Parts of this review have been previously posted because it has taken me a long time to write and I feared losing it if I didn't. I apologise to those this may have annoyed.
This is one of the first novels I have finished which I really can't say anything worthwhile about. It is incredible and though there are only ten other reviews on GR almost all of them praise this novel in the most glowing terms. On its publication in 1991 it was nominated for Stonewall and LAMBDA awards (GR erroneously claims the LAMBDA nomination was for 1990). That the novel didn't win in either category, but then neither did Bo Houston, Michael Cunningham, John Gilgun or Allan Barnet, says less about Stadler or any of the other non-winners then it does about awards, even those for debut literature to spot talent. The LAMBDA debut fiction award went to Dancing on Tisha B'av by Lev Raphael and compared to most of those who didn't win one can't help asking what has Lev Raphael written since?
Instead of telling you what I think the book is about I am going to quote what was said on the jacket of the 1990 hardback edition of the book But I will follow it up with a few more remarks:
"'9 August 1944
"'We took the ferry from the foot of Market and hitched rides across Marin, finally getting one long ride from San Rafael all the way to Bourne's Gulch on the east side of the lagoon. There we stood, the water stretching out west, shimmering in the noon sun, with Bolinas on the other shore. It was August and hot like it sometimes gets. I was dark as Duncan then (he's Persian, Duncan Peivand Taqdir, and brown like an Indian) because we'd spent so much time that summer tramping in the hills and birding with my father. The sun was on us and I could feel my stomach go giddy when a breeze would blow in off the water and across my bare skin. Neither of us knew where to go so I made something up.'
"'Landscape: Memory' marks the debut of a gifted young writer. In this lyrical, vibrant narrative, Matthew Stadler takes us back to the summer of 1914. Maxwell Field Kosegarten, the sixteen year old son of an eccentric San Francisco ornithologist and his his suffragist wife, pens the first entry in his memory book, a daily diary given to him by his mother. 'The mind is a template, pumpkin.' she has told him, 'a template made of gold - brilliant and malleble. The written word is fixed.' So begins the record of Max's struggle with memory, his own and the collective attempts of a culture he lives in to remember.
'Around him San Francisco is preparing for the World's Fair, the Panama Pacific International Exhibition, as the triumphant crowning act of recovery from the still-lingering devastations of the 1906 earthquake. Max is both fascinated and troubled by the fair. Visiting the grounds with his friend Duncan, late in the one year of the fair's brief life, he recalls the first glimpses they shared of the construction of this Jewel City. 'The brittle wooden frames had stretched up to the mists. The ground was a sea of mud. The iron tracks were littered with giant anamolous heads, and feet, cast in fake marble. It was all put together in an instant, looking now like it was part of the city if not an extension of the very land. I remembered this wasn't even land two years ago and felt the impossible thinness of the brittle domes stretch suddenly outward to encompass everything. What was here two years ago? What was here a thousand years ago? Every moment then and since was gone. I bumped up into Duncan and felt him all solid and flesh. His moist breath clouded, moist against my ear.'
"In this unsettling, fractured world Max finds refuge in the habits of his days. In his memory book he finds room to consider the shape and character of his experiences. He is also painting, a landscape, seen throughout the book at each stage in its development. The woods and weather of San Francisco and the bay nourish him by their constancy and power. And in his friendship with Duncan a bound is formed, a continuity and link which dazzle Max and confound his every attempt to capture and hold it in words.
"Throughout, the memory book is haunted by the war in Europe. Max's uncle, a British medical student, sends him letters from the front. Stationed in Belgium, he is charged with the unforgiving task of cutting and sewing the broken bodies the war churns out. His descent into the horror of his work and the unprecedented nature and scope of the war mark a brutal parallel to the unravelling of Max's own life and intellect.
"'Landscape and Memory' is the record of a rare mind finding its place in the terrors of a new century, coming to terms with the simultaniety of memory and loss, a loss which Max comes to experience with tragic immediacy in the course of his remarkable life." From the jacket of the 1990 hardback edition from Charles Scribner.
All of the above is perceptive and true but in away it is all but a prelude to what Max says near the very end of the book:
"I loved him,"...It's all I had really wanted to say for such a long time, and I could just barely mumble it through my slobber and spit and tears...My crying was a way my body had of freeing me from the burden of speech."
But do not expect resolution or conclusion by the novel's end. We enter Max's life and walk with him and his family and friends for barely a year and then we leave him. What happens next is anyone's guess. But it is an immersion in one person's life and times and in the question of memory. It is a extraordinary, unique novel and one I will never forget.