MacDonald Harris (1921–1993)

I first read Macdonald Harris’s debut novel back in 2013 and rated it an excessive 8/10. It’s the farcical story of an assortment of crackbrained hereditary nobles cruising the med in a superannuated pleasure steamer under the supervision of a jovial Armenian Svengali and his masturbatory English lackey, while a mysterious super criminal plots a seaborne stickup. I didn’t leave any notes of that first read, so I don’t know what caused me to overlook the too-leisurely buildup with its unnecessary back-storying of minor characters, the somewhat tiresome villain, or the determined superficiality of the whole story. That said, Harris’s drily ironic prose is already a joy, the epicurean affability of his worldview is on early display, and if you like his more well-known novels and/or are a fan of closed environments, microcosms, collections of eccentrics, or midcentury Mediterranean vibes, this is worth seeking out.… (meer)

I’ve been afraid of writing this review because I know I’m not a good writer, and I want to find the words to express how I feel about Mortal Leap, but I realize I can’t ever really find the perfect way to describe this book, so why bother, right? But I guess that is what this book is really about, not some idiot trying to write a book review, but taking the “leap” into the unknown and trusting that you will find yourself, or whatever it is you are looking for, on the other side. Let’s see if I have found myself at the end of this review.

I think what I noticed most about this book is similar to what Ben Loory says in his review: that this book calmly meanders its way to its end. This book appears aimless as its protagonist, “Ben,” abandons his Mormon childhood, becomes a merchant, gets arrested, becomes shipwrecked, loses his identity, etc. But it’s not loose and unstructured, Harris is just not anxious to show everything up front. Rather, he has certain ideas running through the whole book. I marked in my notebook something that struck me when first reading it: on page 112, after a crucial moment in his moral development, our protagonist concludes, “Well, it’s better not to look in mirrors.” What impressed me was that this continues a thought he has on page 2, 110 pages earlier. (Note: I no longer have the book, so I can’t double check this.) What interests me even more is that I am not sure that the protagonist would even agree with such a statement by the end of the book. He becomes so many different people in the course of the story, and many of his developments are steps in the wrong direction and will need to be undone by the end. This faux-messiness is probably what makes this book so interesting, plot-wise.

But it’s this inability to look at one’s self that really struck me. It turns out that Ben’s habit of making life changing decisions quite rashly is not just a way to rid the parts of himself he dislikes, it’s a way of jumping into something entirely new in order to find a self that is in some way truer. He hates himself. He wants to run away from love and the burden of having a self, but cannot. Ben is given a chance to actually rid himself entirely of everything that he was, which is still fascinating even though I’ve seen the first season of Mad Men, and yet one wonders if such a thing is ever possible. Can Ben actually hide his past from his new life? And if he pretends somewhat successfully, is he really rid of it?

Look, to wrap it up, this book is refreshing. It’s an adventure story without the fast pacing, it’s philosophy with a plot, and it’s all completely compelling. Read the damn thing, you’ll get street cred because it’s out of print.

(And look, there I am! I found out that I am totally and only interested in what people think of me! Maybe I’ll run away from home and see if that changes. Thanks, Mortal Leap!)

PS. I suggested this title to be picked up by New York Review of Books for a reprint. Perhaps if we all go to their website and do the same, it’ll happen!… (meer)

The book jacket description and the quote from Philip Pullman about not being able to stop turning pages once one starts reading this book led me to expect a very different type of story--a literary "Arctic adventure" that would primarily focus on getting a balloon to the North Pole. Sounded exciting!

Instead the book's primary focus is the tedious love affair between two ridiculously pretentious people, narrated in fittingly pretentious prose. (Needlessly lengthy sentences, no missed opportunity to use a big word, foreign phrases that aren't translated, etc., etc.) Luisa, our protagonist's love interest, is a stereotypically "enigmatic" woman who distracts our scientist hero from his noble pursuit of Science by frequently removing her clothing, breaking his lab equipment, and forcing him to endure long parties supervised by her spinster aunt. The protagonist, meanwhile, is a misogynist who finds Luisa's supposed interest in his work to be laughable even while he finds himself completely unable to resist her feminine wiles. Their endless squabbles get old really fast, and the reader patiently waiting for scenes of Arctic adventure will be waiting a long, long time. They're there, but they're few and far between!

I can understand that people with different literary tastes might love this book, but it definitely wasn't a match for mine.… (meer)