The Gargoyle [Audiobook, Unabridged] [Audio CD]

Andrew Davidson (Author), Lincoln Hoppe (Reader)

Book Description

Publication Date: August 5, 2008

An extraordinary debut novel of love that survives the fires of hell and transcends the boundaries of time

The narrator of The Gargoyle is a very contemporary cynic, physically beautiful and sexually adept, who dwells in the moral vacuum that is modern life. As the book opens, he is driving along a dark road when he is distracted by what seems to be a flight of arrows. He crashes into a ravine and suffers horrible burns over much of his body. As he recovers in a burn ward, undergoing the tortures of the damned, he awaits the day when he can leave the hospital and commit carefully planned suicide—for he is now a monster in appearance as well as in soul.

A beautiful and compelling, but clearly unhinged, sculptress of gargoyles by the name of Marianne Engel appears at the foot of his bed and insists that they were once lovers in medieval Germany. In her telling, he was a badly injured mercenary and she was a nun and scribe in the famed monastery of Engelthal who nursed him back to health. As she spins their tale in Scheherazade fashion and relates equally mesmerizing stories of deathless love in Japan, Iceland, Italy, and England, he finds himself drawn back to life—and, finally, in love. He is released into Marianne's care and takes up residence in her huge stone house. But all is not well. For one thing, the pull of his past sins becomes ever more powerful as the morphine he is prescribed becomes ever more addictive. For another, Marianne receives word from God that she has only twenty-seven sculptures left to complete—and her time on earth will be finished.

Already an international literary sensation, the Gargoyle is an Inferno for our time. It will have you believing in the impossible.

Editorial Reviews

Amazon.com Review

Product Description
An extraordinary debut novel of love that survives the fires of hell and transcends the boundaries of time.

The narrator of The Gargoyle is a very contemporary cynic, physically beautiful and sexually adept, who dwells in the moral vacuum that is modern life. As the book opens, he is driving along a dark road when he is distracted by what seems to be a flight of arrows. He crashes into a ravine and suffers horrible burns over much of his body. As he recovers in a burn ward, undergoing the tortures of the damned, he awaits the day when he can leave the hospital and commit carefully planned suicide—for he is now a monster in appearance as well as in soul.

A beautiful and compelling, but clearly unhinged, sculptress of gargoyles by the name of Marianne Engel appears at the foot of his bed and insists that they were once lovers in medieval Germany. In her telling, he was a badly injured mercenary and she was a nun and scribe in the famed monastery of Engelthal who nursed him back to health. As she spins their tale in Scheherazade fashion and relates equally mesmerizing stories of deathless love in Japan, Iceland, Italy, and England, he finds himself drawn back to life—and, finally, in love. He is released into Marianne's care and takes up residence in her huge stone house. But all is not well. For one thing, the pull of his past sins becomes ever more powerful as the morphine he is prescribed becomes ever more addictive. For another, Marianne receives word from God that she has only twenty-seven sculptures left to complete—and her time on earth will be finished.

Already an international literary sensation, The Gargoyle is an Inferno for our time. It will have you believing in the impossible.

Andrew Davidson Talks About Becoming a Writer
Some of what follows is true.

When I was about seven, I had a turtle named Stripe. I decided, because I liked my turtle and Jacques Cousteau, that I wanted to be a marine biologist. This ambition lasted until I was ten years old, when I spent a year gazing into the abyss, hoping that the abyss would not gaze back at me. At eleven, I longed for a master to teach me the secrets of the ninja, but the teacher did not appear; this probably means that as a student I was not ready. As I entered my teens, I set my heart upon becoming a professional hockey player. On weekend nights, the final game at the local arena ended around 10 p.m. but the icemaker was unable to leave the building until about midnight, as he had to clean the dressing rooms and do maintenance. I bribed him with presents of Aqua Velva aftershave to let me play alone on the rink until he headed home. Despite my devotion, I never developed the skills to make it off the small-town rink and into the big leagues. My dream shattered, at sixteen I started to spend more time writing. I began by changing the lyrics to Doors songs. I rewrote "Break On Through" so that it became "Live to Die": "Soldier in the forest / dodging bullets thick / only took one / to make him cry / All of us just live to die." Clearly, writing was my future.

I soon realized that, since I still had no authorial voice of my own, I should at least imitate better poets than Jim Morrison. Soon I was word-raping Leonard Cohen, e.e. cummings, Sylvia Plath, William Blake, and John Milton. After writing much abusively derivative poetry, I moved onto stage plays written in a mockery of the style of Tennessee Williams, which also didn’t work out so well. Next, I tried to put baby in a corner, until it was explained to me that nobody puts baby in a corner. Following this, I produced short stories that would have been much better if they were much shorter. Then, screenplays that even Alan Smithee wouldn’t direct.

Somewhere along the way, I managed to get a degree in English Literature; this was strange, as I thought I was studying cardiology. Undaunted, off to Vancouver Film School I went, but naturally not to study film. Instead, I took the new media course, because there was this thing called the internet that was just taking off. I also spent a fair amount of time using digital editing software for video and audio. An example project: I slowed down the final movement to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, looped it backwards, put in a heavy drumbeat, and end up with a funeral dirge. "Ode to Joy"? I think not. "Ode to Bleakness" is more like it; I was very deep, and showed it by destroying joy.

After this course finished, I had tens of thousands of dollars of student debt, and could no longer avoid getting a job. I soon discovered, in no uncertain terms, that work is no fun. I stuck it out for as long as I could, which was way less than a lifetime. As my thirtieth birthday approached, I became incredibly aware that I had never lived abroad, so I moved to Japan.

I had no idea if I would like Japan, but I vowed to stick it out for a year. I did, and then another year, and another, and another, and another. In the beginning, I worked as a kind of substitute teacher of English, covering stints in classrooms that needed a temporary instructor. I lived in fifteen different cities during my first two years, traveling from the northern island of Hokkaido all the way down to the southern island of Okinawa. It was a great introduction to the country, but eventually the constant relocation became too much. I got a job in a Tokyo office, writing English lessons for Japanese learners on the internet. I lived in the big city for three years, and loved it: hooray for sushi, hooray for sumo, and hooray for cartoon mascots.

While in Japan, I entertained myself by writing and, having already mangled poetry, short stories, stage plays and screenplays, I thought it was time to give a novel a shot. A strange thing happened: I found that I don’t write like other people when it comes to novels—or at least, none of which I know. It’s true that I’ve read comparisons of my novel to a number of other books—The Name of the Rose, The English Patient, The Shadow of the Wind—but I haven’t read any of them. (To my great shame, really, and I suppose I should. Since they are my supposed influences, I should become familiar with them. I’ll appear more intelligent in interviews.)

I liked writing The Gargoyle, and I think I’ll write another novel. If I can, I’ll make up new characters and a new plot. That’s my plan.

--This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Publishers Weekly

Starred Review. The debut from Winnipeg writer Davidson is a sweeping tale of undying love between a burn victim and a sculptress of gargoyles who claims the pair have been lovers throughout ancient times. Brought to life in a spirited yet intensely personal reading by Lincoln Hoppe, the story resonates well beyond the first listen. Hoppe reads with tremendous passion and intensity, never going over the top, but always drawing his audience into the tale with a raw performance. Through suffering, pain, hatred and love, Hoppe captures the very essence of this enthralling tale and allows listeners to journey along wherever the tale goes. A Doubleday hardcover (Reviews, June 16). (Sept.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

See all Editorial Reviews

Product Details

• Audio CD
• Publisher: Random House Audio; Unabridged edition (August 5, 2008)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0739328956
• ISBN-13: 978-0739328958
• Product Dimensions: 6 x 5.1 x 1.7 inches
• Shipping Weight: 13.6 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 4.2 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (352 customer reviews)
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #573,476 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

More About the Author

Andrew Davidson was born in Manitoba, and graduated in 1995 with a BA in English Literature from the University of British Columbia. He has worked as a teacher of English in Japan, where he has lived on and off, and as a writer of English lessons for Japanese websites. The Gargoyle is his first book. He lives in Manitoba, Canada.

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

218 of 251 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Grotesque and lovely, July 24, 2008

By 

Ashley Megan "amazonfox" (Vernon, CT United States) - See all my reviews
(VINE VOICE)   

This review is from: The Gargoyle (Hardcover)

(What's this?)

Read this book. Read it. Just shut up and read it, already. Are you reading it? Why not? I told you to read it!

"But it's yucky!" you complain. "The narrator gets all burned and gross, and he's mean, and what's up with the crazy lady?"

All right, yes, I will grant you, the first few chapters are incredibly difficult to get through, particularly if you have a delicate stomach. The unnamed narrator does, indeed, get in a horrific car crash where he is terribly, almost fatally, burnt. What follows is a stomach-turningly graphic depiction of what goes on in a burn ward. Stephen King would probably turn green at some of these scenes. You will be tempted to set "The Gargoyle" down and walk away. But I'm begging you to come back. Your suffering will be rewarded.

This is what Marianne claims, as she enters the narrator's life in the gown of a psychiatric patient at the hospital. She is jealous of his pain, as she believes that it means God has not forgotten him. Marianne is 700 years old, born in the year 1300 and raised in a convent. She is overjoyed when she meets the scarred narrator, as she believes that he is her long-dead lover returned to her. She then must set about convincing him of her story: of how the two fell in love all those years ago and how they were separated, about her divine mission to set her hearts free by carving huge gargoyles out of stone, and about the redemptive powers of love, suffering, and sacrifice.

So much happens in this book I don't even know how to start describing it. Marianne takes the narrator in and begins telling him stories. Interspersed with the tale of her own past are four other short love stories, set in eras and locations as varied as feudal Japan, medieval Italy, Victorian England, and Viking Iceland. These stories weave in and out of the main one, forming tentative connections and complementing its themes. Literary classics are alluded to as well, most notably Dante's Inferno. People suffer and die (or not), they sacrifice everything they have for love, they create powerful art and watch it destroyed, they journey to the underworld, and they approach God. And through it all are the two lynchpins of this book, love and pain, forever entwined, each intensifying the other, unwanted and unlooked for but present in every page.

This is quite simply one of the most powerful, intense, gripping, and captivating books I have read in a long time. Maybe it's too intense for some readers; I can tell already from the reviews that many are put off by this love story between the disfigured misanthrope and the schizophrenic artist. But if you have the strength to shoulder the burdens Andrew Davidson places on the reader, I promise, your suffering will be rewarded.

73 of 82 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Exquisite. Poignant. Beautiful., August 11, 2008

By 

Harkius "harkius" (Laramie, WY) - See all my reviews
(VINE VOICE)   

This review is from: The Gargoyle (Hardcover)

(What's this?)

As ever, the plot is adequately summarized in other reviews, so I will not go in detail here. Instead, I will tell you why you should read this novel.

I can understand why many people didn't like this book. I personally loved it, but that is not the point, yet. Many people will not like the details that the author describes about burn recovery and/or will be displeased with the other physical descriptions.

One reviewer goes so far as to mention the eponymous character a "male fantaasy". Which is amusing to no end, if you have read this novel. The male lead is not a fantasy for most men. It would simply be awful. It is clear in his description that he loathes his life, even before his accident.

One of the refreshing things about the book is that the narrator never asks for forgiveness from the reader. He doesn't ask for understanding. He is unrelentingly self-interested for the beginning of the book and then interested only in Marianne Engel for the remainder. This, to me, was beautiful. It was a description of the healing moment for a soul in agony. The narrator, whose name we never learn, spends the beginning of his life hating himself and those around him. He doesn't feel anything, ever. It's only after he has lost everything that he valued and is stripped of the empty shell of his life that he begins to gain an understanding of beauty and compassion.

His growth is charming, including his involvement in the relationship of other characters. The author has done a wonderful job of creating two individuals, tied to one another: The Narrator and Marianne Engel. The remainder of the characters do indeed lack detail, with few exceptions (and the ones that are present are awkward enough to seem a heavy-handed redaction at the behest of an editor - thankfully, they are brief). The point is never that these people are supposed to be detailed. The point is that they are vignettes, stories of a love in another time and in another place.

The backstory of Marianne Engel and the Narrator are also beautiful and tragic. Both stories interweave in the fashion of an experienced storyteller. Normally I find the maintenance of stories in two timelines to be quite tedious. The efforts to reintegrate them is always awkward and predictable. In this case, however, Marianne Engel is a constant. And she is not merely telling a story of a different time and place. She is reminding her love who he is.

One final comment. The portrayal of the characters in this novel is what gives it its beauty. Some reviewers have mentioned that there is little conflict in the present story (although there is plenty in the vignettes and in the backstory). This is untrue. There is conflict between the Narrator and himself. In reality, there are really only two characters in this tale, and even Marianne Engel is secondary. The character that is of interest has no name - he is our narrator. The detailing of Marianne Engel is quite accurate for a person with a mental disorder (or a person who has lived 700 years on a divine mission), the detailing of the dog, the nurses, and the other characters is also spot on, the point is the main character. The point is that he has learned to love. The point is that he has learned to accept his heart, and to release it.

Within the last forty pages lie the most beautiful description of love that I have ever read. Also here is the most exquisite description of faith that I have ever experienced.

It is a tale of love. And of loss. And it should be read by anyone who has ever loved or ever lost. Or both. Rent it, buy it, steal it. Just read it. Then pass it to someone you love.

A

Harkius

26 of 27 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars The crucible, August 10, 2008

By 

BrianB (Northern California) - See all my reviews
(VINE VOICE)    (TOP 1000 REVIEWER)   

This review is from: The Gargoyle (Hardcover)

This is an amazing book. Rarely you come across a novel that opens up a whole new world. Davidson has earned my eternal gratitude. The writing is beautiful, the characters realistic, and the story kept me riveted. I began to care about the characters very quickly, and then I had to know what would happen to them. I love that in a novel.

One of the subplots concerns the lives and mystical writings of an obscure group of medieval Dominican nuns. That hardly seems like a spellbinding topic, but by page thirty I was searching the internet to find all I could about them. Davidson makes them come alive. The historical elements are accurate, as are some of the historical characters. There was no embellishing of the past here.

There is a gruesome crash at the beginning of the book, and a realistic medical description of burn treatments that may be too graphic for some readers. The main character begins as a very unlikeable character, and there is some description of his career as a pornographer. Nevertheless, the narrative does not descend into prurience.

The power of love suffuses this work, even though hate has its day. The protagonist must learn much about the cleansing power of penance. As he hears someone say to him in a dream, the world is nothing but a crucible. This is an amazing book.