I ought to have suspected Seth’s flare for poetry after reading his epic 1400+ page novel A Suitable Boy, in which one family has a penchant for rhyming couplet witticisms and poetic banter. Even the table of contents is presented as a poem, a trope that found its usage at least 7 years earlier with The Golden Gate. Even the front matter of the text sparks joy.
From there, the novel is told in a series of Onegin sonnets in lilting tetrameter that allows the chapters to be sung aloud, if one so wishes. It doesn’t quite have the same effect as the rhyming couplet iambic pentameter we may have come to expect from Shakespeare or Pope, but Seth smartly includes a poem justifying his love of the form that makes it hard to resist. My initial concern was that the novel would be so sing-songy that it would be hard to take seriously, but if you follow the lead of Seth’s punctuation, the book gives you the option to avoid the rhythm altogether and read the poems as more straightforward prose.
When I think about how unfathomable it would be to write a novel in verse, my immediate follow-up questions are: what guides the story? How much of the story is planned? How much of the story spontaneously arises from following the rhyme? How many rhymes are planned in advance? Are certain names or words chosen for their rhymability? I just imagine an ever-shifting puzzle that is nothing if not an admirable feat (or feet, if you like poetry puns).
The novel takes place in the 1980s and has several intersecting storylines, which I think works really well. We start with John, a priggish single man whose alternative sculptor and drummer friend Janet attempts to help him with his love life via personal ads in a newspaper. From there, Seth introduces a range of characters with their own entanglements—John and Liz form a relationship strained by a vindictive cat and disagreements over military weapon development (John works for the manufacturing plant); divorcee Paul finds himself with Ed, who struggles with religious guilt over homosexuality; Janet becomes somewhat embittered and her sculpting career gets awful critical reviews. The various intersections between them reach a satisfying conclusion, however bittersweet.
The broad strokes of the story are clearly established and Seth lingers on some small moments, which gives the book the feeling of a classic epic alongside John Milton or even Homer (though my examples are not close at hand.) As a result, some seemingly insignificant moments (like a cat peeing on a pillow) are given multiple sonnets to breathe while the capital-B Big moments are glossed over. In turn, the story takes some unexpected turns, often for the better. Knowing the milieu of San Francisco in the 80s, for example, I fully expected the bi men to succumb to AIDS—thankfully Seth avoids such paths.
There are so many risks for writing a novel in verse. With fewer words, either the plot or the characters run the risk of not being fully fleshed out, but Seth is economical enough for the characters to have distinct personalities. Let’s take a look, for instance at the introduction of Janet:
She is a sculptor. Stress and pleasure
For her thus perfectly combined,
The boundaries of toil and leisure
By definition ill-defined,
Her worktime doubles as her playtime,
But hand and eye deployed in daytime
Yield, when night comes, to ear and hand.
She is the drummer in a band
Well known and feared throughout the city:
The striking sounds of Liquid Sheep
Rouse distant suburbs from their sleep
Unlinked alike to tune or ditty,
Their music is a throttled yelp–
Morse crossed with a pig's squeal for help.
Although such accents supersonic
Engage her in the fevered night,
Janet considers it ironic
That her true forte, try as she might,
Her quiet forms of bronze and iron
[...] have not yet brought
The sober critical attention
She craves. The critics' common nose
Sniffs magisterially at her shows.
And as for divine intervention—
In Schiller's phrase, the very gods
Strive fruitlessly against such clods. (1.12-1.13)
Seth blends the objective facts and the more nuanced character traits beautifully. The opening sentence is direct and clear: “she is a sculptor”. The poems then expound on her disposition: “stress and pleasure / for her thus perfectly combined” points to a dichotomy in her craft, but also her personality. The blurred boundary between work and life captures her essence quite effectively, and further emerges in the introduction of her band—fun and artistic but also paying the bills. There’s also a clear identification of her goals and motivations, striving for critical attention.
The other characters are similarly developed with Seth’s efficient craft. We catch John, for example, in a sort of quarter-life crisis:
Need John's life be so bug-infested?
He wasn't always so alone.
Entrepreneurial, double-breasted,
He's changed from what his friends have known.
Work, and the syndrome of possessions
Leave little time for life's digressions
At college, walking down the hall,
You'd meet your friends. But now it's all
Too complicated. . . . Scattered, sifted,
From New York City to L.A.,
They write, “We must meet up some day…”;
Yet even those who haven't drifted
–Like Phil, or Jan—too far from John,
He's chary to encroach upon (2.13)
Despite the bouncy rhythm of the poem, John’s situation is still able to retain its seriousness and encapsulates a common experience succinctly: John feels alone and unable to retain his connections.
While it doesn’t generally hinder the serious moments, the bouncy singsong can serve to elevate the humorous moments. There’s a sweet sincerity in John’s initial behaviours—his reluctance to personal ads, his rejection letters to interested women, and so on.
Selection made, John now dispatches
Three crisp and courtly notes, and waits
Unhurriedly. The act detaches
His heart from gloom, leaves to the Fates
What lies within their proper region.
To each of the residual legion
He sends in a plain envelope
The photocopied lines: I hope
You will excuse this xeroxed letter.
I do not think that you and I
Are matched, but thanks for your reply
To my ad, and I wish you better
Luck for the future. John. He signs,
But adds no surname to the lines. (2.18)
There’s a levity in the style that makes this gesture all the more humorous to me. In those initial chapters, I felt compelled towards the characters. Seth has a knack for making characters endearing, especially upon their first introduction. There’s a generosity of spirit that comes through in his characters. What’s surprising is how in this novel the loving reaction I had for the characters initially grows to fade—I suppose like the characters’ loves of one another throughout the story. John initially seems awkward, harmless, and sympathetic. As time goes on, though, he becomes more judgmental, stubborn, and obstinate (not to mention homophobic), so my support for him really wanes and I find alliance with other characters.,
Another element that’s hard not to admire is Seth’s learnèd, however cheeky, stance. Early in the novel, John goes on a series of dates to the theatre and offers some clever poetic criticism: “They see Macbeth / Where John's bored to an inch of death / By her insistent exegesis: / Appearance and reality themes / And the significance of dreams / And darkness, and the singular thesis / That the Third Murderer is in fact / The central figure of each act” (2.19). It shows some clear angles for examining Macbeth and poses its own controversy on the controversy of a third murderer appearing out of nowhere. In one poem, he draws from Coleridge with the reference to a pleasure dome (“Kubla Khan”). Then he ‘kicks it old school’ with a Sir Thomas Wyatt reference. Incidentally, “Whoso list to hunt” has one of the most memorable lines of poetry that lingers in my brain since I first heard it: “in a net I seek to hold the wind”. Seth adds his own playfulness to the allusion at a classic music concert: “While the frenetic foursome tussle, / The embattled adults strive to keep / A zone of refuge in the bustle: / Charlemagne's curled up, half asleep. / On the piano, where Phil's sitting, / And Liz hums tunelessly while knitting. / Thus the young yahoos coexist / With whoso list to list to Liszt” (13.32). I adore that triple usage of the sound ‘list’. It’s also kind of clever that as the novel reaches its present day at the end, there seems to be an increased number of references to classical music and poetry. The past and present coincide, which is especially interesting since John is dwelling on the past months after the main events of the story.
Seth’s affinity for the classics of poetry really shines in his more descriptive and explicitly poetic stanzas. He gets existential and grapples with love and death and meaning like the best. Here’s an example that knocked me out: “What, after all, is earth's creation? / A virus in the morgue of space. / What's Mozart but a weird vibration / Congenial to a brain-sick race / Rabid with virulence. Why bother / If things like these should maul each other / And, dying, yelp that they have won? / If clouds of dust occlude their sun / From them, it still shines undiminished / In its small galaxy. No change / Of note is likely when this strange / Irradiated beast has finished / Vomiting filth upon its bed / Of inhumanity, and is dead” (7.3). The craft and depth in those lines is spot on. “A virus in the morgue of space” is just a stunning metaphor and the language of disease that turns this poem into an extended metaphor recalls the so-called metaphysical poets like John Donne that T.S. Eliot so famously derided. But I find this sonnet irresistibly alluring, especially since it’s thematically connected to the threat of nuclear war that looms over the characters. The darkness of the poem is gutting, even more impressively so for its metrical commitment.
But I don’t want to fall into that classic trap—since Aristotle, so many have—of elevating tragedy above comedy as being the source of truth and aesthetic pleasure. I’ll include two stanzas that appear in the wake of a character having children; I find incisively amusing in both form and content. [note: Renaissance sonnets often drew on metaphors of reproduction and progeny, aligning poetry with offspring, so these poems are even cheekier!]. Without further ado, some reflections about babies:
Why all this madness over babies?
—And how come even Mrs. Weiss,
Who spurned Liz as if she had rabies,
Agrees abruptly to be nice;
What's more, consents to come and visit!
Is it their helplessness? What is it?
These idiots with insistent ids
Who yowl when their unbridled bids
For love or milk go unregarded
For seven seconds—or who bawl
For no substantial cause at all—
Why are these egotists bombarded
With kisses, hugs, and smiles to spare?
Others, I think, deserve a share. (13.46)
How ugly babies are! How heedless
Of all else than their bulging selves—
Like sumo wrestlers, plush with needless
Kneadable flesh—like mutant elves,
Plump and vindictively nocturnal,
With lungs determined and infernal
(A pity that the blubbering blobs
Come unequipped with volume knobs),
And so intrinsically conservative,
A change of breast will make them squall
With no restraint or qualm at all.
Some think them cuddly, cute, and curvative.
Keep them, I say. Good luck to you;
No doubt you used to be one too. (13.47)
Really, I should just bold the phrases in here that make me laugh, but there are too many good lines. It’s a bold move to refer to babies, so universally belovèd, as “idiots with insistent ids,” and “vindictively nocturnal” is a glorious turn of phrase. It’s a nice touch to end these cynically humorous / humorously cynical anti-baby poems on the reminder that we, too, were once babies.
There’s a similar wittiness in Seth’s poems, often appearing in the final couplets of his sonnets. In one, John demonstrates some astute reflection: “Relieved of the unspoken duty / Of cleverness and coolness now / John brings himself to speak, somehow / Of truth, ambition, status, beauty, / The hopes (or dupes) for which we strive, / The ghosts that keep the world alive” (2.47). I love that last couplet and their double inversions. Hopes and dupes are placed on the same footing in their ambiguity. Similarly, the idea of ghosts (the dead) keeping the world alive is a beautiful turn. Essentially, we’re left with a double-double couplet that has an optimistic tone, despite it all.
To sum up this review so far: 1) the style is ambitious yet accessible, 2) the characters are well-established and, by-and-large, endearing, 3) the broad strokes of the plot intersect nicely and 4) there’s a pithiness to the poems that is entertaining and insightful.
As a final note, I think The Golden Gate should be praised for its conscience. As silly as some things get (one woman takes a cat in a stroller to an anti-nuclear weapon protest), there is some clear social commentary undergirding the novel. For instance, the bi characters are represented with sincerity and tenderness and the religious argument against them is thoughtfully critiqued. In the vein of Leonard Choen and Hannah Arendt, Seth includes reflections on the banality of evil as it pertains to the weapons manufacturers:
Write an equation, have a beer,
Hail colleagues with a cheerful greeting.
Are conscientious, sane, sincere,
Rational, able, and fastidious.
Through hardened casings no invidious
Tapeworm of doubt, no guilt, no qualm
Pierces to sabotage their calm.
When something's technically attractive,
You follow the conception through,
That's all. What if you leave a slew
Of living dead, of radioactive
"Collateral damage" in its wake?
It's just a job, for heaven's sake. (7.7)
Particularly in the second of the sonnets, I hear echoes of Leonard Cohen’s poem about Eichmann. Their list of qualities (conscientious, sane, sincere) takes on a sinister quality when you realize the destruction in their hands and the facility with which they complete their work; their tremendous power is distilled in writing an equation.
Incidentally, I’m reading The Technological Society by Jaques Ellul and there’s a phrase in that text about technology that runs something lie the following: because it was possible, it became necessary. Otherwise put, “When something’s technically attractive, / You follow the conception through, / That’s all.” There’s an insistence on following the technology, whether the ethics are developed yet or not. Even though the novel is rooted in more human, interpersonal issues, the backdrop of a technological society is an engaging catalyst for conflict that allows for some ethical reflection.
Overall, Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate is a fun, joyful read that offers insightful quips in a delightful rhythm. While there were elements I would have liked to see more of (like a culmination of the disarmament movement), there was plenty here to feel attached to. The book has a few faults, but each of them is overshadowed by the ambitiousness of its form. To tell a story in a lilting rhyme is hard, and to tell a good story this way is even more incredible.
Happy reading, friends!
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