Customer Reviews

The Deptford Trilogy: Fifth Business, The Manticore, and World of Wonders

5 star:		(33)
4 star:		(7)
3 star:		(4)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Without you realising it this trilogy takes you into several weird byways of life but at the same keeping a normality to the text that you hardly notice how strange the story is. Well worth reading.

I read this Trilogy in my early 20s. Perhaps I was preoccupied by hormones at the time or perhaps these stories are best enjoyed as an older man -- either way I felt that I was slogging through the material and I don't recall getting 'caught up' in the story.

The Deptford Trilogy is a rich, rewarding read, encompassing layers upon layers of plot, theme, character. Liesl is one of the most singular characters I've come across in fiction. At the backbone of this trilogy is a mystery, yet Davies' prose is so sprawling (yet concise!...all three books total under 900 pages!) that the mystery seems almost peripheral to everything else that is going on.

When you begin Fifth Business, you'll be fooled into thinking it's another standard coming-of-age narrative. You'll soon realize how wrong you are. Sadly, World of Wonders is the weakest, seeming rather unnecessary, and exposing the story of a mysterious character perhaps better left mysterious, but it's still a good read. Fifth Business and Manticore, however, are stunning works of literary fiction.

If there is a boundary beyond which realistic fiction crosses into the fantastical, it seems to have been explored and even blurred by Robertson Davies in this trio of novels which represent the broadest imaginative range of realistic fiction. The closest contemporary comparison I can make is John Barth, but Davies, possibly by way of being Canadian, establishes his originality by balancing North American folk charm with a British style of sophistication.

The subject is the turbulent and often hilarious lives of three men whose hometown is the rural village of Deptford, Ontario. They are Dunstan Ramsay, a history teacher, hagiographer (somebody who studies saints and sainthood), and decorated World War I veteran; the arrogant but vulnerable Percy Boyd "Boy" Staunton, a wealthy confectionery businessman, politician, and Dunstan's lifelong friend; and the pitiable Paul Dempster, whose premature birth was precipitated by his mother's injury from being hit accidentally by a snowball thrown by Staunton at Ramsay on a fateful winter day in 1908. The event that provides the basis for the trilogy is Staunton's death sixty years later, when his Cadillac mysteriously plunges off a pier into a harbor.

The three novels form a complex story that is structured almost like a murder mystery but has much more psychological depth and detailed characterization and is more studious of the nature of consequences. The first two novels, "Fifth Business" and "The Manticore," discuss the life of Boy Staunton through the respective viewpoints of Ramsay, who tells all in an extensive, sarcastically toned report to the headmaster of the academy from which he is retiring, and Staunton's son David, now a successful criminal lawyer, who recalls his relationship with his father during a series of sessions with a Zurich psychiatrist.

But it is the third novel, "World of Wonders," in which the continuation of the story really takes flight. This novel covers the fascinating life story of a brilliant magician and master illusionist named Magnus Eisengrim who, from humble and sordid beginnings as a carnival underling, has become famous throughout the world for his spectacular stage shows and now lives in a palatial Swiss chalet with his manager and consort, a strange woman named Liesl. That he has enlisted Ramsay as his biographer is not his only connection to Deptford or to the events surrounding Boy Staunton's watery death.

Combining the themes of Ramsay's inquiries into the qualifications for sainthood, David Staunton's chimerical dreams, and Eisengrim's spellbinding but essentially mundane magic, "The Deptford Trilogy" maintains its narrative thrust by a thorough cross-pollination of ideas from reality and mythology. The insight revealed is that every human life, real or imagined, has qualities that are mythical because none of us can personally experience everything that happens to everybody else. This seems like an obvious precept of fiction, but it takes a marvel-minded writer like Davies to illustrate it with so much vivacity and wonder.

I had read some Robertson Davies in the past--Murther and Walking Spirits and The Papers of Samuel Marchbanks--and thought him a fine curmudgeon and a fine Canadian writer, but I had not given him much thought beyond this. I find this to my detriment now, for I remember friends who always had a copy of one or other of his novels about, and I faintly recall many recommendations in the past. So, what made me finally pick up one of these and read it? The recommendation, passed to me second-hand, by my favorite writer, Jonathan Carroll, given as one of his influences for conceiving novels with interlinking characters.

Fifth Business is a marvelous book, and while it doesn't have quite the same mystery or horror of Carroll, it does have an excellent style, and there is indeed a twist or two along the way to keep most any reader sated. Basically the autobiography of Dunstable Ramsay, born around the turn of the century in the small Canadian town of Deptford, Fifth Business details not only Ramsay's life, but also the life of his oldest friend, Percy "Boy" Staunton. What makes this novel so remarkable is how realistic the portrayal is, without bogging down in pages of mundane description. Over the course of the novel, one's understanding for Dunstable grows, both in positive and negative turns, and by the end, he is as an old friend of one's own.

Based on some of the cover blurbs, I had expected a little more magic realism, or at least an edge of the fantastic, to this book, and while it may be there, it is consistently down-played. Normally I am not one to go in for fiction without at least a feeling of the extraordinary, but Davies writing style kept me glued to the page, reading longer into the night than I would ordinarily wish during the work week. And I learned many things, including what the term hagiography refers to, and some feeling for Canada and their strange ties to Britain and the world.

But it is the aspect of Fifth Business itself where this book receives full credit for its recommendation. "Fifth Business" refers to, as related in the novel:

"You don't know what this is? Well, in opera in a permanent company of the kind we keep up in Europe you must have a prima donna--always a soprano, always the heroine, often a fool; and a tenor who always plays the lover to her; and then you must have a contralto, who is a rival to the soprano, or a sorceress or something; and a basso, who is the villain or the rival or whatever threatens the tenor.

So far, so good. But you cannot make a plot work without another man, and he is usually a baritone, and he is called in the profession Fifth Business, because he is the odd man out, the person who has no opposite of the other sex. And you must have Fifth Business because he is the one who knows the secret of the hero's birth, or comes to the assistance of the heroine when she thinks all is lost, or keeps the hermitess in her cell, or may even be the cause of somebody's death if that is part of the plot."

Dunstable is indeed Fifth Business, for he does know the secret of the hero's birth, and does come to the assistance of the heroine, and keeps a woman in her cell, and may even be the cause of Boy Staunton's murder. The trick is discovering who exactly is the hero, and the assistance only lasts for a short time, and being locked in a cell is not always advantageous, and who exactly did murder Boy Staunton? These and more questions are brought up in Fifth Business, some of which are answered.

The Manticore picks up almost where Fifth Business lets off, but quickly reverts to flashback to tell some of the same story from the point of view of Boy Staunton's son, David. David's recollection of some of the events as told by Ramsay are colored by his own life, including the fear introduced by his sister that David is not actually Boy's son, but Ramsay's. Whereas Ramsey was fifth business to Boy Staunton, David is a star in his own story, which is told by a journal that he writes to discuss with his psychotherapist.

It sounds dull, and at times it slows due to the conceit, but Davies has a way of interjecting interest right as you are about to put away the novel. Two-thirds into the novel and it breaks away from the psychotherapy, returns to the "present" of the trilogy, and reunites us with Ramsay and some of the other characters from Fifth Business. The problem with The Manticore is that it is the middle novel, without the refreshing newness of the opening and lacking the rush towards the climax of the concluding novel.

And what a rush World of Wonders is--once again, it covers some of the same ground of the two previous novels, filling in detail about magician Magnus Eisingrim (nee Paul Dempster of Deptford) that also provides additional insight into Ramsey and, in the end, Boy Staunton. Of the three novels, World of Wonders is closest to Carroll. Rather than tell the story from Magnus viewpoint, Davies switches back to Ramsay. However, the story Ramsay tells is of the biographical confessions of Magnus. This way Davies can tell the story from a new viewpoint while retaining the mysterious nature of Magnus (who is the closest to the unreliable narrator used by Carroll) to keep the secret of Boy Staunton's death until the closing minutes. Magnus' history isn't pretty, and the World of Wonders is as a carnival sideshow, full of flash but hiding a seedy underbelly. However, Magnus is not unhappy with his lot, looking back over his life, which is one of the aspects of the story that haunts Ramsay, who feels somewhat responsible (along with Staunton) for Paul Dempster's early life. The philosophical aspect of this is interesting--Davies implies that, while taking responsibility of one's actions is important, there is a statute of limitations on guilt.

The Deptford Trilogy is a strong suite of novels, cunningly wrought and well worth your time. I regret that I had waited this long to discover them.

I first heard of Robertson Davies in an interview on NPR's "Fresh Air" when he appeared to discuss his last novel, "The Cunning Man." He was in his eighties then, and I always kept a distinct recollection of his resonant, charming voice. About seven years later, I picked up a copy of "Fifth Business" and was delighted to find that the same charm and wit shines through from Davies' prose. I just finished the third novel of the Deptford Trilogy, and I enjoyed the set of novels immensely.

Some of the reviews here may go into a little too much detail about the plots and subplots. It may be more enjoyable to read these books cold. The plots diverge and wind around, and you sometimes wonder where everything is going, but there is a definite pleasure in being surprised to see how everything fits together in the end. You can trust Robertson Davies' craft to make sure things do fit together soundly in the end.

One character in Fifth Business descibes his ideal in scholarly pursuits as to approach a subject "with a critical but not a cruel mind." I think that approach characterizes Davies' style. I can understand that he may seem pendantic and opiniated to some readers. I personally would not agree with many of his opinions, but in reading him I realized how much of our modern discourse on moral issues has lost the elements of wit and charm - and a benevolent humor - that characterize this writing. How often can you say that you thoroughly enjoyed reading something by someone even though you disagreed with half the ideas that person expressed?

As a reader in from the U.S., I also felt that I learned a bit about Canadian history and Canadians' perspective on the world. This will certainly not do us any harm. So when we Americans read the Deptford Trilogy, in addition to enjoying great literature, we can learn who Mackenzie King was and find out about the Prince of Wales' tour of Canada in the thirties.

Of the three novels, I thought Davies' best writing was in the "World of Wonders." I sense a definite tone of nineteenth century fiction in Davies' writing, something of Trollope, Dickens, and Balzac, and that style emerges most warmly from these two novels. This is a cheerful, humane style in them, and it kept my attention throughout. If people are still enjoying decent literature at the end of the twenty-first century, I think it will be because novels like these endure. I hope they will.

I can't keep a copy of The Deptford Trilogy. Within a week of my umpteenth reading I always find myself pressing it on some friend or relative. Why? Well, when a revelatory experience has been FUN for you, you want to pass it on. Robertson Davies genius is infused with the comic, not the tragic view of life. But this does not mean he is shallow. Indeed, he is a writer who--particularly through this three-part novel--opened my mind up to contemplating the nature of the saints, the works of Carl Jung, and the need to be aware of the dark side of my own personality. And this was fun??? You bet. As a creator of breathtakingly interesting, fast-moving, unpredictable plots, Davies has no peer. There IS a 'basic plot'. . . a Canadian youth or maiden starts out in some tiny, narrow provincial town, by some means or other is transported to Europe, and there encounters experiences so deeply transforming that he or she becomes a most fascinating and mysterious personage. I really don't want to spoil the adventure for you by recounting it. Let it be enough for me to say that while you are on the rollercoaster of fate with the main character in each of these stories, you are fascinated, enlightened, and sometimes so amused that you laugh out loud, yet the things that are happening are profound. Davies has mastery of all the subjects that come up, and of many voices. He can deliver both the flat, crude lingo of a backwoods cynic and the sophisticated, accented polish of the worldly-wise European magus. He whisks one of his characters from a dreary Baptist parsonage to a backwoods hell of a carney show and thence to the world of 19th century British theater, with all its scenery, costume, technique and raffish charm intact. He makes you believe that a weak-minded woman considered by all to be crazy is a saint. He introduces you to a brilliant attorney whose ferocious self discipline leads him to a spectacular mental breakdown and a trip to Zurich for perhaps the most fascinating Jungian analysis you will ever encounter. And it is fascinating because you explore yourself and your own being, as he is recounting the story of his life. The whole story of the novel in all its glorious variety originates in a single action--illustrating both subtly and dramatically Davies' contention that no action is ever lost or trivial. Two boys are coming home from school at nightfall in a Canadian village. One maliciously puts a stone in a snowball and pitches it at the other. It doesn't hit the intended victim, but instead the weak-minded wife of the Baptist parson. The life stories of the two boys and the child of the parson and his wife become the three novels of the trilogy. This novel was pressed upon me by a friend, and --as I said at the beginning -- I have pressed it on several others. Without exception, they have read as I did, with excitement, pleasure, and a sense of encountering something important and new which changed the way we thought about the world. And the change is something like this--Davies gives a sense of possibility and wonder in life. He SHOWS that people can begin in the most shabbily, narrowly ordinary of circumstances, and yet that they can flower into extraordinarily consequential, interesting people with beautiful experiences of life. This truly is divine comedy. Enjoy it!

I always wanted to write Robertson Davies & tell him I felt like an anonymous grandaughter...this is the best of the wisdom he has to offer. His characters are three dimensional and they frustrate, teach, are foolish & sad just like all of us. The center novel is of the main character in Jungian analysis which is fasinating as well as instructive.

It all starts many years ago in Deptford, a small village in Canada. Young Percy Boyd (Boy) Staunton throws a snowball containing a stone at his boyhood friend Dunstan Ramsay, which misses. It instead hits the head of the wife of a dour and fanatically religious minister, which causes her to give birth prematurely to a son, whom she names Paul. She eventually goes insane.

As a very young boy, Paul Dempster learns from Dunstan Ramsay the rudiments of card tricks and other such conjurings. Believed to have run away with the circus, Paul was instead abducted and enslaved by Willard, a carnival magician. Paul hones his skills with cards to do extraordinary tricks with them at the carnival while hidden inside a hollow, mechanical dummy.

Ramsay, while travelling in Europe many years later to do research on saints (who of whom he considers Paul's mother), discovers Paul Dempster performing in his own magic show. Paul now takes the name "Magnus Eisengrim." David Staunton, who is Boy Staunton's son, attends one of Eisengrim's shows, where he loudly asks the mystical "Brazenhead" that is on the stage, "Who killed Boy Staunton?," who had died after his car mysteriously plunged into a lake.

Although this is mystery is logically resolved at the end, it is really no matter. This is basically the story of how one seemingly minor incident, in this case the errant snowball, can have the power to alter people's destinies. Were it not for this snowball, Paul Dempster would not have been prematurely born and would have in all probability become a Baptist minister, like his father, instead of the great, but mysterious Magnus Eisengrim, as well as the other identities he had previously taken on. In one such previous personna, he joins a repertoire company as an understudy to the great actor, Sir John Tresize.

Robertson Davies' writing style is pure enchantment. This is particularly apparent in his description of Sorgenfrei castle in Switzerland where Paul is hired to repair the broken toys of an aristocratic industrialist. It is in Sorgenfrei where Magnus meets Liesl, the strange, grotesque, and ape-like granddaughter of the industrialist. Magnus works magic and transforms Liesl, who later becomes his show partner and his lover, into a woman of bearing and substance.

Robertson Davies spends a great deal of time plumbing the depths of the personalities of each of the three book's major characters, and especially that of the soul of Paul Dempster/Magnus Eisengrim. The results are never less than fascinating. The entire second book, "The Manticore," concerns itself with the psychoanalysis of David Staunton, who must come to terms with his alcoholism and deep-seated problems related to his father. Eisengrim, which means "wolf," is said by one of the book's characters, to have studied Sir John's character to such an extent that he "ate" and became him.

One common, and often cliched, criticism of long and episodic novels such as "The Deptford Trilogy," is that the whole, sadly, does not equal the sum of its many parts. These three books-- which must be read as a whole rather than as separate, independent novels--by examining the many sides, personalities, and roles of the extraordinarily complicated and amazing Paul Dempster/Magnus Eisengrim, richly and triumphently achieves a whole that much more than exceeds the sum of its parts.

Davies is one of the best writers living or dead. I read the trilogy one, two, three. The second was a bit slow and I missed some of the characters from the first. But the second is a necessary read and only the lesser by comparison to the other two. The third wraps it up and leaves you satisfied. Davies novels are not a short read, but are always well worth the time.