 |
|
|
|
Reviews of books by some of the hottest writers working today, exclusive author interviews, literary news and criticism.
 |
|
|
|
|
Fill out your email address
to receive our newsletter!
|
|
|
|
|
 Get new reviews the instant they are posted to the site with RSS
What is RSS?
|
|
| Search Box (type in author's last name or one key word) |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 This kind of breathless tumbling catalogue, echoing those characteristic of epic poetry, appear throughout the book, at times adding psychic depth, as with the inventory of the pig motif in mythology; at times comic relief as with Loki-Puck-Cupid's seemingly endless list of cheeses.
Reviewed by Jack Goodstein
Curing the Pig
by Liza Granville
Flame Books
ISBN: 0-9545945-0-9
There are pigs and then there are pigs, and while the title of Liza Granville's debut novel does at times refer to the four footed squealer that so often ends up cured as bacon and ham, it is more centrally a reference to the two footed variety more often than not characterized by the epithet "male chauvinist." This porcine variety is in need of "curing" as well; it is, however, curing of a different sort. It is this second 'curing' that is the real subject of her book.
That said, the reader might be excused for concluding that Curing the Pig is simply another of the rabid attacks on all things male that characterizes so much of what passes for feminist literature. This would be a mistake. Granville is no "feminazi" to use the term made famous in the United States by Rush Limbaugh. Men are not the object of her ire; men who are pigs are the ones who have gotten her dander up. It is not men who are the enemy, it is men who think they are and should be superior to women who are the problem. What she is looking for is not a world where women replace men in the power hierarchy, but one where men and women treat each other as equals. Learning this lesson will cure the pig.
The particular little piggy under her microscope is one Morgan Llewelyn Padrig Arthur Caradoc Jones-Jones. When he is introduced, he has lost his job at a bank, a victim, he feels, of a newly hired female executive who he calls the "Big *****". He is planning to return to his home, a farm in the Marches between Wales and England, and write a novel about women. Although the reader is never really told what makes him think he can write such a work, presumably any man knows enough about every woman to fill the pages of a book. One is reminded of the critics of authors like Jane Austen and George Eliot who have so often complained that they were incapable of drawing realistic male characters. For Morgan Jones-Jones, indeed for any male writer, the opposite never seems to be a problem. In his heart he knows that he knows women.
In the bleak farm community to which Morgan returns, Granville introduces a variety of local types worthy of Dickens: Pugh the Ferret who keeps a rodent or two in his pockets; Mrs. Pritchard- Evans whose maternal instincts do not preclude the theft of her neighbor's silver; Dr. Cadwallader who treats his patients, no matter what their problem, with the distilled nectar of the bees he keeps. Then of course there are Morgan's parents, his father is a wreck of a man who takes delight in any minor annoyance he can inflict upon his domineering wife. His mother is a haridan of woman, absolute master of her domain. These characters are painted with deft comic strokes realistically grounded in their particular milieu. For example Mrs. Pritchard-Evans' better half: "In through the gape edged Pritchard-Evans the Limp, a wall-eye, stunted, bowlegged apology for a Welshman, a neighbor that nobody in their right mind needed, looking for something for nothing, clutching a handle-less willow basket and a handful of very small change."
Granville's story doesn't linger long in the Welsh Marches. In a drunken haze at the wake of his parents, Morgan snacks on some wild mushrooms and takes off on a nightmare of a trip as illuminating as any of the chemically induced insights advocated by Timothy Leary, but literarily reminiscent of no voyage so much as that of Lemuel Gulliver to the Land of the Houynhnhms. After an interlude with a four headed trio of weird sisters, he is transported through a Stonehenge-like portal to an alternate world in which men and women have reversed roles, males are perceived as weak sex objects who study domestic arts and females are Amazonian power brokers. The men shave their legs and wear colorful, impractical clothing. The women are aging Don Juans who poke and prod at the comely young males. It is a dystopian vision which clearly illustrates that no matter who wields the power, inequality of the sexes breeds abuse. Women in this alternative world are no better than men in the real world. Morgan finds himself in a world controlled by female chauvinist pigs, and male or female, a pig is a pig.
Gulliver comes back from the Land of the Houynhnhms and talks to horses. Men are beastly Yahoos. Morgan comes back and realizes that: "He'd be damned careful in his dealings with women in the future. Perhaps a bit of give and take was called for, After all, God help the world if they were ever antagonised enough to try grabbing the upper hand. Men here didn't carry on like those Bitches there, did they? Did they? Did they? Or did they?" In these closing questions there is the suggestion of understanding. There is a girlfriend, and he will treat her better. This is a hopeful novel. If a Morgan can change, anything is possible. Enough pigs change and they will become a critical mass which once started moving cannot be stopped. Granville makes this point through a parable: in a Japanese research experiment monkeys were fed sweet potatoes that had fallen into sand. One monkey apparently disliking the gritty taste washed his potato; after some time others followed suit. "Critical mass was reached one morning when the hundredth monkey followed suit." Soon almost every monkey was washing the potato before eating it. What works for monkeys, the author concludes, will work for pigs. Morgan is the hundredth monkey.
His story, as presented, is awash in archetypal echoes. References and allusions to myth, literature and folklore from the world over fill the pages of the book. Litleth and Lucifer, "This Little Piggy," "The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner," Father Christmas and his reindeer, Dionysus, Isis, Loki-Puck-Cupid, Witches, chakras, etc. Often we get extended rhapsodic rifts on archetypal patterns:
A good name Morgan, with its hint of things past bubbling below conscious memory: of the Fata Morgana; of Morpheus God of dreams; of Mordred the bad boy of Arthurian legend; together with a lingering taste of Morrigan, Celtic goddess of war, agent of change.
"A good name. We were on the right track."
In Celtic myth, Morgan Mywnoawr had a magic chariot, one of the great lost treasures of Britain. Among the other treasures were: Dyrnwyn. The sword of Rhydderch; Amen, the cauldron of Ceridwen; Cwm annwn, Arwan's hell hounds; the drinking horn of Gwigawd, which offered whatever liquid refreshment the heart desired; the whetstone if Tudwal Tudclud; the stone of Gwyddon; Lunrd, the ring of invisibility; the knife if Llawfrodded Farchawg, capable of carving twenty-four portions of meat at once; the chessboard of Gwenddolen, which relieved the monotony of the game by playing itself, as did the harp of Teirtu; the cloak of Tegau Eurvon, which could only be worn by chaste women (whatever they are and wherever they may be); and a throne, the Stone of Scone, not lost at all,but only temporarily displaced, But Morgan Mywnoawr's chariot would take him anywhere he wanted to go. . .
This kind of breathless tumbling catalogue, echoing those characteristic of epic poetry, appear throughout the book, at times adding psychic depth, as with the inventory of the pig motif in mythology; at times comic relief as with Loki-Puck-Cupid's seemingly endless list of cheeses.
Although there are moments when the prose seems to fall into flat moralizing, times when the novelist's indulgence in Welsh and Welsh slang makes comprehension difficult, these are minor obstacles in a novel that is most often quite readable and entertaining. A vast wealth of allusion is available to her and she uses it effectively. Her prose is witty, and she is fond of playing with language. Moreover there are some truly comic moments, moments I won't spoil for the reader by mentioning them here. All in all Liza Granville is a novelist with a compelling voice, and Curing the Pig is a first novel well worth any reader's time.
For more information visit: www.flamebooks.com/product.asp?prodId=12
About the reviewer: Jack Goodstein was a Professor of English for over thirty years. After retiring he turned to acting and is currently seeking stardom which is seemingly just beyond his grasp. He has written plays (e.g. productions at the Pulse Ensemble Theatre in New York and Northern Lights Theatre in Edmunton, Alberta), fiction ( e.g.The Maine Review, The Jewish Digest, Eclectica), and non-fiction (e.g. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, College English).
|
|
|
|
|
|
