Infinities [Paperback]

Ostensibly, this is book about a dying man, whose family assembles around him and waits for him to draw his final breath - a conventional enough device, second only to the old standbys of a family assembling for the holidays, a marriage or a funeral. Ostensibly. In actuality, that's just a jump-off point for what I can only describe as a romp through nearly every theme touched on by classic literature, from existential ruminations on the meaning of life to the bawdy realities of what that life actually involves for the people that live it.

On the surface, it's the story of the dying Adam Godley (take heed of the name...), his wife, Ursula, son Adam and daughter Petra (think of the meaning of her name - stone); and Adam junior's wife, Helen (whose name also will prove meaningful.) But it's also narrated by the gods of Olympus, who, as is their wont, have decided to alleviate their boredom or pursue their lusts by descending to involve themselves in the concerns of the Godley family. The narrator is Hermes - or is it? As his voice seems to blur and meld with that of the dying Adam in the final pages. Zeus covets Helen and commands Hermes to hold back the dawn so that he can have his way with her. And then Pan, in the form of Benny Grace, shows up on the doorstep...

There's no way to summarize what happens in this novel, and indeed what happens, event-wise, seems less important for Banville than finding a way to make us think about the world we inhabit. It's a world where the immortals are as present as the `infinities' of the title, which the dying Adam, a mathematician, discovered. Why would the gods come back? Well, Hermes points out in a matter-of-fact manner, they never left. "We merely made it seem that we had withdrawn, for a decent interval, as if to say we know when we are not wanted," he explains. "At the same time, we cannot resist revealing ourselves to you once in a while, out of our incurable boredom, our love of mischief, or that lingering nostalgia we harbour for this rough world of our making."

Adam and the family dog appear to be the only members of the household to suspect the presence of the immortals amongst them. Adam recognizes it intellectually - after all, if there are infinities, shouldn't there be immortal beings that inhabit them? - while the dog recognizes it on a more visceral level, along with the innate human fear of death. Meanwhile, the others will have their lives reshaped by the gods in ways they may not understand, or attribute to chance.

This is a fascinating book, but one that - despite the constant references to every possible bodily function and fluid imaginable - is all about ideas, likely to appeal to those who can pick up on all of Banville's allusions to classic drama or alternative history. as I was reading, there were often moments where I felt he was present at my shoulder, whispering "get it?" and giving me a sly wink or a nudge in the manner of the Olympians in his novel. I don't usually have a taste for surreal elements creeping into a book, or self-conscious wit, but ultimately Banville won me over with his combination of luscious writing and comic insights into human frailty.

Highly recommended to anyone with a taste for literary fiction, but not for anyone who finds themselves disliking novels that are more about people thinking than doing stuff. (If you haven't enjoyed anything else by Banville, the odds are high that you won't like this one.) I've rated it 4.5 stars, rounded up to 5.

Somewhere, someone will read this book and comprehend the various implications pulling and pushing between the stories of the mortals and the immortals, between the conventional narrative and the insertion of the author as the sort of god that cannot fully grasp his own creation. On my own somewhat reduced level of comprehension I can only offer that Banville has again managed to create a text that without warning illuminates some of the more profound details of existence, some of the most disjunctive associations, all within a playful fluidity of seemingly casual observation. These periodic shocks and flares of insight -- gleefully departing from the conventions of story-telling -- strike me as what the book is actually about, sorting through the tangle that shapes constructs of personal identity, belief, experience and knowledge to gain some momentarily objective glimpses of the truer contours of the human condition. Banville has a distinct ability to transcribe a sense of time and place to the page and with "The Infinities" he gives articulate voice to those more elusive impressions of being. Scattered, infrequent, unexpected and always profound shifts in perception draw us closer to an at least momentary comprehension of our selves and the world of which we are a sometimes conscious part. One to read, let rest for a year or so, and then read again.

As enchanted as I was by Banville's beautiful prose, this farcical meditation on what it means to be silly foolish human things, babes really, I can't deny I was ready for this novel to end. To say by closing page I was well-worn would be fitting. Time to move on, as though from an exotic restaurant, from a dinner perhaps appreciated more than enjoyed.

Other reviewers have noted the distinct lack of story here, and I can understand. While the novel has a feel of timelessness, in fact could be said to exist outside time, and is filled with turns of phrase meant more for the savor than blithe consumption, what chronology of events there is lasts no more than 24 hours or so and will leave some feeling a bit cheated out of a compelling event, let alone plot.

Even so, parts of this novel are quite humorous, which helps to mitigate tedium, but many parts also seem to endlessly bloviate at the reader's expense -- the conceit of the novel at times, lain threadbare -- and only rarely is a conversation between characters unbroken by narrative or descriptive or ruminative interjection. That can be frustrating.

Still, I enjoyed the novel. While the writing style is quite different in structure and tone, I found myself thinking of the highly stylized works of Jeannette Winterson, of whom I'm a fan. The Infinities is recommended with reservation, for those fans of stylized prose, eclectic taste, or a special affinity for Greek mythology.

› Go to Amazon.com to see all 29 reviews  3.8 out of 5 stars