Charles Portis, Masters of Atlantis
Mar. 8th, 2011 11:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randy_byers'The adjective that springs to mind most readily, though, is droll. A peculiar quality, and not a particularly Southern one -- closer in spirit to the eccentric English sense of quirkiness, the slightly offbeat as the normal state of life.'
-- Brian Burks, review of The Masters of Atlantis
I finally finished this 1985 novel by Charles Portis, who is also the author of True Grit. This is a much different book than True Grit, although it shares the eccentricity of the characters. Masters of Atlantis is about the founding of an esoteric society based on a text called the Codex Pappus that is alleged to have come from ancient Atlantis by way of Hermes Trismegistus but which is clearly a fraud. This is clear to the reader, that is, but not to any of the characters who populate the novel. All of them are buffoons of some type or another, but Portis is sympathetic with his buffoons, and the types are various. Lamar Jimmerson is quiet, contemplative (in an obtuse way), and withdrawn; Sydney Hen is egocentric, hedonistic, and overwrought; Austin Popper is brash, effusive, and charismatic; Cezar Golescu is arrogant, sophisticated, and anal. These characters, and many more, bounce off each other, interact, separate, reconcile, or don't.
To the extent that there is a story, it is of the rise and fall of the Order of the Gnomons, which is the esoteric cult that Jimmerson and Hen create based on the Codex Pappus. Many aspects of the story, however, are digressions from this, and to a large extent this is a character study and pisstake on esoteric knowledge. The Rosicrucians and Theosophists are rival groups, and there's much talk about James Churchward's books about Mu. Much of the humor stems from the droll disconnection of these characters from consensus reality. The reader can see again and again how the characters misconstrue reality, and yet there's something lovable about the misconstruals, partly because they are so human, so normal. One of the great set-pieces is a senatorial hearing in Texas where buffoonish, self-serving state senators try to pin down a fast talking Austin Popper. Both sides are bullshitters who believe their own bullshit.
While there's a fair amount of intellectual slapstick here, Portis is also a wonderful observer of material detail. The novel is practically gritty in its sense of place, whether describing the marble floors and brass doors of the Gnomon Temple at the zenith of its power or the cramped double-wide trailer of the Gnomon Temple at its nadir. It is a pleasure to meander through these locales with a cast of oddball characters and their absurd endeavors, even if the pleasures aren't quite as sharp or urgent as those of True Grit.
I think I'll take Portis' last novel (so far) with me to Mexico on the family trip at the end of the month. It's called Gringos.
-- Brian Burks, review of The Masters of Atlantis
I finally finished this 1985 novel by Charles Portis, who is also the author of True Grit. This is a much different book than True Grit, although it shares the eccentricity of the characters. Masters of Atlantis is about the founding of an esoteric society based on a text called the Codex Pappus that is alleged to have come from ancient Atlantis by way of Hermes Trismegistus but which is clearly a fraud. This is clear to the reader, that is, but not to any of the characters who populate the novel. All of them are buffoons of some type or another, but Portis is sympathetic with his buffoons, and the types are various. Lamar Jimmerson is quiet, contemplative (in an obtuse way), and withdrawn; Sydney Hen is egocentric, hedonistic, and overwrought; Austin Popper is brash, effusive, and charismatic; Cezar Golescu is arrogant, sophisticated, and anal. These characters, and many more, bounce off each other, interact, separate, reconcile, or don't.
To the extent that there is a story, it is of the rise and fall of the Order of the Gnomons, which is the esoteric cult that Jimmerson and Hen create based on the Codex Pappus. Many aspects of the story, however, are digressions from this, and to a large extent this is a character study and pisstake on esoteric knowledge. The Rosicrucians and Theosophists are rival groups, and there's much talk about James Churchward's books about Mu. Much of the humor stems from the droll disconnection of these characters from consensus reality. The reader can see again and again how the characters misconstrue reality, and yet there's something lovable about the misconstruals, partly because they are so human, so normal. One of the great set-pieces is a senatorial hearing in Texas where buffoonish, self-serving state senators try to pin down a fast talking Austin Popper. Both sides are bullshitters who believe their own bullshit.
While there's a fair amount of intellectual slapstick here, Portis is also a wonderful observer of material detail. The novel is practically gritty in its sense of place, whether describing the marble floors and brass doors of the Gnomon Temple at the zenith of its power or the cramped double-wide trailer of the Gnomon Temple at its nadir. It is a pleasure to meander through these locales with a cast of oddball characters and their absurd endeavors, even if the pleasures aren't quite as sharp or urgent as those of True Grit.
I think I'll take Portis' last novel (so far) with me to Mexico on the family trip at the end of the month. It's called Gringos.
