www.philipquinn.ca
"Writer "
Review-The Globe and Mail
The Double
Gutter Press, 133 pages, $17.95
I concluded long ago that there are two kinds of books: those that
are fun to read, and those that are merely fun to read about. A
quick toe-dip into
had me fearing the latter sort of creature: its elisions, its
musical-chairs points of view, its refusal to differentiate fantasy
from reality . . . well, it all seemed like work, damn it.
Fortunately, The Double turns out to be that most delicious kind of
work, the kind you can have a grand time doing while still, in the
end, reaping its reward. Payday does, however, require proof of full
immersion: Toe-dippers might as well stay dressed.
The Egyptian ka, the golem, Frankenstein's monster, legions of
futuristic robots; the doppelgänger has, in various guises, stalked
the imaginations of writers and tale-tellers as long as stories have
been alive. For good reason, too: Few human endeavours are as
dangerous to one's sense of a unified self as the creation of
fictional characters.
True to theme, Quinn's novel foregrounds both the act of writing and
the "real-life" invention of personal "others." His protagonist, the
writer Emily Carr Black, is convinced there is a sinister conspiracy
afoot to replace almost everyone she knows with their doubles
(interestingly, Emily herself is a kind of fictional double to the
late poet Gwendolyn MacEwen).
Emily's familiar, the orphan Augustus Pollard, steals his identity
from a gravestone, derives courage from dressing up as Jackie O.,
and believes his father to be James Earl Ray, the avowed killer of
Martin Luther King. Toronto, where Ray apparently hid after the
assassination, is revealed to be both sanctuary and cesspool, a
hotbed of false identities, murder plots and various other dirty
secrets.
This is as far as I'm willing to go in the summary department. I had
only to read The Double's promotional material -- not bad in itself,
but necessarily, misleadingly reductive -- to get a hard lesson in
the perils of paraphrase. Rather than pronouncements, anyway, the
novel inspires questions. Repeatedly, I found myself creating an
imaginary version of one of those annoying "reading guides": In The
Double's case, I figured, such a thing would be both an abomination
and a pretty good idea.
1: Emily Carr Black fears that the literati of Toronto are,
vulture-like, using her madness as material for their own work. How
does this reflect Quinn's own authorial ambivalence and/or the
reality of the
2: Quinn cites Emily Carr Black as the "true author" of this book in
his prefatory author's note. Is this an important postmodern
statement, a coy gag, or both?
3: Are all creators also assassins?
4: Augustus may or may not be stalking women, and he repeatedly
fantasizes about harming a famous writer named "Maggie" whose
features include a prominent nose and thin eyebrows. Do you consider
these and the other real/imagined acts of violence in the book to be
oedipal, misogynistic, parodic or simply anti-Atwood?
5. Is Philip Quinn a wanker or a genius? Discuss.
One thing I can tell you with certitude: The writing in this book is
a joy.
Too often, self-styled "experimental" writers pay scant attention to
the rigour and music of their words: not so Quinn. This, about the
overcrowded lodgings of Augustus's lover: "The whole world was here
in this house, filling it with wet and slippery tongues, their own
Emily and Augustus in a hotel lobby: "A standoff. In the middle of
the stone field that passes for a polished floor. Travellers and
traders all around them." Seldom is a word wasted in this book.
Throughout, too, dialogue is sharp with credibility and wit.
More unusual, though, is Quinn's ability to present ideas, dreams
and obsessions not as cerebral abstractions but as corollaries of
vivid, hallucinatory action. When Augustus imagines his own birth,
for instance, he doesn't just "picture" it, as so many contemporary
novelists might have him do; he actually re-enacts it with the aid
of some blankets, a clear plastic garbage bag, a vacuum hose and a
whole lot of petroleum jelly.
Reading The Double is like watching a David Lynch film: You're never
sure whether what is happening is actually happening, but then, what
does it matter? It's there, right before your widening eyes.
I read Quinn's novel twice -- not a habit with me. The first time, I
was puzzled, but intrigued. The second time, I doubled back, I
revised, I continued to puzzle, I enjoyed. By then, I was a
participant. The ultimate, most vital doubling, of course, is that
of author and reader. Each is an integral part of the dark,
dangerous joy ride of this book.
Melanie Little may or may not be the true author of the short story
collection Confidence.The Globe and
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