeg, translated by Barbara Haveland.
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 356 pages, $24.00.
"Or Notions of the Twentieth Century" is the alternative
title of Mr. Hoeg's novel. The tale is a semi-fantastic, semi-burlesque family saga in which the
author presents a mad nobleman who preserves the feudal past by stopping his
clocks, an illiterate but successful newspaper publisher, thieves too
kindhearted to steal anything worth the trouble, a preacher who reduces his
flock to such unworldly gloom that they paint their houses black, and a
positive procession of equally daft residents of the country that Mr. Ho/eg
describes, in one of his frequent and mischievous personal intrusions into his
fiction, as "the most unhinged place in the history of the world." At bottom
the novel is grim social satire, but the surface is surprising, steadily
inventive, and highly amusing.
A Blue Tale and Other Stories
by Marguerite Yourcenar, translated by Alberto Manguel.
University of Chicago, 120 pages, $14.95.
All three stories in this collection are early work by
their subsequently distinguished author. "A Blue Tale" is a clever experiment in style. The other
two are exercises in psychological exploration, and foreshadow the clarity and
logic of Yourcenar's mature writing. According to the foreword by Josyane
Savigneau, "The First Evening" is an elaboration, or a rewriting, of a story
initially written by Yourcenar's father. One would like to have that original
for comparison, but presumably it does not survive. While significant for
serious critical study of Yourcenar, these stories offer little to excite a
Portrait of Picasso as a Young Man
by Norman Mailer.
Atlantic Monthly, 448 pages, $35.00.
Mr. Mailer is neither an art critic nor an academic. He can therefore approach
Picasso unencumbered by aesthetic jargon (although he maliciously quotes some)
or dreams of tenure. He writes as an intelligent literary artist who
appreciates and hopes to understand the work of a great visual artist, and to
do so through examination of the man's actions and character. He has plenty of
witnesses to consult--it seems that everyone who ever encountered Picasso wrote
about it--and uses quotation generously while warning readers of the possible
limitations of his sources: Gertrude Stein, reporting the famous party in honor
of Henri Rousseau, "by habitual reflex . . . gets a good bit of it wrong." Mr.
Mailer's view of Stein is refreshingly iconoclastic all the way; nor does he
hesitate to reveal his sympathy for Picasso's mistress Fernande Olivier, his
liking for Guillaume Apollinaire, and his contempt for certain critics and
dealers. This is biography constructed with a fiction writer's liberty of
psychological insight and a fascinated observer's freedom of personal opinion.
The unorthodox approach produces excellent, very readable, results.
City of Dreadful Night
by Lee Siegel.
University of Chicago, 255 pages, $39.95/$15.95.
Professor Siegel's "Story About Horror and the Macabre in
India" is not exactly a novel but, rather, a fictionalized assemblage of what the author has gathered
of Indian hair-raisers. He contrasts these with Western horror stories,
sensibly using Dracula as the definitive example. He does not, oddly, make use
of the actual contrast. In Dracula supernatural horror erupts in the normal
human world of telegrams, newspapers, and railroad trains. The Indian tales
reverse this pattern. Supernatural horror is the normal world, into which human
beings intrude. The indigenous inhabitants of that macabre Indian world come in
several varieties but can be roughly summed up as ghouls. The first
blood-slurping monstrosity bedecked with unattractive fragments of human
anatomy is impressive. The second is less so. The reader's shudders eventually
subside into yawns.
by Teruhisa Tajima.
Chronicle, 80 pages, $18.95.
Mr. Tajima, experimenting with photography and digital
design, has had the whimsical notion of presenting dinosaurs in modern settings. He gives us
brachiosaurus on Manhattan Beach and stegosaurus on an ice field and
ankylosaurus gingerly crossing railway tracks. The captions are partly serious
and partly fanciful. Allosaurus "frequently attacks human beings." Ingenious
work for the entertainment of dinosaur buffs.
Copyright © 1995 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved.