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A literary device is just that --- a device, a tool, a foundation, a way to lay ground for the story. It can be anything from diary entry to Faulknerian stream-of-consciousness. There are many choices, and most of them have been done before. To be sure, Joseph Heller was not the first author to weave many separate vignettes into one overarching story; he was just the funniest. By that same token, Michael Cunningham didn't invent the three different women, three separate stories, one startling conclusion approach; he merely perfected it. So while the literary hook may be old hat, the resulting story still can be invigorating. There's the rub, because here's what a plot device can't do. It can't excite a dull subject, it can't breathe life into cookie-cutter characters, and it can't make you want to read to the end of a 600-page book. That's the general problem with Sarah Harrison's THE GRASS MEMORIAL, in which she hoes the same literary road as Heller and Cunningham before her.
Problem is, this is not a bad book. That, at least, would be fun to tear apart. Harrison's prose can be limpid, but it's almost always lucid, if quite slow moving. No, it's not a bad book, just a fairly boring one. Harrison accomplishes in 600 pages what could have been said in half, and without the philosophy or humor that should be required from a work this size. These characters have been seen before. There's the loose, boozy rocker who, it turns out, has a heart. The little brother always jealous of big bro' until a horrific accident…and did we mention that the younger is, of course, in love with the elder's wife? The third figure in the three-way drama is blandest of all, a former soldier who found unexpected love abroad, then came home to marry and wonder and even pine.
The three-person tapestry Harrison weaves moves languidly throughout their lives. They all begin at different points but reach a convergence of sorts in the end that ties the sections together. But as our characters bobble through the book, it is difficult to become emotionally involved. Stella, the singer, shows little depth in her social character, and her prickliness would make a cactus cry. Although her story emerges as the most interesting of the three as she and a married man embark on an unexpectedly passionate affair, it's difficult to say whether you're rooting for Stella to win or lose. As for the other two main characters, 19th century captain Harry and 20th century writer Spencer, their exploits can be intriguing for a page or two, but inevitably, Harrison slips back into stereotypes.
There are themes that run through each pastiche, with metaphors to tie the whole shebang together. Horses, for instance, can be symbols of both good (the one that surprises Spencer as a lad and leads him to meet a mysterious writer) and bad (Harry's brother dies on horseback). They stand for the unexpected. Life and death are also strong themes in the book, with each character dealing with at least one of each, sometimes even at the same time. The book climaxes with a melding together of these central images --- a horse gives birth. No kidding.
Actually, the book grows more interesting by the end. That's the literary device at work --- connecting the dots until all the characters become linked. Here it is Spencer's quest that takes the shine, as he hunts down a bit more history than the other two. Surprising revelations are kept in check, which makes it all the more believable; Harrison got that right. The simple ending closes out a simple book needlessly made complex by too many pages and too little action. Better characterization and less reliance on stock traits could give this novel a terrific boost. Until then, better to explore using a different device.
--- Reviewed by Toni Fitzgerald (tonifitz@yahoo.com)
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