A Work Divided

My mother has been an avid reader all of her life, as have I. As you can imagine, our weekly phone calls are not the run-of-the-mill, catch-up-on-the-family type discussions. Usually, we are deeply immersed in literary debate; what we are reading, why we are enjoying a particular work (or why not), what the characters are like, etc. She also makes it a point to keep me updated on the goings-on of her Book Club sessions, often secretly sharing the sacred impressions and opinions of her peers. In return, knowing her literary tastes, I might make recommendations on new or established works, sometimes even sending her a copy of something I really enjoyed. In some strange and wonderful way, my mother and I have become intellectual confidantes, and I trust her implicitly with something that I value highly.

Recently I received a copy of Michael Ondaatje's latest work, Divisadero , and I called her with the news that I was going to have the good fortune of not only reading it, but reviewing it as well.

Imagine my surprise when she responded with, "He's a wonderful writer—very good with the crafting of words, but I've never really been satisfied with his stories; his vision is difficult to follow, the characters are under-developed and the books always feel so… unfinished ."

After inviting her to read and review the book on my behalf, I said goodbye and mused to myself, "Hmmm. What's this? My mother doesn't like Michael Ondaatje?"

Ondaatje's reputation as one of this country's greatest contemporary writers has been well earned through a strong body of work produced over the last 40 years. With over two-dozen works of prose and poetry to his name, he is a profound and skilled word-smith whose craftsmanship has often been overlooked in lieu of his popular success. When his brilliant 1992 novel, The English Patient , was adapted by Hollywood into an Academy Award winning film, it brought Ondaatje, perhaps unwillingly, into the public spotlight. Each new work has since been so greatly anticipated, that the author seems to have deliberately moved in other directions, even going so far as to publish a discourse on the art of editing film in 2002.

Thus it was with some sense of delight that I dove into this new book, knowing how I have enjoyed both the styling and the storylines of many of his other fictional works.

Divisadero first traces the lives of two sisters, Claire and Anna, along with another adopted brother, Coop, and their father on the family farm in the dry desert plains of California. When Coop and Anna are discovered exploring their emerging sexuality, the clan is torn apart, sending each sibling off in different directions.

The ensuing chapters follow the trio as they drift across the landscape, individually licking their wounds from afar. Each deals with the trauma of the split in unique ways; Coop throws himself into the high-stakes world of professional gambling; Claire sets up shop in the big city as a legal assistant, and Anna crosses the water to study the life and work of the French writer Lucien Saguna.

The idea works well for the first half of the novel, and Ondaatje's fluid prose lends itself well to both the inner and outer landscapes of a family divided.

The difficulties begin, however, when the telling itself divides, and Coop and Claire abruptly fall out of the picture before we've had the chance to really know them. The spotlight then shifts to Anna and her life in exile, and from that point forward the book goes frustratingly off in all directions. Sadly, the narrative never does recover its original footing.

The second half of the work recounts the life of Saguna; his life on the farm, his literary work, his family and his neigbours. The awkward introduction and dismissal of an assortment of characters from the French countryside not only leaves the tale confused, but takes away any momentum that might have developed with the fable of the French writer. Instead, like Coop, Claire and Anna, Sagura is never fully brought to light, lost in the murky shadows of sub-plots and secondary figures, thus severing any potential emotional connection to the unfolding drama. As well, the chronology is at times so puzzling that we are often left guessing when and where events are taking place. Even Ondaatje's attempts to tie up loose ends with short passages at the novel's end about the perils of lost fatherhood only serve to re-enforce the novel's already diluted storyline.

That being said, it is Ondaatje's own compositional style that saves Divisadero from being a total write-off. Though the minimalist approach might fail the plot, his masterful craftsmanship does succeed in setting a dark, disturbing undertone to the work. And while readers will struggle with the content, Ondaatje's wonderful way with words is warm and welcoming enough to find something here to treasure. Unfortunately, however, not even his strong settings of mood, lighting and backdrop can overcome the disappointment of an unsatisfying story, a vision that is difficult to follow, characters that are under-developed and a book that feels so… unfinished .