Customer Reviews

The Night Inspector (Ballantine Reader's Circle)

5 star:		(21)
4 star:		(1)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(7)

 

 

I fully expected to enjoy this gritty suspense set in the same gilded age NYC of E.L. Doctrow's The Waterworks. For whatever reason though, I found it rather tedious and affected at times. The story follows a former Union army sharpshooter, who must always wear a mask to conceal his wartime disfigurement. This is presumably a metaphor for the city itself--as Busch manages to put tidbits of its historical sordidness, such as child prostitutes, on display for the reader. There are a lot of flashbacks, telling the background of this man, and of his wartime exploits, where he is used as any other tool. These struck me as much better written and interesting than the bulk of the book, which revolves around the man's attempt to liberate some child slaves with the aid of Herman Melville and various other cultivated allies. The characterizations are quite good, as is the period detail, but the story itself never quite gelled for me.

The only other Frederick Busch book I own is "Girls" and I can't recommend it highly enough. That's why "The Night Inspector" gauls me so much and has prompted me to write. This book is a HUGE letdown, a clumsy read, and about as engaging as a trip to the dentist's office. Before anyone writes "Well, you should compare apples to apples" or anything when comparing "Girls" with this book, there are quite a few similarities between this book and "Girls." (A haunted narrator with a violent past trying to save the innocents of the world.)

Yes, Busch's descriptions of exploding heads are quite clever but not jaw-dropping, not tension-packed, nor anything much except, well, dull. I did not care one smidge for the narrator not on his terms, my terms or Busch's terms. I thought the mask was silly (yes, sure, people wear masks) but this is a mask worn by a character in a book, OK? It's heavy-handed, it's old, it's clunky, it's a Big Fat Overdone Symbol like a dove or a rainbow. (You know, check me if I'm wrong, but he's saying that people wear metaphorical masks, right? Whoa, man, heavy....) On the heels of reading "Girls" this story felt programmatic, calculating and a rehash of his previous book in several ways only without the wife, the dog, the wonderful nature descriptions and the slowly building sense of doom. He's taken away those wonderful, subtle things and plugged in a Civil War hero (to catch that post-"Cold Mountain" craze) and a Brush With A Celebrity (in this case Herman Melville to tie into the celebrity fiction craze--see "I Was Amelia Earhart" and "Underworld" and "Dewey vs. Truman" and "The Hours" to name but a few.)

I got really sick of this book early on what with the fact that there's only a cursory attempt at a plot (maybe I didn't tease the plot out enough) but more so during one moment when Melville and the narrator are talking about books and Melville, speaking for the author of course, dismisses the popularity of the memoir--a trend popular then and now and forever more it seems. I took this as an authorial swipe at a very valid art form, albeit an overdone one sure, but for Busch to criticize (through Melville, of course) the authors and/or publishers wanting to produce books that tap into a craze is puzzling. After all, isn't he tapping into popular forms as well, the historical fiction craze, the civil war craze, and giving us, basically, a retread of his last book in the process, only dressed up in this year's finest colors? People do horrible things in the name of capitalism as this book points out with a leaden thunk, but what of it? There are worse things to do something for than money. Yes, of course, there are better reasons too, but money and capitalism are here to stay. Anyway, I wish I had my money back for the purchase of this book. It's an ice-pack of a book that chills and drizzles and puts you right to sleep.

Frederick Busch has given us a heady mixture of emotion, narrative and history in The Night Inspector. This is a powerful novel, a gripping tale of a hero who is damaged emotionally as well as physically. William Bartholomew is a civil war sniper whom fate has punished with a hideous face wound, forever hidden behind a papier-mache mask. The title character of the book is the then for gotten author, Herman Melville- Bartholomew's new friend- who lives a twilight existence as a customs inspector. Melville and the Phantom-like wander a bleak Victorian New York City, drinking heavily and visiting sights of depravity in the old city. Interspersed with the narrative, the masked protagonist's mind keeps wandering back to his days in the war, and the grisly but efficient assassinations he made on behalf of the Union side with his Sharps rifle, prior to his disfigurement. This is a fascinating adventure, written by an excellent storteller. Atmospheric, moody,violent, and sometimes bawdy, this is a novel well worth a few night's reading.

Billy Bartholomew served as a sniper in the Union Army during the Civil War. He survived a minnie ball to the face, but after the war, has trouble dealing with his disfigurement and the memories of his work as a sniper. He tries to isolate himself in a slum neighborhood in Manhattan but his humanity gets the best of him. He helps his poor neighbors. He befriends an alcoholic Herman Melville whose writing has been ignored. He plots to rescue a group of black children from slave dealers. He even falls in love. Busch's writing is exquisite (if only the English language were spoken in America today as it is spoken in this book...!). His complex characters have a mystery about them which is enticing. He presents a fascinating picture of New York and America embarking on a new era. A great work of fiction!!

As a reader whose favorite work is Moby-Dick and whose favorite author is Melville, I get nervous and prone to defensiveness whenever Melville is re-imagined. But this novel is a delight for the Melville fan and scholar. Other reviews have talked about the plot and milieu, but few have talked about the pleasures for the Melvillean. Starting with a joke about a "pasteboard mask" on page two, the references to Melville and his works are frequent and well handled, both the humorous and serious ones. Busch also deserves credit for taking on the "silent" Melville rather than the perhaps easier or more eye-catching Melville of the Whale or Confidence Man periods. It's a work of imagination, obviously, but one that rings true to my sense of the tortured, rejected, but earnest Melville. I like the book on several levels, but the interest for the Melvillean is a highlight. A quick read will not reveal this book's delights. Like Melville's works, it needs to be read with care, both in the sense of "carefully" and "caring."

If you read the Kirkus review above then you already know what "The Night Inspector" is "about."It is a brilliantly written book about a time in the life of a deadly sniper in the Army of the North, Herman Melville, and a writer called Sam Mordecai.I am no book reviewer. I am a reader. As a reader I search constantly for books containing this magnificient writing.What's it about? It's "about" the nature of Man. It's "about" the benevolence or brutality of Luck.It's "about" finding parts of ourself in the mix of characters.If we can be honest.The book costs about as much as a cheeseburger, french fries and a Pepsi BUT will nourish you for a long time.

Frederick Busch or his publisher should have had enough sense to stop the presses and put this mess through a major re-write. Choosing the flaws to catalogue in the product that did hit the shelves can be a time-consuming task.

First, the plot is thread-bare at best and verges on outright cartoonish at its climax. Busch can't even get his details straight, putting his main character in the Old Brewery nearly 15 years after it was demolished. This wouldn't be a damning fault in and of itself. There are plenty of first-rate novels that eschew good, tight plotting for other aspects: characterization, narrative, etc.

The problem is that Busch can't seem to dredge up any sustained interest in these other qualities. The novel's hero doesn't elicit sympathy, understanding, compassion or even much interest from the reader. William Bartholomew should have been an almost Satanic (in Miltonian terms) brooding presence -- a living symbol of how war scars the soul. Instead, we get an Elephant Man who's pretty handy with firearms.

We're supposed to see the world through Billy's mask (this is a convention of Melville's fiction), yet he doesn't seem to understand much of this world. Billy is supposed to be a mercantile genius, yet cannot judge character soundly enough to recognize that the mulatto whore he loves is using him. He never seems capable of understanding what lies in the hearts of the men who befriend him.

Poor Herman Melville's reputation undergoes a severe thrashing at Busch's hands, dissolving into a drunk who addresses everyone as "shipmate." Why Busch did not take the obvious final step and grace Melville with a peg leg and a parrot wired to his shoulder is one of the novel's central mysteries.

The most infuriating flaw in this novel is that Busch has a very pronounced genius for dialogue, both external and internal. Yet, he insists on chopping those dialogues into indecipherable bits via constant jumps in time and perspective.

I was very disappointed in "The Night Inspector" because there are flashes of genuine profundity and lyric beauty salted throughout the novel. But there's also too much authorial excess to make it truly worth anyone's while to read this book.

Pray that Frederick Busch tries another novel in this genre, this time on a shorter editorial leash. Under such constraints, he might actually produce the masterpiece that slips through his fingers here.

Busch's manuscript in this book is perhaps his finest piece of work. The story is all about murder, slave trade, insensitivity, selfishness and greed. The manner in which these things are told, conveyed, if you will, with a tenderness and affection that is unexpected and charmingly loving, is truly entrancing to the reader.

Busch's protagonist has suffered more than most Civil War veterans. He was a special sniper. He was a very good sniper in a special unit. He was on a mission when he was hit in the face with a bullet. His face was destroyed; he would wear a mask for the rest of his life.

Slowly Busch talks of love and death. He discusses his characters feelings about them. He also brings in a most unexpected character; one almost all Amercans know. Mr. Herman Melville, Asst. Deputy, Customs Inspector. It was his job to stop smuggling and to help people in need.

Melville was an Asst. Deputy Customs Inspector in NYC in real life. He had spent most of his working career doing just that. This condition was such, because all his novels, except "Moby Dick" were commercial failures. In this case, Busch chooses to use "The Confidence Man: His Masquerade" as a metaphor. In that book, Meville seems to be saying, `We all are seeking confidence, either we are seeking self-confidence; the confidence of others; or we are preying on other people's confidence.'

The book is very much about good versus evil and life and death. But they are dealt with in a well conceived framework created through incredibly deep sensitivity. This is a must read book.

The narrator and main character of "The Night Inspector" is Mr. Bartholomew, a former sniper for the Union army during the civil war. He now has no face --- at least not one he wishes to reveal to the public--- and he wears a mask (or prosthetic face) to hide his disfigurement. In the early scenes of the novel, Bartholomew befriends a once well-received literary figure who is now employed in the titled position. This is none other than Herman Melville, who it is noted in the novel, lost his good literary reputation during his lifetime for the very work which continues to immortalize him --- Moby Dick.

Those of you who are familiar with Busch, most particularly his 1997 "Girls", will recognize that he is reworking many of his previous themes, as many authors tend to do. Busch again deals with a narrator with a past which he blames himself for, and seeks redemption for, and for which he (similarly) finds little. We've got the recurring theme of parental loss of a child, which Busch has dealt with several times.

As in Girls, we've got a narrator who we as readers will find that we have uncomfortably mixed emotions about. Bartholomew is a character who we would like to like (love, even), yet the fact that his past haunts him...haunts us. The book switches between post-civil war New York and Bartholomew's own experiences as a calculating, cold-blooded sniper. The war scenes are the strongest in the novel, while the post-war scenes sometimes seem to have loose ends.

Overall, this book is, like "Girls," exquisitely written, soulful, and resonates (with this reader at least) long after the last page has been turned. Busch's characterization and dialogue is some of the best I've read. His books have perhaps never reached the status they deserve because in many ways they are too like life --- they are difficult at times and don't have easy solutions. They require some work on the part of the reader.

It seemed to me, in the end, probably because I loved "Girls" so much, that "The Night Inspector" deserves a second read, not because I loved it so much, but because I'm not sure why I didn't love it enough.

There is something about the language in this book which caused me to enjoy it greatly. There doesn't appear to be much of a plot at the beginning, but once the action takes hold of you, there is a sense of unrelenting suspense that keeps your attention until the conclusion. The author wears his research lightly, but I felt that I was actually viewing events and characters from 1867 New York. Even the minor characters have depth to them, which is often unusual. This is also a very literary work, but one which rewards the reader with excellent writing, a quality that is all too often lacking in the vast majority of what pass for "best sellers" these days.