Ghost Quartet

"Like a character in a novel by Knut Hamson or Hermann Hesse, who specialized in fiction about young artists paralyzed by doubt, failure and convoluted self-analysis, Ray Stoneson [the protagonist] proceeds on a path toward a meager enlightenment that can only come through major self-destruction. He is incapable of doing the right thing, yet he is consumed by guilt and remorse and the sort of deadly accurate hindsight that does no good in the present...when Burgin examines in terrifying and relentless detail the incapacitating effects of utter malaise and bad faith, he conjures a spirit not unlike that of Satre's novel Nausea, the 20th century's greatest expression of mental and emotional inaction, compromise and disgust."Burgin writes direct, unpretentious prose that often uses guilelessness and incidental awkwardness as a resonant device for honesty and insight. Ray's obfuscations and misconceived desires--after breaking Joy's heart a second time, for example, he still believes that they can reconcile--are no match for the plain-dealing narrative with which Burgin treats his character's dilemmas and delusions. After he and Joy have broken apart the second time, Ray thinks, in one of his rare candid, rather than self-pitying, moments, "The point was to live, to experience a bit of the world with someone you could be yourself with." That's a large order for someone who has no self, a fact that Burgin reveals with fearsome intensity."

Copyright 2000 San Francisco ChronicleRichard Burgin's three previous books of fiction were collections of short stories. Notable for their elegance and psychological insight, Burgin's best stories concern lonely people yearning to connect with others but stranded by their own swollen streams of consciousness. They thought too much and lived too little. Ray Stoneson, hero of Burgin1s accomplished first novel, "Ghost Quartet," is a world-class, Dostoyevsky-level brooder. It takes him hours, and a brisk walk along Manhattan's Upper West Side, to determine whether to attend a friend's party. Life roars on, but Ray feels that "people weren1t meant to be bombarded by events; we're too fragile for that, and yet life demands that we keep making choices." He hates having "to decide things while they are going on." An ambitious composer in his early 30s, Ray is desperate for popular and critical acclaim. Since talent and dedication have not brought success, he sustains himself by teaching private students. He also schemes to recover the trust of Joy Davis, who loved him but left because Ray was closed off, focused only on his career and personal needs. As he says, "I was a nervous, narcissistic, self-destructive child then." Because he plans each move well in advance and ponders the resonance of every comment, Ray suspects that everyone else is equally calculating. So he is always trying to be three steps ahead of the moment, a dithering Prufrock incapable of impulsive or decisive action. Then chance offers him the opportunity he craves. A renowned conductor and composer, Perry Green, will be at the party to which Ray has been invited. They meet; Perry is smitten and makes a proposal to Ray: In return for sexual favors, he will help boost Ray's career. "It was," Ray thinks, "such an outrageous coup that had happened to such an unlikely person that he had to be careful about how he would ultimately tell anyone." By the time Ray confronts his Faustian bargain, readers know him well enough to anticipate which way he will turn. Though he tells himself that it cannot be accepted, that he is straight and in love with Joy, that Perry already has a lover and that "there have to be some things that are objectively horrible," his concerns are counterbalanced by perceived advantages. It was "as if some kind of magician had invaded one of his deepest dreams and turned it around in broad daylight to end triumphantly." Readers can name that magician well before Ray can. Burgin is too sophisticated a writer and, unlike his main character, too clear a thinker to let his novel move toward the obvious end. "Ghost Quartet" is neither fable nor fairy tale, but a solid, sharp-edged novel. Everyone's ultimate gains and losses are believable, not programmatic, and sadder for their rightness. Life, it turns out, is not a composition. Its moments are not open to continued revision in the quest for structure or neat resolution. Ray learns th

"I read Ghost Quartet in a whirlwind, for that's what the novel did to me. The book is fast and furious, interesting and bright, a go-ahead, well-plotted, strong, intense story...nothing Burgin's ever done, much as I've admired so much of his fiction in the past, ever had the intensity and complexity of this work." --Stephen Dixon

Josip Novakovich says about this book: "Ghost Quartet" proceeds with a terrific narrative momentum from start to finish‹the novel reads as a classic. Mr. Burgin is one of the best and most thoughtful writers at work in the States."

I'm not sure why the only posted review on this page is the slam by Kirkus Reviews. This book is getting great notices everywhere else -- the San Francisco Chronicle, etc. -- and it's earned them. This is a complex, unusual, carefully plotted novel about the perils of ambition in the music world. Burgin -- as usual -- has a terrific eye for the telling detail and a wonderful ability to create realistic, interesting, unusual characters. I'd recommend this novel to anyone.