The Comforters, by Muriel Spark
Dame Muriel Spark must have been somewhat mad, as in bonkers. What is the reason behind my accusation? Well, the only other author I know of who understood the insanity of modern life as well as she did is Philip K. Dick. Old Phil was rather odd, and much has been written about his own sanity, or lack thereof. Therefor, if it takes one to know one, both Phil and Muriel must have been one, or, at least, highly sympathetic and empathetic to the maladies of the mad and insane. Dick and Spark also both had mid-to-late life religious experiences that greatly influenced their writing. Two strange peas in an odd pod.
The Comforters, her first novel, is brimming with characters suffering from some kind of madness. And like Dick's characters, each of Spark's characters lives in their own reality tunnel. While they share a similar space with one another, none of them really knows what kind of trip the other is on. But can't this be said for all of us? The idea of entirely subjective reality is one that is endlessly fascinating to me, and Spark employs an uncanny ability to explore this concept utilizing traditional narration, experimental literary devices and meta-textual layering.
It has often been said that it is a fruitless effort to describe the plot of a Spark novel, and I completely agree. The Comforters deals with diamond smuggling, black magic, Catholicism, a writer who hears a disembodied voice narrating her own life, a woman who disappears when she is alone because she doesn't have a private life of her own, infidelity, blackmail, and the intrusive meddling of the hopelessly disconnected and tragically idle.
If I had to register a complaint against this novel, it would be that Miss Spark, through her starry-eyed ambition, probably bit off a bit more than she could chew; not much, mind you, but just a bit. That this was her first novel is something extraordinary in deed, for I can't imagine too many other authors writing this well and tackling this much at the very peaks of their careers, let alone in their first attempts. In this novel, Spark set the foundation upon which she would build her entire career, and even though it is a bit messy in places, it is still an entirely admirable and glorious mess that shines with creative energy and masterclass prose.
As I talk to more and more constant readers I am more and more saddened by how little Muriel Spark is read these days. She was an absolute phenomenon, possessing an enormous amount of talent. I am so pleased to have discovered her, and I can't wait to read more.
