"What could happen between the professionally calm and the long-term
dead?" Behind this incantation from the recent prize-winning Scottish
novel So I Am Glad, one can almost hear the chuckle of its mad-scientist
author, A.L. Kennedy. Her story--a romance set in contemporary
Glasgow--is at once inopportune and darkly funny. Its overall success depends
upon the reader's willingness to humor a bizarre plot device: Savinien de
Cyrano de Bergerac--the seventeenth-century philosopher, not the
familiar large-nosed character from the play--wakes up one day in a house
shared by three Scottish gen Xers. There he falls in love with Jennifer: a
radio announcer, S&M aficionada, and "calm person" for whom language is
as empty of emotion as she is. (Unlike most people, who have "whole
hordes of feelings, all barrelling round inside them like tireless moles,"
Jennifer confesses she has "a certain moley something missing.") Like
the non sequiturs that punctuate their dialogue in the early chapters,
Kennedy's two lovers initially seem like unrelated concepts; she
connects them through the language of courtship, until, as Savinien tells
Jennifer, their "lives [are] speaking directly, having set us aside."
Kennedy encodes her characters' neuroses directly into her prose, which
is one of the most entertaining aspects of So I Am Glad. For example,
Jennifer's description of sex--"like a mad traffic policeman tangoing
through ink, like a killer whale fighting to open an envelope. [I]t
really makes no sense to me"--makes her bewilderment, and the reader's,
literal in overdetermined, nonsensical similes. Unfortunately, as Jennifer
and Savinien become more intimate, Kennedy's verbal fireworks dissipate,
fading out almost entirely by the end of the book. In spite of their
intriguing quirks, the two main characters, when combined, produce a
fizzle: safe, but somehow disappointing when one had been prepared for a
small explosion.