AuntShecky
07-10-2009, 04:59 PM
The Dean’s December by Saul Bellow, New York: Harper & Row, 1982
That Saul Bellow (1915-2005) was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1976 was fitting in the sense that the world finally recognized the significance of his work, but no honor ever matched his unparalleled talent and breathtakingly accurate vision of the human condition. Needless to say, one finds it intimidating to “review” one of these exemplary novels and begins with the frightening realization that she might not be up to the task. Despite such seemingly dangerous waters, sometimes it’s best to plunge right in, especially in the light of the fact that today would have been Saul Bellow’s ninety-fourth birthday (Wikipedia, as well as subsequent websites using it as a source having it gotten it wrong by a month.)
Although born in Canada, Saul Bellow spent most of his life in the big-shouldered city which frames the setting for many of his novels. Chicago likewise figures prominently in The Dean’s December, but this novel is really a tale of two cities, with Bucharest, Rumania as the second city; indeed the two cities themselves are almost characters. In Chicago, we see the privileged lofts at odds with the gritty urban wasteland; Bucharest likewise is a city in decay – still crumbling from a literal earthquake and a last gasps of a bureaucratic state in which strings have to be pulled to visit the hospital patient, and minions have to be bribed with cash and cigarettes to assure a decent burial after she dies. The symbolic importance of the final month of the year with its cold winds and fading winter light, is masterfully softened by Corde’s sudden notice of late-blooming flowers, still hanging in there amid the despair. But don't make the mistake that this novel is a tearjerker from page 1 through 309; Bellow’s language-charged wit soars several notches above what is usually considered comic relief. For instance, the hysterically funny scene concerning a birthday party at the end of the book ranks among the best satire.
The protagonist, Albert Corde, is a former journalist who has become the Dean of Students at a Chicago college where through no fault of his own finds himself in the center of a racially-charged crime in which his own nephew is a rabble-rousing witness. The rarefied life of an intellectual contrasted with the gritty underbelly of urban life is a frequent theme of Bellow’s work; for instance, Charlie Citrine of Humboldt’s Gift moves between the neighborhoods of both the elite and small-time thugs, with varying degrees of success. In this work, Corde leaves on controversy to the scene of more urgent trouble, as the dean and his wife must travel to Bucharest, to say a final good-bye to Corde’s mother-in-law, whose name, “Valeria,” means farewell.
Though the double-edged plot is dynamic, the themes and the artistry are what make the work special. In addition to the campus incident Corde persona non grata, his colleagues harbor a searing resentment toward him for having written a critical exposé of Chicago back in his writing days. There is also a tacit, sibling-like rivalry between Corde and his childhood friend, nationally-syndicated columnist Dewey Spangler (a name that will remind older readers, such as this one, of Oswald Spengler or Westbrook Pegler), a relationship that takes a shocking turn near the book’s final pages. A subplot, still timely today, involves the possibility of a collaboration between Corde and a researcher, with the dean acting as a ghostwriter for the scientist’s theory that the social ills of America, if not civilization itself, can be traced to a pandemic of lead poisoning. The prospect of finding of a concrete thread upon which to hang the amorphous malaise is a dim spark of hope, like a distant galaxy studied by Corde’s astronomer-wife; if we could troubleshoot the cause perhaps what’s broken could be fixed, or the illness cured.
That metaphorical “sickness” is the engine by which the novel’s themes run; as in Bellow’s More Die of Heartbreak and in his masterpiece, Humboldt’s Gift, the protagonists take What’s Wrong with the World personally. His characters are so sensitive that they see the despair and the apparent absurdity of death, and are frustrated at the inability to Do Something About It. The reader cannot help pitying and at the same time admiring Albert Corde, the consummately sensitive man. Corde’s astronomer wife, by contrast, has been absorbed, aloof and literally in another world, yet by no means an unfeeling thinker. Faced with the grief and guilt over her mother’s death, Minna leans upon her husband, who is desperate to provide support yet believes he’s not quite up to it. The death of Corde’s mother-in-law is the impetus for the apparent emotional role reversal in the marriage, a subtle but perhaps the most poignant aspect of the book.
There is no other way to conclude this review than to reiterate what was suggested in the first paragraph: few accounts of Bellow’s work ever do him justice. The Reader’s Encyclopedia, however, comes close: “Bellow’s characters are generally anti-heroes caught in the existential dilemma of trying to define themselves with some measure of dignity despite the constant impediments of objective and subjective circumstances.” In other words, how can we as thinking– and feeling– individuals come to terms with this alien world? One place to start is to read the novels of Saul Bellow, for in addition to entertaining and enlightening us, they can help us learn how to live.
That Saul Bellow (1915-2005) was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1976 was fitting in the sense that the world finally recognized the significance of his work, but no honor ever matched his unparalleled talent and breathtakingly accurate vision of the human condition. Needless to say, one finds it intimidating to “review” one of these exemplary novels and begins with the frightening realization that she might not be up to the task. Despite such seemingly dangerous waters, sometimes it’s best to plunge right in, especially in the light of the fact that today would have been Saul Bellow’s ninety-fourth birthday (Wikipedia, as well as subsequent websites using it as a source having it gotten it wrong by a month.)
Although born in Canada, Saul Bellow spent most of his life in the big-shouldered city which frames the setting for many of his novels. Chicago likewise figures prominently in The Dean’s December, but this novel is really a tale of two cities, with Bucharest, Rumania as the second city; indeed the two cities themselves are almost characters. In Chicago, we see the privileged lofts at odds with the gritty urban wasteland; Bucharest likewise is a city in decay – still crumbling from a literal earthquake and a last gasps of a bureaucratic state in which strings have to be pulled to visit the hospital patient, and minions have to be bribed with cash and cigarettes to assure a decent burial after she dies. The symbolic importance of the final month of the year with its cold winds and fading winter light, is masterfully softened by Corde’s sudden notice of late-blooming flowers, still hanging in there amid the despair. But don't make the mistake that this novel is a tearjerker from page 1 through 309; Bellow’s language-charged wit soars several notches above what is usually considered comic relief. For instance, the hysterically funny scene concerning a birthday party at the end of the book ranks among the best satire.
The protagonist, Albert Corde, is a former journalist who has become the Dean of Students at a Chicago college where through no fault of his own finds himself in the center of a racially-charged crime in which his own nephew is a rabble-rousing witness. The rarefied life of an intellectual contrasted with the gritty underbelly of urban life is a frequent theme of Bellow’s work; for instance, Charlie Citrine of Humboldt’s Gift moves between the neighborhoods of both the elite and small-time thugs, with varying degrees of success. In this work, Corde leaves on controversy to the scene of more urgent trouble, as the dean and his wife must travel to Bucharest, to say a final good-bye to Corde’s mother-in-law, whose name, “Valeria,” means farewell.
Though the double-edged plot is dynamic, the themes and the artistry are what make the work special. In addition to the campus incident Corde persona non grata, his colleagues harbor a searing resentment toward him for having written a critical exposé of Chicago back in his writing days. There is also a tacit, sibling-like rivalry between Corde and his childhood friend, nationally-syndicated columnist Dewey Spangler (a name that will remind older readers, such as this one, of Oswald Spengler or Westbrook Pegler), a relationship that takes a shocking turn near the book’s final pages. A subplot, still timely today, involves the possibility of a collaboration between Corde and a researcher, with the dean acting as a ghostwriter for the scientist’s theory that the social ills of America, if not civilization itself, can be traced to a pandemic of lead poisoning. The prospect of finding of a concrete thread upon which to hang the amorphous malaise is a dim spark of hope, like a distant galaxy studied by Corde’s astronomer-wife; if we could troubleshoot the cause perhaps what’s broken could be fixed, or the illness cured.
That metaphorical “sickness” is the engine by which the novel’s themes run; as in Bellow’s More Die of Heartbreak and in his masterpiece, Humboldt’s Gift, the protagonists take What’s Wrong with the World personally. His characters are so sensitive that they see the despair and the apparent absurdity of death, and are frustrated at the inability to Do Something About It. The reader cannot help pitying and at the same time admiring Albert Corde, the consummately sensitive man. Corde’s astronomer wife, by contrast, has been absorbed, aloof and literally in another world, yet by no means an unfeeling thinker. Faced with the grief and guilt over her mother’s death, Minna leans upon her husband, who is desperate to provide support yet believes he’s not quite up to it. The death of Corde’s mother-in-law is the impetus for the apparent emotional role reversal in the marriage, a subtle but perhaps the most poignant aspect of the book.
There is no other way to conclude this review than to reiterate what was suggested in the first paragraph: few accounts of Bellow’s work ever do him justice. The Reader’s Encyclopedia, however, comes close: “Bellow’s characters are generally anti-heroes caught in the existential dilemma of trying to define themselves with some measure of dignity despite the constant impediments of objective and subjective circumstances.” In other words, how can we as thinking– and feeling– individuals come to terms with this alien world? One place to start is to read the novels of Saul Bellow, for in addition to entertaining and enlightening us, they can help us learn how to live.