A Quarterly of Criticism and Review i^^^^^^^^fcEjfc $15

Books in ReviewIn "The Side of the Elements," the narratorand his wife are leaving the city for ayear and so must rent their house; his storybegins, as ours would, with an attempt tofind tenants who will take proper care ofthat house. But from the very beginning wesee that the narrator has other, philosophicinterests—and the use of all his everydayencounters is really to explore these, to seeand talk his way into deeper and deeperpuzzles. The house—as Hollingshead andthousands of writers before him haveplayed it—is an archetype for the life wehave constructed, under threat from theelements without; its job is to represent us,to stand for us, and to keep death away.When tenants invade, and behave unpredictably,our personal construction (as wellas our property) is at risk. Meanwhile, thestory's everyday nightmare comes true:loud parties abound, tenants change,cheques bounce.The remarkable thing that Hollingsheaddoes with this material is to have his narratorweigh in on the side of the elements andof the tenants. When he returns, he goes tothe funeral of Frank, his tenant—sufferingthat stranger's death as if it were his own,and for a time thereafter "fighting on theside of the rains and the wind and thehowling night. . . . [Making] big pushes fordisaster. For Frank. For disappointment, souseful to sustain proper amazement thatorder should ever prevail." This split consciousness,the inability to shut out theother, is a signature element in Hollingshead'sfiction. And the image of the house,in this first story of the collection, sets thestage for much that is to come.The second story, for example, "ThePeople of the Sudan," is also quite explicitlyan invasion-of-the-house story. This timethe invader is huge parcel—containing"relief" for the people of the Sudan—towhich the narrator and her husband havegiven house room, pending its collection byunknown friends of friends. And the boxsits: a presence, a memento of the world'spain and our insensitivity. Again, the narratoris imposed upon by others, quiteabsurdly; and again, Hollingshead swingsaway from that enclosed, suburban readingof the situation to another that is generousand open-hearted.The house figures again in "The Death ofBrule," when "suddenly one entire wall ofthe doghouse lifted off," exposing a youngboy's sexual "depravity," as "there with theimmediacy of God's was my mother's face."Again and again, against the illusion ofsuburban solidity, the notes of vulnerabilityand exposure and also of the yearning forsome expansion are sounded. "RoseCottage," "The Roaring Girl, "A Night atthe Palace," "The Appraisal," and "TheNaked Man" are other stories that developthe house motif in interesting ways. In theclosing story, "Walking on the Moon"—whose very title suggests the strangeness ofwhere we REALLY walk—the protagonisttakes "a tour of the roof," looking down athis neighbourhood from a new perspective.I read this as Hollingshead's final look atthe terrain he has been exploring in thiscollection. Again, we find the split consciousness—"Sameworld, differentworld"—and an astronaut's "hunger ... forthe love and respect of my fellow creatures."There is also a gesture at the foolishness of"insulation," and a recognition that for thevery old woman next door, "a new roof hadnot been worth it to her for a long time."The story ends with the protagonist patchinghis roof, as the quotidian requires, butalso with his hearing a distant "backbeat,""the sound of flowers bursting from thesurface of your body." In that closing imagewe see both the antidote and the sequel tothe house, ecstasy and death—the romanticmerger.This is in some ways a dark book, with aroar of pain at its heart. It is also very rich.I've pursued the house image because I wasparticularly struck by it, and because it is142