This book took a long time to read. The author provides detail after detail about Mordecai Richler's life. For a while I was on a 10 page a day regimen just to get through because, either through my lack of knowledge or just a plain lack of interest in Richler's letters written, friendships gained and lost and travel adventures it was just plain, hard reading.
But then the book actually got more interesting, at least, if not more exciting. Richler's approach to the separatist movement in Quebec, the language laws, etc. were perhaps more familiar to me and therefore of greater interest.
It is clear throughout the book that Richler is a brilliant man, an outstanding writer, a smitten, devoted husband and a loving and loved father. His wife, Florence, is beautiful at a young age and dazzling as she ages. In fact in order to ensure that the reader understands these points Foran repeats them ad nauseum.
And this gets in the way.
Foran reports on critics' view that Richler doesn't create women characters with much depth or dimension. But he doesn't seem to hear that criticism in his own portrayal of Florence. She is the adored, beautiful wife whose cooking is preferred by her husband. She compensates for her husband's reticence and possibly brutish social behaviour by being charming and we hear repeatedly that she is Richler's first and best editor.
I can't believe she is so shallow. I do believe Richler was an intelligent man that immersed himself in stimulating and intelligent environments. Florence must have been more than the dutiful housewife as she is portrayed in this book. I want to hear more of Florence's story as she traveled through their very interesting life.
Lastly the author portrays Richler as a man of Montreal - that is a given. But in some ways Foran gives us Richler as THE Canadian author.
There is very little in Richler's work that portrays prairie life, that portrays east or west coast sensibilities or for that matter Jewish life in those areas of Canada. To be a Jew in Regina is certainly not the same as being a Jew from Montreal. And although Selkirk Avenue in Winnipeg can be seen, in a way, as similar to The Main or St. Urbain, they are, in fact, not the same. The experiences were different, the characters were different and they deserve their own chroniclers