Peace, by Gene Wolfe: ***1/2

I had a great time reading this book. I hadn't read any Wolfe since his Book of the New Sun series, which I adored, but I didn't want to read any more Wolfe for a while because I didn't want to overdo it, to saturate myself on his writing. This book is much shorter, as Peace is probably slightly shorter than any one of the four books in his later series. So at this point, I'm ready to go, bring on the Wolfe. I love it. I can't get enough. I can assure you that, unless things start to go sour, I will eventually read his entire catalogue. The only other author I even remotely feel this way about is David Foster Wallace (Infinite Jest, Broom of the System, etc.), but he hasn't written nearly as many novels as Wolfe, so it's not going to be too difficult to keep up [Note: Wallace released a new book in fall of 2003 that I'll likely pass on. Plus I wasn't a huge fan of Brief Interviews With Hideous Men].

This book is basically a character portrait of a peculiar, somewhat detached middle-American man who reflects on his life, sharing several stories that took place at distinctly different periods in his history. The brilliance of Wolfe is found of course in his prose, which is delicate and perfect as always (although his use of parenthetical references and addenda became slightly tiresome), but he also shines in the novel's construction, with which I became steadily more impressed while reading. Stories that seemed unconnected became connected. Characters and situations left unresolved made sense later on. I read reviews of this novel on line, and I kept noticing a similar excitement in other readers as to not just the beauty of the story itself, but the beauty in the manner in which Wolfe told it, the interconnected scenarios and characters, the way he reveals information to the reader. The first 20-30 pages were very difficult to read, but beyond that I found it quite sublime. Wolfe is truly a master. I look forward to rereading it, when I'm sure I'll pick up still more.

QUOTES:
Continuing in the tradition I started with Wolfe's Book of the New Sun (because literally every sentence of Wolfe's is quote-worthy), I will include quotes from both a randomly selected page and paragraph (pg. 85, middle of the page), and the opening paragraph of the book.

pg. 85: (the randomly selected paragraph): "Doherty, gardener and hostler, wore an old soft cap from which his carroty hair (even then, I think, beginning to gray) stuck out all around; he had a wide mouth and smelled of a strange, strong smell I did not then know was veterinary liniment. Queenie was a Dalmatian who seemed to understand Doherty perfectly when he talked like a chicken - a talent of his - but who looked rather puzzled when he said to me, "you must only brush 'em the right way, if you understand me, for that spreads the spots apart farther and it's that the judges crave. But if you run your hand against their hair you'll drive every spot on the dog up to his ears, and that's as good as to drown him. Have you a cur or two yourself? I see you're not afraid of them."

pg. 1 (opening paragraph of the book): "The elm tree planted by Eleanor Bold, the judge's daughter, fell last night. I was asleep and heard nothing, but from the number of shattered limbs and the size of the trunk there must have been a terrible crashing. I woke - I was sitting up in my bed before the fire - but by the time I was awake there was nothing to hear but the dripping of the melting snow running from the eaves. I remember that my heart pounded and I was afraid I was going to have an attack, and then, fuzzily, thought that perhaps the heart attack had wakened me, and then that I might be dead. I try to use the candle as little as I can, but I lit it then and sat up with the blankets around me, enjoying the candlelight and listening to the sound of the dripping snow and to the icicles melting, and it seemed to me that the whole house was melting like the candle, going soft and running down into the lawn."

pg. 26: "... I believe that America is the land of magic...."

pg. 115: [Conversation between the characters Mr. Weer and his doctor]
[Doctor]; "I had a professor in medical school who used to say, 'Happy is the man who has found his work - but of course the addict who has found a quart jar of heroin is happy too.' One kind of addiction is approved by society, Mr. Weer, and the other is not, but both destroy their victims."
[Mr. Weer]: "You're telling me that I would be better off disliking what I do."
[Doctor]: "Work was meant to be work, Mr. Weer. Toil."

pg. 191: [Conversation between Mr. Weer (Alden) and Lois Arbuthnot]
[Lois]: "Do you know that you're the first person in Cassionsville I've really liked? The first intelligent person.."
[Alden]: "Do you mean there are no intelligent people here?"
[Lois]: "No, but the intelligent ones I meet aren't likable - a bunch of bored snobs wishing they were somewhere else without the guts to get there. Some of the unintelligent ones are great - loveable people and great fun. But they're like nice dogs; after a while you get lonesome for the sound of a human voice."
(Winter 2002-3)

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