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| Berger |
By David Auerbach
Thomas Berger has written 20 books in the last 40 years. At least one of them has been hailed as a modern classic. Two have been made into films. He has even taught at Yale. Still, no one has ever heard of him.
His latest book, Suspects, probably won't change that, even if it is one of his best. Blending social mayhem with dark humor, it shows a breadth that hasn't been evident in his work since the 70s. But it also echoes his more hopeful work of the 80s and ultimately salutes the persistence (but not triumph) of the better side of humanity.
Berger is most famous for Little Big Man, which is, aside from Suspects, his only book still in print. A sprawling tall-tale of a man raised by Indians only to fight with Custer, it painted the mid-1800s' conflict of white and Indian culture with an astonishingly deep moral complexity. In his novels, Berger is less concerned with guilt than with predisposition; he believes in a principle of "constant damage," whereby the motivations to do harm or seek revenge ensure that people can never be at peace with one another. He "does not see life as responsive to any `cure.'"
Yet despite the painfully accurate cynicism of books like Vital Parts--an acidic take on mid-life crises, black militancy, and cryogenics--he remains unable to give up on humanity. Perhaps it's because, as his alter ego Carlo Reinhart says of people near the end of Vital Parts, "Vile they might well be, but it happens that vileness is fascinating--to a degree, of course."
More likely, though, he needs all his books to examine these issues from different angles, each one revelatory in its own way. Able to encompass a retelling of the Arthurian legend in Arthur Rex and a future vision of a totalitarian matriarchy in Regiment of Women, his work stands as a unified whole, held together by a rejection of all final conclusions, deep skepticism, and hard-won egalitarianism. Critics couldn't figure out whether Regiment of Women was misogynistic or radically feminist, and to me, that stands as a testament to his skill.
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| Suspects |
Berger's style is deceptively terse and simple, belying his meticulousness. A glance at his earliest books reveals an intellectual baroqueness, which, over the years, he has refined until he can communicate entire characters with just a few words. In most of his books, he succeeds almost too well; the prose is so clear and tight that readers hardly notice it. Few authors achieve the complete transparency of surface that allows direct access to the innards of a novel, but Berger makes it look easy.
For a story that begins with the brutal killing of a mother and her infant daughter, Suspects is surprisingly optimistic. After losing his wife and child, Larry Howland retreats into quietude, leaving Berger to focus on his brother Lloyd, a born loser who had an odd, maternal relationship with Larry's dead wife, as well as a bunch of policemen, in particular a jaded old cop named Moody.
As Berger is more interested in people than in plot, the story serves as a vehicle to evoke responses from the characters. But unlike his more recent novels, Suspects is an ensemble piece, focusing on the interactions of a large number of characters in often unconnected situations. It hearkens back to his 1967 masterpiece, Killing Time, where the police are similarly painted in unforgiving tones. But there is more sympathy here; the two most prominent characters, Lloyd and Moody, are fundamentally good-hearted, if misguided.
Unlike his earlier work, there are substantial doses of human decency and loyalty; while Berger's world may not be curable, it is at least redeemable. The police are a perfect vehicle for Berger's concerns, blindly enforcing law to make their living, while beating on witnesses and suspects. Berger does not excuse their actions, but by the end of the novel, it doesn't seem like it was all for naught.
There are a couple of scenes here that rank with the best writing Berger has ever done. Lloyd's drunken escapade early in the novel shows exactly why he is "the kind of guy many people instinctively thought the worst of," but Berger conveys that it is not his fault with subtle, delicate touches. Similarly, Moody's interrogation of the next-door neighbors becomes so utterly ludicrous that the reader can understand how his resignation arose out of sheer disbelief. In contrast to the portrayal of Killing Time's psychotic killer, the unnaturally likable Joe Detweiler, Berger does not want to trap the reader in hypocrisy, but rather to evoke commiseration for people on whom we would normally spit.
The same motivation informs both Berger's cynicism and his compassion. He seeks to foster awareness, here with honey rather than vinegar, so readers wary of his pessimism would do well to start here. Suspects is one of the most uplifting novels in his catalog, and so far the best book of the year. Berger is one of the great American authors of our time, capturing the dull, thudding pulse of the country which most of us would rather ignore.