The Willow Tree (Hardcover)

The reviewer from Kirkus quoted above breathlessly trashes the book, and snidely concludes that Selby is a one book author. This piece of invective deserves response. Even if Selby WERE a one-book-author (which I don't think he is), so what? My goodness! How many of us are gifted enough to write even one enduring book in our lifetimes? Very few. Yet the reviewer (whom I'm betting is probably a frustrated novelist turned English prof) trivializes such a contribution. How bizarre! It's tantamount to saying that had Tolstoy written only *War and Peace,* he's be a loser because "only" a one-book-author.

Liberate yourself from "professional" literary reviewers, as well as from the commodity ideal of literature, which has it that more is better. Read Selby and make up your own mind.

Confusion abounds, and what this book actually meant to do is not entirely clear. The Kirkus reviewer's supercilious attitude is uncalled for (one great book is more than you'll ever write, dude), but I can understand his frustration. This is the story of a thirteen-year-old black kid from the ghetto, whose girlfriend is killed by a bunch of Hispanic thugs, and who swears undying revenge. He is then found by a little old man who lives underground in a luxurious apartment, and very slowly cured of his hatred. That sounds like a sentimental fantasy, and it is one, but only to a degree. It's actually quite difficult to apply A Christmas Carol analogies, as the Kirkus reviewer does, to a book that features about ten profanities per page. In fact, Selby never altogether forsakes his ultra-realism - the scenes of poverty and desperation are evoked as powerfully as ever, the scenes where Bobby sneaks about the streets are rivetingly suspenseful, and Moishe's recollection of concentration camps is genuinely frightening. Bobby's mother only appears in a few scenes, but her all-pervasive despair is chillingly real, and the bit where Bobby sends her a letter at Moishe's behest is not only the most effective scene in the book, but one of Selby's most effective scenes ever.

But on the other hand, this is certainly no exercise in realism. Consider Moishe's luxurious apartment, which contains a workshop, an exercise room, a Jacuzzi, several fine beds, a refrigerator with a seemingly endless supply of ice cream (with chocolate sauce - Selby is determined that you clearly understand that THERE IS CHOCOLATE SAUCE in this refrigerator, and to that end repeats this fact about a thousand times), and so on. But that, actually, is not as hard to accept as the fact that Moishe apparently can produce all of this out of thin air. The book doesn't show that he has a job, or that he ever had one, and it's never explained whence he procures all the money that he doubtless spends. In addition to this, Moishe's method of raising Bobby seems to be to pamper him in luxury and ask nothing of him; the contrast between this and Bobby's old life is appropriately striking, but only until the reader starts to ask questions about what happens later. Does Moishe send Bobby to school? Does he teach him a trade? Does he even ask him to do anything? No, nowhere in the book.

And what of Bobby's revenge itself? Yes, it's for the sake of contrast that Selby had Bobby sneak out under cover of night to pursue his enemies right after the most peaceful scenes with Moishe, but this contrast is so severe as to be unconvincing. Could the thirteen-year-old kid that stared slackjawed at Moishe's tales of wartime terror, genuinely affected by them, then go out to corner some fool and proceed to cut off his ear, then return in his new clothes underground and brag about his "righteous" victory to the old man? Given all the problems with the premise that I already mentioned, it only seems completely bizarre, and not in the way it was intended to.

I suspect that Selby, after writing so many books filled with sheer hopelessness, decided to write one where the underdog finally wins one for a change. No wonder it took him so long - he clearly was unused to such a strange notion. The sick despair that filled Requiem for a Dream has been blunted to a sort of quiet sadness now, and it's actually somewhat moving to see the compassion that Selby always had for people in full light. But it's undeniable that The Willow Tree is not on the level of some of its predecessors - twenty years' gestation time notwithstanding, the book still seems muddled and unrealized. I'd welcome a kinder and gentler Selby, in theory, hoping that he'd straighten things out to himself by his next book, but from what I've read about Waiting Period, I fear that he might be losing it completely. Read The Willow Tree if you like being confused.