Mordecai Richler who died in 2001, was one of Canada’s most celebrated writers, a novelist, an essayist, and social critic who took home the Giller Prize and twice won the Governor General’s Award. He was known for his sharp irreverent wit, his controversial criticisms and his uncomfortable questions, always wrapped in his own unique comedic sensibility. This is one of his later novels, the fictional, semi-autobiographical story of Joshua Shapiro, a celebrity sports writer and TV personality, now middle aged, who takes a sentimental look back on his life. Richler avoids a stream of narrative events, choosing instead to structure the novel as a series of vignettes from Joshua’s life that skip and jump over time, going backwards and forwards at a dizzying pace. In truth, although more difficult to follow, it reflects the way most people look back at their lives.
Readers first meet Joshua as he lays in bed in a hospital room, his leg in a cast, his ribs broken, thinking about his life, wondering where his wife Pauline is and brooding about a current sex scandal that has just hit the papers. There are no answers to what has happened to him, where his wife is or what the sex scandal is all about. Instead, Joshua heralds back to his unusual childhood growing up in the Jewish community on St Urbain Street in Montreal during the thirties and forties. His father Reuben (aka Ruby) was a small-town boxer, who also worked for Sonny Calucci and his people. Reuben had a prison record and was sometimes on the lam when the authorities came too close. He loved his son dearly, taught him what he understood about religion, what he knew about sex and shared his perspective on life in quiet moments while the two sat drinking Labatt’s beer. His mother Esther was a free spirit, born in Outremont from an affluent cultured family, who married into a family of thugs, choosing a struggling boxer for her husband. Esther was entirely unlike the mothers of Joshua’s friends. She was beautiful, had a full figure and often practiced her sex strip routines at home with the blinds closed and the lights dimmed. She had no interest in who Joshua hung out with, how he did in school or whether he became a lawyer or a doctor. Instead, she taught him his wide-ranging knowledge of sports records. When her husband was away, she entertained lovers and at various times in her life was a porn star, a massage parlor operator and in her final years when her body failed her, she joined the women’s movement.
Given his erratic home life, Joshua’s experience growing up was filled with brawls with the neighborhood boys, shoplifting, stealing cars and a period in reform school. But he always dreamed of becoming a writer and disappointed he had missed the Spanish Civil War, traveled to Europe when he was just nineteen. He spent time in Spain, Paris and London sampling European life, more interested in being a writer than actually writing. But it was during that time his fledgling career working freelance and writing sports stories and columns for magazines, began to take off. It was also during that time that he and his friend novelists Sidney Murdoch created a scheme to make money by forging letters about their bogus homosexual affair, to sell to a university as part of a literary archive. It was a crazy scheme that landed him in hot water later in life.
During a brief stop in London, he met Pauline Hornby at a ban the bomb demonstration. He fell head over heels for her and proposed, despite the fact she was already married. They proved to be an interesting couple, Joshua, the son of an exotic dancer and a small-town hood from the Jewish tenements of Montreal, who had a high school education and whose summer vacation consisted of a few visits to Belmont Park and she, the daughter of a Canadian senator from the upper streets of Westmount, who attended private schools and McGill and summered with the wealthy community at Lake Memphremagog. Pauline came from the kind of life Joshua had spent so much time criticizing, that of a privileged white Anglo Quebecer. And she wasn’t Jewish. But he was completed besotted with her.
After a decade away from Canada and with Joshua’s writing career continuing to flourish, the couple decided to return home to Quebec. But things took a drastic turn when Pauline reunited with her childhood friends at the lake, Jane Trimble, her husband Jack. And then her brother Kevin, the black sheep of the family, the handsome charming boy with lots of pipe dreams but few skills, returned home after a long absence in Bermuda.
Joshua’s reminiscences go back and forth in time, shifting without warning, often confusingly. If there is any continuing thread among the many set pieces he describes, it is that of Pauline, Jane and Kevin and the chaos Kevin created when he returned home, destined for tragedy.
Some of these set pieces are hilarious, some less so and not as interesting. Everyone who reads them will experience Richler’s cutting criticisms, his nasty mischief and his take on Quebec politics. He describes Joshua’s alcohol fueled reunions with his high school buddies who formed the William Lyon Mackenzie King Memorial Society; the barbs he throws at the entitled smug upper classes; the mean revenge he takes on childhood friends who had crossed him or who he felt had been too successful in life and flaunted it, and shares his caustic criticisms of both Jews and Gentiles.
Among the set pieces are several standouts, including his mother’s strip tease performed at his bar mitzvah party and his father’s lessons on sex, his take on the bible, the Jewish religion and Jewish history. And there is also the tizzy the Anglo Quebecers were thrown into in November of 1976, when the Parti Qubecois came to power, surprising themselves and everyone else. Real estate values plummeted, safety deposit boxes were emptied and moving vans were everywhere as corporations packed up and began their steady move across the border to Toronto. For those who experienced that time and those place in Quebec, Richler provides a wonderful montage of memories, of streets (Belvedere, Upper Lansdowne and Summit Circle in Westmount), places (The Lookout a prime place for necking overlooking the sparking lights of the city) restaurants (The Beaver Club, Café Martin, Ruby Foos and the Troika) sports teams (the Habs with Rocket Richard and the Expos) bars (The Maritime Bar at the Ritz Carleton, Rockheads and Toe Blake’s Tavern) and stores (Holt Renfrew and Ogilvy’s). Quebec has its own favor and tones, its own sacrosanct locales and celebrities. They are probably not as meaningful to those in other parts of Canada, but those who lived in that time and in those places will experience a walk down memory lane.
Some criticize Richler for writing the same thing over and over, just giving his novels different titles. He repeats his deprecating style, consistently aimed at the same targets, but his writing must be acknowledged for its bite, its humour and it irreverent take on all things Quebec. He produces a flippant, funny narrative and shows himself to be a devious, nasty and vindictive man.
In a process not unlike that many middle-aged readers have taken, Joshua Shapiro in the midst of a mid-life slump, looks back on his life and tries to put, what appears to be a life in shambles, into some sort of perspective. It is a fun read, wistful and raucous, as Joshua traces his journey from his past to his present, traveling from his inauspicious beginnings in Montreal’s Jewish ghetto to become a successful journalist.