Reviewed by David Brizer
Zeke Borshellac
by James Damis
Sagging Meniscus Press
Nov 2024, 458 pp, Paperback, ISBN-13: 978-1963846041
The press release accompanying the preprint proof of this novel reads, “Set in s cracked skew of time that smacks of the 19th century but exists unto itself, a lost dark world that can be be suspenseful, dreamlike and demented. Zeke Borshellac is a…side-splitting comic masterpiece, a stylistic tour de force, and a deeply felt exploration of the relationship of individual aspiration to political action.”
It’s all true. The book is a lurid purple-prosed comic masterpiece. I have not had as much pleasure reading a deep dense novel like this since The Sot-Weed Factor, A Confederacy of Dunces, Tristam Shandy, Quixote, Auto-da-fé, Joy Williams.
The lietmotif of the book is wretched comic human excess. And ambition. And language! Borshellac begins his self-transformation as a stowaway on a fishing vessel, where he ineffectually disguises himself as a man-sized perch, lolling among the mountainous heaps of fresh-caught fish. We follow ZB’s Wanderjahre with wide-eyed fascination, horror and much mirth.
The descriptions of his stymied plight are reminiscent of the cold-cocked sea voyage of the doomed ship’s doctor in The Recognitions. It gets even better. Borshellac continues to rise above his station, joining a band of highway brigands who — get this — charm their victims with roadside theatrical productions before divesting them of cash and jewels.
Borshellac is Candide, plying his limbic and sometimes mishegguh wares in this, the best of all possible worlds. ZB is accompanied by a faithful dog, by a backstory that includes a maniac father given to midnight rides through the woods on horseback with baby Zeke on their faithful steed Catullus.
The word play, the names and place names in this book, are absolutely hilarious, stunning, straight out of Jonathan Swift or some dystopian Belgian film comedy. Zeke plays out his crazy ambitions — basically, to save the world by uniting railroad hobos across the land with farmers who might soon join their ranks — in The Grange. Zeke sings often and loudly, unself-consciously, belting out oraisons to future generations of amical farmers and grizzled boxcar riders. (Zeke’s songs, with titles like ‘Coal Car Carl Ain’t Dead Yet’, and ‘The Moon Looks Mean When Passing through Moline’ deservedly get their own appendix in this book.)
Yep, the farmers and the hoboes working together, bringing in the sheaves. There is a slight but definite tone of derision in Damis’ send-up of 19th century American farm patois. Also worth mentioning that Damis brings in the sheaves in his own way. Damis uses a peculiarly reader-friendly form of grammar, dropping articles and prepositions when necessary. It works. Listen up folks: literary fiction is not dead.
About the reviewer: David Allen Brizer is a NYC-based author and book critic. His articles and reviews have appeared in The New York Times, The New England Journal of Medicine, The American Journal of Psychiatry, Rain Taxi, others. His short stories have been published in AGNI, Exquisite Corpse, Word Riot, among others. Brizer’s non-fiction books include Quitting Smoking for Dummies, and Addiction & Recovery for Beginners. His second novel, The Secret Doctrine of V.H. Rand, will be published by Fomite in January 2024, a follow-up to his Victor Rand (2014.) At present he is working on a collection of short stories and a metafiction about literary surrealists.