Customer Reviews

The Rebel Angels

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Robertson Davies is a Candian literary icon. His genius imbues all his writing - this most of all. With a wonderful narrative told from three characters perspectives, he weaves a story of the banality of academia (it reminded me of Umberto Eco's Foucault's Pendulum in this manner) along with characters that are both lovable and disgusting somehow.

Except for Maria. She is the beauty of the story, the woman who must endure the silly old academic men, but who herself needs to learn about who she is and to find her identity in the midst of insanity. Davies does not fully create a completely believeable female character in my opinion, but he comes close.

His humour is unmatched. Davies writes with a biting wit that cuts with razor sharpness. He uses an ironic narrative that will always not only make one laugh, but laugh thoughtfully. He makes us think of life and love. You can't help but be made to think.

This is one of Davies best, from one of the best writers Canada has ever produced.

Read and Enjoy!

It's rare for a novel to be both thoughtful and rather light and frivolously entertaining--"Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" comes to mind, and this book's got the same sort of attitude. At root it's a funny, erudite, gross and at times mean satire of academia as only an ex-academic could produce--the style is (I'm sure purposefully) reminiscent of Rabelais, who's mentioned herein so frequently. On the other hand, it's a charmingly not-too-serious meditation on the variety of paths to wisdom and ways of knowing. I was rather amused by the observation of one character that (I paraphrase) medieval thinking was a mix of muddled religion, folk belief and superstition, while modern thinking is a mix of muddled science, folk belief and superstition. Perhaps the best aspect of the book is the sheer wildness of its imagination, what with Gypsy instrument-stealers and all; it's not at all surprising that Davies was a theater ham as well (there's an indulgent nod to someone I presume is a real-life actor pal of his in here).

On the personal level, I think if I'd read this book at around age 18 it would've had enormous impact on me, both for the academic satire and for the gaining-wisdom thing; I would have taken both aspects far too seriously and probably have been obscurely burdened by the whole experience. Now it's just mostly good unclean fun.--J.Ruch

About a quarter of way into the reading, I was reminded of Canada's other famous funny man, Saul Bellow, especially Humboldt's Gift. As I delved deeper, I saw a definitive difference: Bellow was more exuberant, and Davies wiser, more a deadpan. Just an aside, not meant as a comparative analysis.

As I read, I was swept off the floor by Davies's erudition and insight. While I understood that the disciplines described in the book were his own field of academic study, and I should not feel too badly for myself if I didn't know much about Mediavel culture, Rabelais, and Gypsy lores, however, the way Mr. Davies pulled them together is nothing short of magic. Regardless of your knowledge and scholarship, to make medieval stuff fun and funny is no small talent. Even for those who do not share Davies's sense of humor will not come out empty-handed, as the tidbits of knowledge and myth can sure serve one well in cocktail conversations. This is the positive, treasure box side.

Now the complaint. Despite the acclaim that the novel is a ground-breaking depiction of the ivory tower of academic pursuit, Mr. Davies failed to give a true, or truly inspired account in this regard. The characters are, by and large, two-dimensional caricatures, and in the case of female protagonists (Maria/Mamusia), not even fully a one-dimensional line. While Mr. Davies was unquestionably talented in seeing and playing off Academic Man's eccentricities and neurocism, he was not as good in injecting him with the proper counter dose of humanity, to make him truly three dimensional. Simon Darcourt is the best of the ilk, but even he does not compare in vivacity and believability to similar characters (e.g. Humboldt of the aforementioned Bellow). I find the carricaturization a severe flaw.

However, an author who can give us characters (carricatured as they are) as unforgettable as John Parlabane deserves his kudos, to say nothing of the many cultural gems and masterful command of language to serve as a model of good writing.

The Rebel Angels immediately entered my personal canon of favorite works of literature. Could it be the perfect novel? It features astounding characters, well defined and memorable (especially the unforgettable John Parlabane, almost as singular a character as Liesl in Davies' Deptford Trilogy). It features a page turning plot. I was initially hoping for a literary mystery, along the lines of Eco, when the "lost manuscript" is introduced. The plot doesn't exactly lead that way, but creates its own twists and turns, both comic and tragic.

Davies' fine novel is an erudite display of knowledge, philosophy, emotion. There are no blacks and whites, nor even shades of grey. Each character is peppered alternately both black and white...each an incredibly real person encompassing friendship and selfishness, good and evil.

This is the kind of novel you feel better for having read. It impressed me on each page; a great work of literature as well as a very enjoyable read.

There is a sort of sub-genre of literature that might be called the Academic Black Comedy. Kingsly Amis' "Lucky Jim" certainly falls into this category, as do many of David Lodge's books- "Trading Places" and "Small World", to name two. Back in my high-stress grad school days I devoured these books. They portrayed academia as I saw it; that is, a strange, irrational world, not subject to the ordinary rules and mores of life.

It was during this time that a friend- a philosophy student widely regarded as the worst teaching assistant on campus- gave me a copy of "The Rebel Angels". I started reading it that night and carried it with me all the next day, and the day after, reading it when I should have been doing other things.

"The Rebels Angels" is part mystery, part bawdy medieval tale and part academic satire. There's a mysterious and beautiful gypsy woman, a missing manuscript of Rablais (that may or may not actual exist), a gang of gypsie violin theives, and a cast of venal and backstabbing academics- some fighting for the manuscript, some for the girl, and some for both, perhaps.

Wonderful entertainment- especially for anyone planning on going into academia. There's more truth in it than many academics would like to admit.

Rarely have I read a book that is so dead-on in its depiction of the petty concerns turned to obsession and often ingrown, self-righteous "worldly" provincialism that is higher academia. Robertson Davies has perfectly captured all the head spinning egotism and resulting humor (so ready for those not wrapped up in themselves or their work to discover) that is always lurking within its ivy-covered halls.

At its core, "The Rebel Angels" is the story of the trials and joys that a student assistant to a medieval literature instructor goes through as she works with "the great man." Most of these trials (and a couple of the joys) arrive in the form of John Parlabane. It is Parlabane's return that sets off the action of the plot. It is his departure that sets off its resolution.

"The Rebel Angels" is one of those rare books that has a plot so intricate, and characters so unique that I do not wish to spoil it with too much elaboration here. Instead, I'd rather sing the praises of Davies as an author.

Davies is, first and foremost, a master of the English language. His turns of phrase are wonderfully expressive. They always hit the mark perfectly. Rarely has such a wit walked the Earth. In my opinion Davies is the greatest example of the classical definition of a "wit" since the time of Pope and Dryden. His mastery of language and wit make "The Rebel Angels" a dangerously funny book. He had me laughing at some pretty awful things.

Yet, inspite of some of its more juvenile moments, "The Rebel Angels" also contemplates some of the deeper things. The whole book serves to challenge our very modern, very empirical worldviews. Is all knowledge exclusively progressive? It'd be mighty vain to think so. "The Rebel Angels" takes us to task for doing just that.

This is a great book. I give it my full recommendation.

Canada, being a small nation, hasn't produced that many first-rate literary minds, but among those she has Davies leads the pack. He was a Shakespearean actor, a playwright, a newspaper editor, a professor of English, a busy novelist, and head of a graduate college in Toronto, and it's the latter two semi-careers that figure most in this first volume of a satirical trilogy. (Davies did a number of trilogies.) There are three narrators who take turns leading the reader through events and we see each of them through the eyes of each of the others, which makes the whole story exist in multiple dimensions. Maria Theotoky is a Ph.D. candidate in medieval literature possessed of a formidable intellect and job-dropping beauty; she's also half Hungarian Gypsy and a very sympathetic character. She's in love (or thinks she is) with her mentor, Clement Hollier, a paleo-psychologist who attempts to understand why people in the past believed the things they did -- a fascinating approach to history. Hollier has a line on a lost manuscript of Francois Rabelais and his possible possession of it is making him a little crazy. And there's Simon Darcourt, an Anglican scholar-priest, inclined to stoutness, and an honest assistant warden of the college. Into this comfortably satisfying academic world comes John Parlabane, professional philosopher, failed monk, intellectual con-man, certifiable genius, and possibly a force for genuine evil. He has a knack for winkling money out of everyone he knows and of making others doubt their own abilities and beliefs. Among the other key characters are Urquhart McVarish, Renaissance scholar and thief, and Maria's mother, a Gypsy wise woman of the oldest type, a maker of exquisite violins, and a talented shoplifter. And then Francis Cornish, wealthy collector of art and books and manuscripts, dies and leaves most of his accumulation of rarities to the university. Hollier, Darcourt, and McVarish are to be his literary and artistic executors, assisting his nephew, Arthur, whose subject is money (at which he is very successful). As the three of them wade through this treasure trove they also must try to deal, each in his own way, with the vampirish Parlabane, who has acquired a hold on all of them, against their better judgment. And Maria must try to sort out her feelings for Hollier and Darcourt (both of whom are "rebel angels" of the gnostic apocrypha) while also fending off Parlabane's attempt to seduce her intellectually. And Hollier has to find that missing manuscript, which now has been pinched by one of his academic rivals for thoroughly unworthy motives (and he knows who it is). And Darcourt has to come to terms with his own developing feelings for Maria, which are raising questions in his mind about his own multiple avocations. If all this sounds complicated, that's because it is -- but Davies relates the story in a delightfully smooth prose with a knowing smile and raised eyebrows that will hold your attention completely. He's also a master of the extended dialogue, by which the members of the Senior Common Room several times paint a stimulating group portrait of life in a university and of the unending search for wisdom. And his own Rabelaisian wit will frequently leave you gasping. You will want to have the sequel, _What's Bred in the Bone,_ close to hand when you finish this one.

This is the first book of the Cornish series, and the worst of the three in most respects. The context of the story is set at an academic institution of higher learning, wherein all the vagaries of human personality are on display in the various faculty members and adminstrators. I suppose the purpose of this book, other than providing an entertaining story (which it definitely does) is to showcase some of the foibles associated with academics, and the politics that develop through the interactions of egos who consider themselves to be intellectually superior, but, once dissected, look much like anyone else. The setting of the book is a rather antiquated notion of a university, where professors live in their offices and shut themselves off from the real world. The strongest aspect of the book is the writing style, of which Davies is a master. On the flip-side the characters are rather one-dimensional (especially compared with the later two books), as the story focuses on merely one aspect of their personalities while losing sight of the entire essence of being. It's also not uproariously funny, as compared to other academic satires, such as Amis' Lucky Jim, Lodge's Small World, or Edwards' The Land-Grant, but still has a comic edge more of the black-humor variety. Still, negatives aside, the story is definitely entertaining and written in a high-minded style, with a strange ending that few will guess is coming.

Robertson Davies' The Rebel Angels is an engaging and energetic novel with a vigorous sense of humor. The novel reads quickly and never feels weighed down by ideas or seriousness. This is deceptive.

Davies give us a novel populated by Medieval and Renaissance scholars. Their intellectual landscape is thus not unnaturally populated by Paracelsus and Rabelais, two constant figures in the dialectic of the novel. Of the two, Rabelais seems the most significant. He is a figure frequently claimed by both sides of the numerous arguments in the novel. He provides a lens through which we see into the characters a bit more deeply than they might hope. Parlabane and McVarish make him a model of vulgarity and misogyny, or perhaps more accurately, misanthropy. To Hollier, he represents an object for his own academic ambition. For Maria and Darcourt--and Davies--he is a model of the best sort of scholar, as we hear from Maria:

Rabelais was gloriously learned because learning amused him, and so far as I am concerned that is learning's best justification. Not the only one, but the best.

It may be wrong to include Darcourt here--as a priest scholar, his greater reference is St. Augustine:

"Conloqui et conridere et vicissim benevole obsequi, simul leger libros dulciloquos, simul nugari et simul honestari."

In Maria's translation:

"Conversations and jokes together, mutual rendering of good services, the reading together of sweetly phrased books, the sharing of nonsense and mutual attentions."

This erudite amusement is a hallmark of everything I have yet read by Davies, and it is tempting to think that the best part of what Davies gives us in this novel is Davies, himself. Davies is more wise than a mere intellectual, and more alive than a modernist. He brings with him the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, and with these life fuller than which we are accustomed today.

What we get from Davies is not a hair shirted historicism, but a sense of wholeness for a consciousness which is fermented in the broadness of human experience. Maria says of Hollier that he studies the Middle Ages because they are truly middle--a vantage from which he can look backward to antiquity, and forward to our post-Renaissance present. This dynamic of looking backward and forward, contrasting each with the other, is at the very heart of The Rebel Angels, a book which makes attractive Paracelsus' "second paradise."

"The striving for wisdom is the second paradise of the world."

It has been a while since I read this so this review is long overdue and may be a bit vague but I am on holiday and I don't really care.

The Rebel Angels by Robertson Davies is the first in The Cornish Trilogy. Not, as I had assumed for the several years the books sat on my shelves, anything to do with Cornwall; the title instead relates to Francis Cornish, a rich philanthropist and art collector who conveniently dies at the beginning of the book, thus setting in motion the bleak, dark comedy that is to follow.

His collection is a rambling mess, piled up in a dusty apartment, and the job of sorting through it falls to three of his friends, all professors at The College of St John and the Holy Ghost. They will allocate the works to the various museums and galleries to which they have been donated and can, for their efforts, select one item each to keep themselves.

Which leads to a clandestine and competitive search for a lost Rabelais manuscript supposedly hidden somewhere within the piles.

This background story is embellished with the goings on at the college itself. One of the professors is coping with the aftermath of an illicit encounter on a sofa with a student. And by coping, I mean pretending it never happened. She, on the other hand, is in love with the old duffer and spending every hour she can helping him in his offices.

But then Brother Parlabane turns up. An ex-faculty member now a monk who has gone off the rails, he acts as the catalyst for all manner of goings on. His appearance gives the various story strands a kick up the arse and sends them off in a number of dramatic, comic, rather rude and tragic directions. He appears to be an eloquent yet bumbling eccentric but you sense a cruel heart beneath it all. He reminded me of Bunny in The Secret History, and The Rebel Angels certainly has the same sense of campus community, gossip, secrets, rivalry and slight other-worldliness of Donna Tartt's modern classic.

The book is also populated by a fine supporting cast of characters such as Cornish's nephew - a businessman with seemingly no interest in art at all - and a mad professor squirreled away in his laboratory studying the science of, well shall we say, poo.

The Rebel Angels is both intensely serious and delightfully silly at the same time. I opened the book with zero expectations as I really knew next to nothing about it and ended up sailing through it in a couple of days and relishing every opportunity I had to spend time with it. There are two more books in the trilogy and I will certainly read on. The second in the series, What's Bred in the Bone, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize which I am taking as a good sign.

I have also subsequently picked up some more books by Robertson Davies. He is one of the (few?) giants of Canadian literature and I suspect I will be reading a lot more of his work.