Worthy of our steel A Contrary review by Frances Badgett  There is a moment somewhere in the middle of J. Robert Lennon’s The Castle when—as protagonist Eric Loesch is lost and disoriented— I suddenly felt myself in familiar territory. I realized, as Eric stumbles through the underbrush, hunted by his former mentor, that I was suddenly reading a reimagining of Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game.” I remember when my teacher assigned “The Most Dangerous Game” in middle school, how my father delighted in our mutual hatred for the story. He pointed out its moments of overwriting and desperate pretension, the “venerable Chablis” from the dusty bottle, Ivan the silent Cossack, and the melodramatic dialogue “This is really an inspiration. I drink to a foeman worthy of my steel—at last.” As an antidote, my father pressed into my hands F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Winter Dreams,” which had its intended effect: I began reading serious fiction. Despite the silliness of “The Most Dangerous Game,” there was a wisdom in teaching such a breezily simple adventure story, entertaining the restless television-raised children of Lylburn Downing Middle School with that emotional prose and gotcha story line. There’s a great deal of writing today by Michael Chabon, David Eggers, and others that champions the act of reading for pure entertainment, that not only tolerates but celebrates the intended purpose of adventure stories, pulp, classic comics, acknowledging the artistic impulse behind them as one would any creative work. In removing the barriers between lofty literature and entertaining yarns, Chabon, in particular, finds a seriousness within graphic novels, Sherlock Holmes, and the adventure tales of his youth. He also allows for a lack of seriousness to stand as well. The premise seems to be that if we are generous in our approach to genre, and let it out of its cage, then we’ll find more satisfaction in fiction. The question for me is whether or not literary authors will write novels that incorporate those well-worn archetypes, lending them a sense of nostalgia, a nod to the comfort and familiarity of genre, but ultimately creating something fresh, new, and compelling. J. Robert Lennon’s The Castle answers to that question. Lennon transforms the hunt-or-hunted adventure tale into a jarring, disturbing novel about the legacy of abuse, how children observe the painful and mysterious world of adults, the mystery of recovered memories, and the lasting effects of trauma. It would be wrong to read The Castle as straight literary fiction. It is partly an adventure story, and partly a zeitgeist-driven literary novel. Eric Loesch is at once simple and unknowable, a kind of typical ex-military man with clipped speech and abrupt manners. Lennon places the reader squarely inside Eric’s brain, letting us move with him through his anxiety, fear, and climactic struggle. Yet The Castle is not a novel in which the reader knows too much, setting the author and reader at a distance from the protagonist. By putting the reader inside Eric’s experience, Lennon avoids a kind of smirking irony that would ruin the tone of the book. The reader learns about Eric as Eric is learning about himself, piece-by-piece. Lennon effectively describes Eric’s uneasy interactions with people in his hometown. He has returned after many years away. His distrust, outbursts of anger, and verbal attacks on the locals are at times both humorous and a little terrifying. His explosion at a non-responsive homeless man at the public library is particularly well-crafted and chilling. The adventure at the center of the novel threatens to overshadow the complexity of Eric’s strange psychological journey. But Lennon carefully weaves the two threads together, creating a singular purpose in both the manhunt and Eric’s hunt for his memories, his past, and the answers to his unresolved questions. Because of the novel’s fabelistic quality, the reader can forgive some of Lennon’s indulgences: the heavy symbolism of the white deer that Eric’s nemesis pierces with an arrow; the locomotive that helps Eric remember his first encounter with Dr. Stiles; the castle itself. The coincidences and conveniently forgotten and recovered memories that would weaken most novels succeed in The Castle. I wouldn’t trade the memory of cackling with my father over the excesses of “The Most Dangerous Game,” but neither would I dismiss the kids who read it wide-eyed. The beauty of writing is that both experiences—serious and entertaining—coexist. The Castle beautifully marries the intellectual rigor, political complexity, and narrative leisure of literary novels with the heart-pounding profluence of good pulp. No shame in that. Frances Badgett is Contrary’s fiction editor. Index of Reviews...>Reviews.htmlshapeimage_1_link_0

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The Castle

J. Robert Lennon

2009, Graywolf

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SUMMER 2009 COVER YELLOW FINCHES JIM KROSSCHELL THE FACTORY: AN ELEGY IN 6 PARTS REBECCA LEHMANN CROW YEAR PAUL SILVERMAN DAY OF THE DEAD ARLENE ANG THE MYTH OF SISYPHUS EDWARD MC WHINNEY BABY IN A JAR TANIA HERSHMANN REVIEWS JOHN PIPKIN J. ROBERT LENNON MARY STRACHAN STEPHEN HAVEN C.E. CHAFFIN PAULA MEEHAN DAG SOLSTAD D.A. POWELL Summer-2009.htmlFinches.htmlFinches.htmlFactory.htmlFactory.htmlCrow_Year.htmlCrow_Year.htmlDead.htmlDead.htmlSisyphus.htmlSisyphus.htmlBaby.htmlBaby.htmlReviews.htmlPipkin.htmlStrachan.htmlHaven.htmlChaffin.htmlMeehan.htmlSolstad.htmlPowell.htmlshapeimage_5_link_0shapeimage_5_link_1shapeimage_5_link_2shapeimage_5_link_3shapeimage_5_link_4shapeimage_5_link_5shapeimage_5_link_6shapeimage_5_link_7shapeimage_5_link_8shapeimage_5_link_9shapeimage_5_link_10shapeimage_5_link_11shapeimage_5_link_12shapeimage_5_link_13shapeimage_5_link_14shapeimage_5_link_15shapeimage_5_link_16shapeimage_5_link_17shapeimage_5_link_18shapeimage_5_link_19shapeimage_5_link_20shapeimage_5_link_21