Scenes vibrant, characters false in ‘Reserve’
“The Reserve”
by Russell Banks (Harper, 304 pages, $24.95)
It’s hard to know what to make of “The Reserve,” Pulitzer-winner Russell Banks’ latest novel.
It’s ambitious enough: Art, mental illness, the Spanish Civil War, child abuse, and the crash of the Hindenburg all figure in it.
And much of the writing is quite good, especially the descriptions of flying: “From above, the mist obscured the pilot’s view of the black surface of the water. There was no wind. He cut his speed as close to a stall as he dared and brought the biplane in gently, like laying a newborn baby into its downy crib.”
When writing about landscape, houses, furniture, flying, Banks displays a vivid immediacy that puts you right in the middle of things. But the people who inhabit his meticulously rendered scenes seem far less real than their surroundings, and their story leaves much to be desired in the way of plausibility.
Central to it all is Jordan Groves, an artist who bears a certain resemblance to Rockwell Kent, who had a home in the Adirondacks, where the novel is set.
The Reserve of the title is a large chunk of that region carved out for the delectation of a select few of the very rich. Groves, though rich himself, is at odds with the Reserve’s members, since he is – in theory, at least – a champion of the common man.
Groves pays a visit to one of the lodges on the night of July 4, 1936 – landing his pontoon-fitted biplane on a nearby lake – to see some works by a fellow artist named James Heldon.
Which is how he meets Vanessa Cole, daughter of brain surgeon Carter Cole, owner of the lodge. Vanessa is 29, strikingly beautiful, already twice married, and often in the news thanks to her penchant for outrageous behavior.
Groves is married and has two sons, but it would be a dense reader indeed who doesn’t sense from the outset that he and Vanessa are going to connect intimately sooner or later.
Vanessa has, shall we say, issues with her parents – and they with her. But it comes as quite a surprise when we discover how she is dealing with them, providing strong evidence that her parents may have been right about their daughter’s mental stability.
Equally surprising is that Groves, when he learns what Vanessa has done, doesn’t immediately see it for what it is – passing strange. Neither does Hubert St. Germain, a guide who comes to Vanessa’s assistance (after having, unbeknownst to Groves, come to the aid of the artist’s wife as well).
St. Germain, a sort of Natty Bumppo trekking in the wrong novel, at least has the excuse of being a bit slow on the uptake. Unfortunately, Banks seems to be wagering that his readers will prove equally dim.