Henderson the Rain King by Saul Bellow

 

  

“We are funny creatures. We don't see the stars as they are, so why do we love them? They are not small gold objects, but endless fire.”

 
Why have you forsaken me Saul Bellow? There was a time not too long ago when I had no reservations in acknowledging him as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century but after the disappointing Mr. Sammler's Planet and now the even worse Henderson the Rain King, I may have to retract my initial position. Herzog still remains one of my favorite novels and there is no doubt in my eyes that it is a masterpiece. However, this now places an exorbitant amount of pressure on The Adventures of Augie March (the last of his 'big important works' that I have yet to finish) to exceed its already high expectations in order to persuade me otherwise that he does indeed, deserve to be recognized as one of the literary giants in modern fiction. Of course, there is still a chance that some of the minor novels written near the end of Bellow's career might prove worthy of esteem, although I can't help but remain skeptical of their merit. After slogging through the dull and insufferable Henderson the Rain King it will be a while before I am capable of mustering up the enthusiasm to read anything else by him. Out of the six novels that I have read by Mr. Bellow, this one ranks as the worst: a total abomination in which the critical acclaim it has received is most baffling. If I wasn't already familiar with his works and determined to complete my Saul Bellow Project, I would have tossed this novel aside after the first few pages. 

I think the only way to read this novel and perhaps find some minuscule redeeming quality is to view it as a satire of the white-man colonial narrative, more specifically, Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Other than the setting of Africa as the main back-drop for the story, both novels could not be more different in their depiction of imperialism and exploration of human psychology. While Kurtz suffers from a certain type of madness ("the horror, the horror!"), Bellow is keen to parody this internal suffering in his larger-than-life character of Henderson, who continually repeats "I want! I want! I want!" in his mind. My interpretation of Kurtz's madness is inexplicably linked to imperialism--the ruthless destruction to a third world culture by unwarranted colonial rule. In contrast, Henderson's mental breakdown is caused by a vile capitalist society where money and greed has corrupted the human soul. Ironically, Henderson is a millionaire and believes that the only way to deal his mid-life crisis is to leave his old life behind, travel to the mysterious land of Africa to seek answers, spiritual fulfillment and perhaps find peace at last. As befitting a satire, the premise is ridiculous and excessively over-the-top but Bellow wants to have it both ways. Unfortunately, he is unsuccessful in finding a stable middle ground between satire and seriousness so the novel becomes a wandering mess of contradictions.

Henderson is not supposed to be perceived as a sympathetic character. He is a violent brute, an alcoholic, a blundering oaf, a pompous and misogynistic ego-maniac who is driven only by his self-interests. Bellow is often accused of his negative presentment of women in his novels (treated mostly as simple-minded 'sex objects') and while his sense of male chauvinism never struck me as particular unsavory before, I can totally understand the criticism after reading this novel. For example, one of Henderson's wives is punched in the face by an ex-husband and decides that it wouldn't be proper to file for divorce since she would rather prefer the physical abuse rather than having sex with him. Henderson himself is no better: he is a womanizer, a callous licentious man who uses women to satiate his own sexual appetite. Even though he treats them like pieces of meat, they still pine over him. The ultimate male heterosexual fantasy. Henderson is a pig farmer back home but comes to resemble one as well in a figurative sense through his ill-treatment of women. Once he travels to Africa, the metaphorical transformation from a pig into the lion is supposed to have powerful implications but Bellow gave me no reason to care about the plight of his protagonist. No matter what continent Henderson is on, he's still a narcissistic asshole.

Another problem with this novel is Bellow's depiction of the African 'savages' which is racially insensitive and distasteful. He plays on racial stereotypes that are downright discriminatory. While Henderson's assimilation into a foreign culture is supposed to be humorous, it wasn't the least bit funny and comes across as offensive. Bellow tries to be ironic by parodying Henderson as the well-to-do white man of the Western world who will bring modernity and order to an uncivilized people only to have him mess up constantly and actually be the one who achieves enlightenment from the local natives. On some level, the satire works but Bellow's smug arrogance in thinking that he is being insightful by cramming incessant philosophical ideas and "life lessons" down the readers throat gets annoying fast. I usually find his captivating use of language and discursive musings quite fascinating but not here. Instead, the prose lacks his usual stylistic vigor and is a tedious affair to get through. Nevertheless, there does exist several great passages like this but they are far and in between: "Of course, in an age of madness, to expect to be untouched by madness  is a form of madness. But the pursuit of sanity can be a form of madness too" (25). The use of irony is quite effective here.

Reading this abhorrent novel that masquerades as being profound brought to mind another similar work that manages to take the "white-man goes to Africa" narrative and do it so much better: A Burnt out Case by Graham Greene. This is an underrated little gem--an intelligently written story containing a sympathetic protagonist along with well-rounded supporting characters that deals with various aspects of imperialism in an insightful manner without sacrificing the narrative flow with rambling, excessive discourse as Bellow is prone to do. Greene is such a wonderful story-teller whereas Bellow seems to struggle in this area of writing; his plots meander, fall flat, often dissolving into the ludicrous. Graham Greene was a world-traveler who spent many years living in Africa. Thus, his novel contains a level of rich detail and authenticity not found in Bellow's work. Henderson the Rain King is written by someone who has never been to Africa with a narrow-minded, commonplace and mystical view of the dark continent that is laughably erroneous. In essence, A Burnt Out Case  succeeds on every level where Bellow's novel fails. Read that one instead.

This novel is part of my Saul Bellow Project.

Mr. Sammler's Planet by Saul Bellow

“Being right was largely a matter of explanations.”

Note: This will be the first of several reviews that I have neglected to write for the last little while. Considering that my memory remains quite poor and the fact that many of these novels were read at the beginning of the year, most of them will consist of scattered, jumbled thoughts.

No, this isn't a science fiction novel. It is about a Jewish holocaust survivor, haunted by his experiences during the war, who is now an elderly man living in New York during the late 60's. He finds himself alienated by the emerging radical counter-culture: race relations, sexism, social media, greed, capitalism and a whole host of other issues disorient Mr. Sammler's psyche, clashing with his 'old-fashioned' ways. Hence, the writing often reflects his fragmented state of mind with the use of stream-of-consciousness and discursive intrusions as he struggles to adapt to this new world that is now foreign to him. 

Similar to some of his other works such as Herzog or Humboldt's Gift, this is a novel about ideas, not plot. Mr. Sammler is a keen observer of human nature, an erudite scholar and intellectual who is trying to find a rational explanation for these changes to society and perhaps discover answers to the big questions that might aid humanity towards a brighter future instead of letting the world go to hell in a hand-basket. From his perspective, society  has gone completely insane with technological advancements, mass production and material obsession. "Enlightenment" which includes freedom, liberty, fraternity, equality, social security, democracy, etc has turned society into total chaos and hypocrisy. Leading the charge is this new hyper-active generation that is all about self-perseverance rather than the collective good and everyone prefers to remain oblivious to the important problems rather than face them head on. Truth has become obfuscated; the break-down of moral values has lead to anarchy. Inspired by the works of H.G. Wells and feeling disconnected from the rest of his fellow human beings, Mr. Sammler envisions that a possible solution would be to leave Earth in its current state of moral decay (or blow it up, whatever is easier) and start a new civilization on the moon. Here I am thinking that my view of the world was pessimistic. Yeesh. You win, Mr. Sammler.

Seeing as much of the action takes place within the mind of the protagonist, this provides the perfect springboard for Saul Bellow's signature style of protracted prose with its unsparing philosophical discourse, social commentary and critical analysis. His acerbic wit, and oddball humor provides a counter-balance to the lugubrious subject matter. Bellow displays  such a command of language that is most impressive to me. He has a magical way with words, composing long sentences simultaneously overwhelming and captivating. It is perfectly understandable why many people often find Bellow to be insufferable to read because he does can across as self-indulgent, ostentatious and his novels tend to take the form of academic dissertations instead of focusing on an actual story. I usually revere his writing techniques with much earnestness but this is the first time that his incessant ramblings irritated me. There is even a monologue that extends for several pages that attempts to encompass his extensive ideologies about Western Civilization--history, scientific principals, individualism, misanthropy, the millstone of the human soul, the contradictions of transcendence, universal morality. It's all too much. 

Furthermore, one of the most distasteful aspects of the novel for me is Bellow's portrayal of race, especially that of African-Americans, which comes across as discriminatory. At the beginning of the novel, Mr. Sammler gets accosted by a "Negro" who is a thief (typical, eh?) and during their little ordeal, the black man pulls down his pants to reveal his genitals. Bellow is keen to describe the Negro as an animal, a sub-human prone to sexual deviance and violence. Reading this part left me flabbergasted and I admit to losing a bit of respect for Mr. Bellow.

Overall, this novel failed to generate any high level of enthusiasm from me and does not even come close to what I have come to expect from an otherwise consistent author. I would classify this novel as a minor Saul Bellow work that has ambitious intentions but fails to reach its full potential.

This novel is part of my Saul Bellow Project.

Humboldt's Gift by Saul Bellow

 “One must bear in mind the odd angle or slant that the rays of love have to take in order to reach a heart like mine.”

By my recognition, Saul Bellow has rightfully earned his place amongst the greatest American writers of the 20^th century so one can understand my high expectations when approaching this particular novel, which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1975. Charles Citrine, the esoteric protagonist and narrator of the story recalls that his literary idol and mentor, a once famous poet name Humboldt Fleisher, admonished the literary award with ironic vehemence: “The Pulitzer is for the birds—for the pullets. It’s just a dummy newspaper publicity award given by crooks and illiterates. You become a walking Pulitzer ad, so even when you croak the first words of the obituary are ‘Pulitzer prize winner passes’” (3).  It makes me wonder if Mr. Bellow still harbored these negative sentiments or had a change of heart when accepting the award.

Humboldt’s Gift by Saul Bellow is a flawed masterpiece, a wildly ambitious tour-de force with the author in top form. Once again, his inimitable writing style featuring the harmonious fusion between scholarly discourse and virtuoso literary aesthetics is funny, poignant, insightful and overflowing with ideas but he is unable to maintain the same consistent momentum or quality of writing established in the first half of the novel. Despite the uneven narrative structure that seems to be split into two completely different novels altogether—the first part focusing on the narrator’s inner thoughts, personal reflections and philosophical reveries greatly overshadowing the second half that is more story-oriented, containing a bizarre series of events, odd character encounters (Charlie’s relationship with an eccentric mobster named Cantible is a perfect example) that seem so out of place, eventually leading to some  questionable outcomes—Bellow should still be commended for managing to keep the overwhelming amount of story material intact from imploding on itself throughout 500 pages even though the narrative gets away from him as it hiccups towards the end. Despite this minor hindrance, Saul Bellow is a very clever writer who uses irony to highlight the absurdities of the narrative—one is not supposed to take the novel at face-value, it satirizes the intellectual as a phony, a buffoon, a failure. At first, this approach hindered my overall enjoyment of the novel because Bellow’s flippant sardonic humor conflicts with my own literary aspirations. Why shouldn’t the artist be recognized as having a prestigious status if their talents prove worthy of esteem? Upon further reflection, it dawned on me that Bellow is using irony as justification for legitimizing the artist in a society that no longer recognizes them not as a group of intellectuals but rather as the creators  behind vapid ‘entertainments’ that come out of Hollywood every year. This irony becomes explicitly clear at the end of the novel when Charlie discovers Humboldt’s gift to him beyond the grave (hence, the title of the novel  takes on a double-meaning since it refers to Humboldt’s talents as a poet along with his “gift” bequeathed to Charlie that solves his financial problems). 

Furthermore, irony is used to subvert the haughty sententiousness of Charlie’s predisposition as an artist who intends to enlighten humanity and influence society through his work, yet his approach is passive; he theorizes eloquently and draws conclusions but is reluctant to take any immediate action to confront many of the contentious issues of living as an artist in a capitalist western society, nor is he willing to address the problems of his own life in a rational manner, which of course causes serious repercussions including divorce, various court proceedings, lawsuits, extortion, the involvement with hoodlums and failed relationships. Charlie recognizes the contradictions of his intellectual life: “What good is all this reading if you can’t use it in the crunch?” (87). Again, more irony. The falling-out between Humboldt and Charlie is a direct result of intellectual stubbornness by both parties, however, the latter is plagued by a guilty conscious after reading about Humboldt’s death in the paper (don’t worry, this is not a spoiler since it occurs in the first few pages) and this sends a flood of memories as he attempts to reconcile the past. Charlie prefers live in the metaphysical realm, avoiding direct experience by replacing it with art and philosophical discourse. With an air of self-righteousness, he believes that it is his responsibility as a distinguished writer and member of the intellectual elite to change the way people perceive the world through the influence of his art as well as continuing the work of other artists, like his late friend Humboldt Fleisher: “It means that the only art intellectuals can be interested in is an art which celebrates the primacy of ideas. Artists must interest intellectuals, this new class. This is why the state of culture and the history of culture become the subject matter of art” (32). As challenging as this endeavor seems to Charlie, his intellectual snobbery only serves to alienate those around him and drive them away.  

Charlie takes solace in meditation, to free the mind from all external influences in order to achieve an enlightened state of being. He refers to this activity as an “exercise in contemplation or Spirit-recollection (the purpose of which was to penetrate into the depths of the soul and to recognize the connection between the self and the divine powers)” (143-144). Religious connotations aside, Charlie spends the first half of the novel engaged in his own therapy session; stretched out on the sofa, he attempts to make sense of his entire life that is spinning out of control through this intellectual exercise of deep contemplation. His ramblings thoughts whirl in every direction as he reflects on the past, his adolescence, former girlfriends, the money grubbing ex-wife, his capricious girlfriend Renata, his tenuous relationship with Humboldt. Additionally, he tackles a great deal of complex issues and ideas, including art, history, pop-culture, philosophy, literature, science, religion, sociology—Bellow is full of encyclopaedic knowledge; he fills his pages with extensive references while expounding on so many different subjects with fervent enthusiasm.  In a similar style to many of his other works, there is less focus on a traditional narrative and more emphasis placed upon the exploration of ideas, an engagement of intellectual discussion. This time around, the main concern is twofold: anthroposophy (theories of the human soul) and death. Charlie is terrified of death (something that I can easily relate to) and is eager to justify his failed life with the belief that humans must possess an immortal soul that is connected to the after-life, otherwise life is meaningless. His intention is to write a significant work, a dissertation on “boredom” focusing on its impact on capitalist society, the connection to sleep and to the human soul. Just thinking about the many lengthy passages devoted to his theoretical undertaking makes my head spin. 

Similar to Philip Sydney or Percy Shelley, Bellow attempts to write his own “Defense of Poetry” for the 20^th century and ardently puts forth arguments supporting the artist—in this case the poet—but realizes the many contradictions associated with this role. Charlie goes on to describe the irony of Humboldt’s artistic yearnings:

“He wanted to be magically and cosmically expressive and articulate, able to say anything; he wanted also to be wise, philosophical, to find the common ground of poetry and science to prove that the imagination was just as potent as machinery to free and to bless humankind. But he was out also to be rich and famous” (121). 

This juxtaposition between the artist and capitalist society is an issue that is frequently addressed and Charlie struggles to come to terms with his success and sense of self-worth. Furthermore, the role of the poet in contemporary society is no longer considered prestigious, nor is it highly valued as a lucrative or profession that contributes much to society:

“The country is proud of its dead poets. It takes terrific satisfaction in the poets’ testimony that the USA is too tough, too big, too much, too rugged, that American reality is overpowering. And to be a poet is a school thing, a skirt thing, a church thing. The weakness of the spiritual powers is proved in the childishness, madness, drunkenness, and despair of these martyrs. Orpheus moved stones and trees. But a poet can’t perform a hysterectomy or send a vehicle out of the solar system.  Miracle and power no longer belong to him. So poets are loved, but loved because they just can’t make it here” (119).

The reference to Orpheus is an obvious hyperbole but the argument is clear:  Poets are no longer praised as valuable members of society like they were in previous centuries. With the advance of technology and the push towards rationalization, the poet is now obsolete, a memento of times past when literary traditions were regarded as important aspects of culture but now they no longer have a place in capitalist society. Charlie continues his position:  

“It was not the factory or department store, not the great corporation office or bureaucratic civil service, it was not the routine job world. If you could arrange to avoid that routine job-world, you were an intellectual or an artist. Too restless, tremorous, agitated, too mad to sit at a desk eight hours a day, you needed an institution—a higher institution” (135). 

The material world has changed, industries have greatly expanded and globalization is taking over.  Therefore, the poet, intellectual or whatever else title you want to call the artist, is someone who challenges the system by avoiding the 9-5 job in order to apply their time and energies to creative enterprises. Of course, this bohemian lifestyle is no longer practical and unless there is income from other sources, it is rare nowadays to be a full-time artist. This is only one aspect of the novel worth exploring. There is so much more story-material to unpack and ideas to analyze. 

Many are sure to find Bellow’s style to be obnoxious and preachy (this is true to a certain extent) but even if he does get carried away at times with his lecturing or philosophical digressions, his writing is such an absolute pleasure to read. He might be an erudite scholar but his prose is not dense or monotonous as one might expect. On the contrary, Bellow possesses such a command of language—his words possess an exuberant energy, sharpness and eloquence that is mesmerizing.  The descriptions are vividly realized, the attention to detail is most striking and his witty humor is spot on. Even though his characterizations may not be the most impressive, Bellow has a knack for writing great dialogue and it is always a joy to hear his characters speak, especially when they debate or bounce ideas off one another.  Unless you happen to already be a fan of Saul Bellow’s work, this is a difficult novel to recommend to newcomers despite being fairly accessible. Then again, it is bound to appeal to anyone with an inquisitive mind, those interested in studying literature or aspiring writers who are committed to mastering the craft. Academics and scholars also seem to be the intended demographic. Nonetheless, this is a richly complex literary work that appeals to my own sensibilities—Bellow being one of those special authors whose writing I find myself connecting with on a personal and philosophical level. Not to mention, I am also quite partial to novels about writers struggling in their artistic and personal lives. Humboldt’s Gift is a wonderful reading experience with my appreciation of its greatness rising as I continue to mull it over. There is very little doubt that I will enjoy it even more with a closer-reading.

 
This novel is part of my Saul Bellow Project. 

Dangling Man by Saul Bellow

"Life is hard. Vae victis! The wretched must suffer."

This is Saul Bellow's first novel and there is the pervasive sense that he was still in the process of developing his craft. It lacks the author's usual fluid prose, charm, wit and pathos. Instead, the writing is cold, stagnant and purposefully self-indulgent. The novel does have its brief moments of inspiration and philosophical insight but even at 140 pages, the prose is very slow to read through. Nothing of real significance happens in the story, although that is the author's intention--the protagonist named Joseph (no last name is ever given) finds himself stuck in perpetual limbo; his unstable and disenchanted mind is influenced by prolonged idleness as he waits to be drafted into the army. 

At the beginning of the novel,  Joseph feels the need to defend the art of journal writing to himself and by association, the reader as well: 

There was a time when people were in the habit of addressing themselves frequently and felt no shame at making a record of their inward transactions. But to keep a journal nowadays is considered a kind of self-indulgence, a weakness, and in poor taste. For this is an era of hardboiled-dom. (1)

Keeping a diary or a journal has often been perceived as a feminine activity (writing about one's 'feelings' is not considered manly) and Joseph attempts to subvert this gender stereotype by advocating its value as an effective means of self-reflection; a way to make sense of the external world. After being rejected from being inducted into the army, he ironically perceives that the journal entries will be a way to reassert his masculinity--in essence, great men don't have to commit heroic deeds on the battlefield; they can also be recognized as 'great thinkers.' Joseph finds himself conflicted over choosing the contemplative or active life although it becomes explicitly clear which path he decides to take by the end of the novel. Thus, the entire novel consists mostly of Joseph's introspective musings and inner dialogue--the perfect literary platform for Saul Bellow who enjoys exploring human consciousness and grappling with complex philosophical ideas. Unfortunately, the narrative's deliberate torpidity is  aggravating; the self-reflective, metaphysical concerns far too excessive. Dangling Man seems like a precursor to Herzog in aesthetic approach (the latter engages in letters) but obviously not as polished or self-contained.

With the outbreak of WWII, Joseph is living in an age of "hardboiled-dom" filled with violence, destruction and chaos. Men are supposed to enlist in the army and join the fight overseas instead of being like Joseph--staying indoors, scribbling in their diaries, acting indolent or wandering around aimlessly. Then again, Joseph is not entirely to blame since it is not that he does not want to join the army to fight for the freedom of his country--they made a mistake assessing his application form and there was some kind mix-up so now he has all this extra time before re-enlisting. He loses track of time and soon cannot distinguish between the different days of the week. He becomes isolated, wholly preoccupied with his own thoughts where suffering from estrangement eventual leads to bizarre behavior, psychological break-downs and even outbursts of violence.

The novel covers a wide variety of subjects including morality, death, reason, imagination, ideal construction vs. the real world, the power of art but it strongly emphasizes the universal human struggle for freedom. Or as Joseph calls it,  "pure freedom" which is the penultimate human quest: 

We are all drawn toward the same craters of the spirit--to know what we are and what we are for, to know our purpose, to seek grace. And, if the quest is the same, the differences in our personal histories, which hiterto meant so much to us, become of minor importance. (114)

Whether it is a a type of self-imprisonment as experienced by Joseph or the structural functionalism of society, I am inclined to agree with this eloquent and profound statement. As individuals, we are constantly struggling to free ourselves (both internally and externally), desperately trying to find purpose to this incomprehensible concept called 'life.' Perhaps it is love, a career or religion that gives life meaning but it is all subjective. For Joseph, it seems that art and the imagination might be the answer but the novel remains ambiguous on this issue.

Even though Dangling Man is disappointing in many different aspects, it still showcases a young author in the transition of becoming a great writer. Learning from his mistakes and developing his own voice, Saul Bellow will later go on to establish himself as one of the great American writer's of the 20th century. Besides, nobody's perfect.

This novel is part of my Saul Bellow Project. 

Seize the Day by Saul Bellow

“You can spend the entire second half of your life recovering from the mistakes of the first half. ”

Carpe Diem. A widely known Latin phrase but it seems many people, including myself, rarely ever apply this maxim to our lives. Why is that? Personally, it seems to be a combination of fear, apathy and delusional complacency sprinkled with a little bit of insanity. It's a scary thought that I am going to be 28 years old at the end of this month and have done nothing with my life. I'm depressed, a college dropout, can't maintain relationships, stuck working at a terrible retail job, barely make enough money to survive, find myself constantly miserable--in essence, life sucks right now and the thought of suicide has often crossed my mind. Sure, my passion for literature and reading makes me makes me happy but it's not enough to fill that void of not living my life to fullest. I am not seeking pity; nor do I deserve it but I open with this cynical self-assessment because Saul Bellow's novella Seize the Day got me thinking about the state of my own life and its current downward trajectory. Yes, I have made mistakes and am paying for them dearly but it is time to make some serious changes before it is too late.

Saul Bellow has often been praised as one of the great American novelists but his stature seems to have waned over the years. This is a travesty! His writing is philosophical at its core but rarely dense; he is a shrewd intellect capable of writing thought provoking and emotionally charged stories with a mesmerizing, baroque  style. Furthermore, he displays a wonderful sense of humor and acerbic wit, which makes his prose even more delectable and awe-inspiring. In Seize the Day, Bellow is in top form and delivers another great literary work. This novella reminded me of a distilled version of Herzog but in no way do I mean this as a negative criticism. It showcases Bellow at his most economical; he eschews with the usual protracted verbosity found in his work (many readers seem to find this type of writing annoying but I can't get enough of it) to focus on a more minimalist approach.

The story takes place over the course of one day and centers on Wilhelm, a man in his 30's whose life has taken a turn for the worse: he is a failed actor, loses his recent job as a salesman, his wife leaves him with the kids, his querulous father is reluctant to help him financially and the last of his savings has been invested in the stock market for lard based on the suggestion of his shifty friend Dr. Tamkin. Much like other Saul Bellow protagonists, Wilhelm may not be very likeable but he is easy to sympathize and identify with because he has made mistakes throughout his life and is trying desperately to make amends. Much of the novella consists of Wilhelm dwelling on past memories, contemplating his current situation and engaging in philosophical discussions with himself and Dr. Tamkin who becomes a mentor but whose intentions may not be entirely genuine. Here is one of the doctor's most striking admonitions towards Wilhelm, which gives the title of the book:

"I am most efficient when I don't need the fee. When I only love. Without a financial reward. I remove myself from the social influence. Especially money. The spiritual compensation is what I look for. Bringing people into the here-and-now. The real universe. That's the present moment. The past is no good to us. The future is full of anxiety. Only the present is real--the here-and-now. Seize the day" (74).

At the end of the novel, this statement becomes painfully ironic but it also alludes to the novella's concern with capitalism, class conflict and the struggle to achieve a meaningful life. Tamkin is a romantic idealist and although his ideology is comforting, Wilhelm remains skeptical as a realist. He understand that is nearly impossible to "seize the day" if one is constantly constrained by the capitalist system without sufficient income to live modestly.

Even though the novella may appear simple in its style and narrative, there exists a rich complexity of ideas and sociological issues that still remain relevant today. It's astonishing that this novel was written in the late 1950's and does not feel in the least bit dated. As expected, Bellow's writing is full of insight and this is one of those timeless, life-affirming kind of literary works that struck me on a very personal level--it made me question a lot of different aspects about my life and the capitalist world many of us live in. I could quote this novella ad-nausem but here are a few standout passages:

"What had he to think back on that he could call good? Very, very little. You had to forgive. First, to forgive yourself, and then, general forgiveness. Didn't he suffer from mistakes far more than his father could?" (27).

"In any moment of quiet, when sheer fatigue prevented him from struggling, he was apt to feel this mysterious weight, this growth or collection of nameless things which it was business of his life to carry about. That must be what man was for" (42). 

"Maybe the making of mistakes expressed the very purpose of his life and the essence of his being here. Maybe he was supposed to make them and suffer from them on this earth" (62).

"There's a lot of souls. But there are two main ones, the real soul and a pretender soul. Now! Every man realizes that he has to love something or somebody. He feels that he must go onward. If you canst not love, what art thou? ...Nothing! So of course you can't stand that and want to be Something and you try. But instead of being this Something, the man puts it over on everybody instead. You can't be strict to yourself. You love a little. Like you have a dog or give some money to a charity drive. Now that isn't love, is it? What is it? Egotism, pure and simple. It's a way to love the pretender soul. Vanity. Only vanity is what it is. And social control. The interest of the pretender soul is the same as the interest of the social life, the society mechanism. This is the main tragedy of human life...You are not free. Your own betrayer is inside of you and sells you out. You have to obey him like a slave. He makes you work like a horse. And for what? For who?" (79).

“Every other man spoke a language entirely his own, which he had figured out by private thinking; he had his own ideas and peculiar ways. If you wanted to talk about a glass of water, you had to start back with God creating the heavens and earth; the apple; Abraham; Moses and Jesus; Rome; the Middle Ages; gunpowder; the Revolution; back to Newton; up to Einstein; then war and Lenin and Hitler. After reviewing this and getting it all straight again you could proceed to talk about a glass of water. "I'm fainting, please get me a little water." You were lucky even then to make yourself understood. And this happened over and over and over with everyone you met. You had to translate and translate, explain and explain, back and forth, and it was the punishment of hell itself not to understand or be understood”  (94-95).


Wow. Saul Bellow, you are a genius.

This review is part of my Saul Bellow project. 

Herzog by Saul Bellow

“Unexpected intrusions of beauty. This is what life is.”

It seems much easier for me to write negative reviews as opposed to highly praising a piece of literature--Herzog by Saul Bellow falls into the latter category, which helps to partially explain why it has taken me so long to write anything about it. Not to make more excuses for procrastinating but right now I do not feel confident in my abilities to do this magnificent novel justice. Not to mention, I was completely enraptured while reading on the subway and ended up losing my extensive notes that contained many important page references, quotes and ideas explored in the novel that I was planning to use in my critical analysis. They must have fallen on the ground without me noticing (I really need to stop writing on tiny scraps of paper) and ever since that fateful day, I have been discouraged from writing a review because every time my mind goes blank! Therefore, similar to my other "neglected reviews" this entry will contain mostly haphazard thoughts rather than an insightful formal review. 

First off, this is one of best novels that I have ever read in my entire life and Saul Bellow is now one of my favorite authors. Do you know that wonderful sensation when reading a book where the first sentence instantly grabs your attention and soon afterwards there exists a feeling that it was written just for you? For me, Herzog is that special kind of novel, one that affected me on a deeply personal level--a profound, philosophical, life-affirming, emotional powerhouse and stylistic tour-de-force that left me in complete awe. Just wow. This novel establishes Bellow as one of the preeminent writers of the mid 20th century. Where has this guy been hiding all my life and why have I not read anything by him until now? There may have been a time when people used to read his works but he seems to have fallen into obscurity. Rarely do I ever hear his name or his novels come up during discussions of great 'modern fiction.' I plan to read everything he has ever written and hope to encourage others to seek out his works (perhaps a Saul Bellow reading week is in order). 

Saul Bellow has a very unique style that is difficult to describe although others have labeled it as being part of the "Jewish new-wave" but for me, his prose comes across as a mix between Virginia Woolf and Woody Allen. Perhaps this is a loose comparison that lacks substantial merit, but let me try to clarify this inference. Although Saul Bellow does employ stream-of-consciousness, it is not as intense or experimental as usually found in the writings of Virginia Woolf. Although much of the novel takes place in the protagonist's mind, Bellow much like Woolf, also has the tendency to pack so much emotional and intellectual material into his sentences with incredible virtuosity--the words just dance on the page. Perhaps some might find his writing to be all style and no substance but this is not the case. Bellow's sprawling narrative contains such profound beauty that is insightful, funny and just a pleasure to read. In dazzling passages of poetic ecstasy and stark realism, Saul Bellow leaves little doubt that he is one of the most gifted writers to have graced us with his presence on this Earth.

This novel is about big ideas, a complex philosophical exploration that attempts to tackle the big existential questions concerning the nature of man and the constant struggle to achieve a meaningful life. Bellow covers a wide variety of important subjects including religion, epistemology, ethics, sociology, politics, art, personal relationships and many others. No stone is left unturned and similar to Woolf, plot is secondary. I make the Woody Allen connection because although it may seem that this is a 'serious' novel, it also contains a great deal of witty humor and dialogue that one can associate with the films of Woody Allen. Moses Herzog completely embodies the iconic Woody Allen persona of the neurotic Jewish intellectual who has trouble establishing romantic relationships and often suffers through a mid-life crisis. I would not be the least bit surprised if Saul Bellow's writing is an influence on Woody Allen's own creative endeavors. 

One of the most fascinating aspects of the novel is that a large portion of the narrative is devoted to Moses Herzog in a dialogue with himself through letter writing. As previously mentioned, much of the novel takes place within the protagonists mind. He is going through a nasty divorce and in order to figure out what exactly went wrong with his marriage, he tries to piece his life together by reflecting on the past and also engages in philosophical discussions in order to achieve some semblance of clarity that might enlighten him about his current situation. For those who have seen the movie Annie Hall by Woody Allen, this similar plot outline should sound familiar: Alvy Singer breaks-up with his girlfriend and then the entire movie is a flashback where he attempts to figure out what exactly went wrong in the relationship. Furthermore, not only does Moses engage in an epistolary dialogue with people he has encountered throughout his life such as former lovers, his psychiatrist, etc, he also engages heavily with great philosophical thinkers such as Heidegger, Jung, Nietzsche, Hegel and Hobbes (to name a few) while the narrative progresses. I am surprised that the Penguin edition does not provide any footnotes regarding the many philosophical and literary references; nor does it offer translations for any of the Jewish and French language used throughout the novel. Thank goodness for Google and Wikipedia. 

Many people seem to find Bellow's aesthetic to be tedious with his verbose ramblings and lengthy philosophical discourses but I find it to be the complete opposite. His writing is mesmerizing with an immersive and accomplished lyricism; ebbing and flowing within a labyrinth of personal, social, political and historical ideas. Moses Herzog may not be the most sympathetic of individuals -- in fact, he can be accurately described as a despicable, selfish ego maniac. However, through Saul Bellow's intense psychosocial case study, Moses Herzog emerges as one of the most fully realized and memorable characters that I have ever encountered in literature.

A masterpiece.

This review is part of my Saul Bellow Project and the Classics Club Project.