Timothy Findley (1930–2002)

Rereading this after more than a decade and half since my first encounter. I remembered very little of the plot other than the basics, and I think this was to its benefit.

The writing is sumptuous and full... but also intensely readable. Findley is tightly controlling the words on the page to easily allow you to sink into a flow of words, ideas, and images, always powerful but never overwhelming.

One review says that Findley, as a former actor, has a sense of the theatrical and I think that's what's so delicious about his prose here. So many small gestures are recorded with an actor's eye to what they can express, even if it is a little arch or melodramatic. It may not be to everyone's taste, but it's very intentionally and masterfully done.

Taking Jung and allowing him to be mistaken, to stumble, to be human in all of the ways that matter, actually enhances some of the Jungian thought inside the book, because we witness it come from struggle rather than some burst of inspiration.

Some of the critiques of the novel have said it meanders too far, or that it doesn't resolve it's plot threads, and again, this feels very intentionally and masterfully done. What I can see in each of these reviews is the yearning for resolution and clear meaning that we hope for in most of the stories we consume... but Findley is intending to make us face a lack of certainty, a lack of safe conclusion.

There is a thread of hope at the end, though. There is a way through everything that the novel offers, but it does require work. Again, as a theatrical writer, Findley is asking the audience to be a part of the ending, through it's attempt to interpret.… (més)