World of Wonders

Well that's that, I have finally defeated the Deptford trilogy and should be able to go to bed at a reasonable hour again. I finished the third book, Wold of Wonders, in the trilogy last night, and I have to say (again) that I really enjoyed it.

Now I would have to say that World of Wonders was my second favorite book of the trilogy after Fifth Buisness. Why is it my second favorite? I think it has to do with the fact that the whole first part of the book has to do with the carnival, and I'm a sucker for that.

This book is again the telling of someone's life story, in this case it is Paul Dempster, or Magnus Eisengram, the famous Magician, who was (of course) born in Deptford Ontario. Magnus Eisengram is performing in a BBC made for TV movie about the magician Robert-Houdin (who is not Houdini, Houdini took his name in reference to Robert-Houdin who is thought of as the father of Modern Magic) and during the filming of the movie, Eisengram begins to tell his life story ostensibly to valuble insights into the subtext of the movie they are making, but it's really becuase all characters involved enjoy the yarn.

Dunstan Ramsay hero(?) of the first book is again the narrator if this book, except this time he is recording the history that Eisengram is telling, for a true biography that he intends to write in the future.

No as I've said earlier I'm a sucker for carny stuff, and since Paul Dempster spends his life as a carny/vaudville type from age 10 to 20 (or so) there is plenty of it in the book. The carny stuff definately kept me turning the pages, as did some fantastic tension later on in the book between two of the characters.

Here's a great carny quote:

Willard's insitence that the Fat Lady was gaffed rose from an occupational disability of Fat Ladies; this is copious sweating, which results, in blesome chafing. Three of four times a day Hannah had to retire to the women's part of the dressing tent, and there Guy stripped her down and powdered her in those difficult areas with cornstarch. Very early in my experience on the show I peeped through a gap in the lacing of the convas partition that divided the men's dressingroom from the women's, and was much amazed by waht I saw; Hannah, who looked fairly jolly, sitting on her glatform, in a suit of pink cotton rompers, was a sorry mass of blubber when whe was bent forward, her hands on the back of a chair; she had collops of fat on her flanks, like the wiched man in the Book of Jobl her monstrous abdomen hung almost to her knees, the smart wig concealed an iron-grey crewcut, and her breasts hung like great half-filled wallets of suet far down on her belly. I have seen noting like her since, except for an effigy of Smet Smet, the Hippopotamus Goddess, in an exhibition of African art Lisel made me attend a few years ago. The Gaffing consisted of two large bath-towels, which were rolled and tucked under her breasts, given them what was, in comparison with the reality, a buxom contour. These towels were great matters of contention between Hannah and Willard for she insisted that they were sanitary necessities, and he siad that they were gross impostures on the public.. He cared nothing about gaffingl; it was Hannah who made it a moral issue and dres a sharp line between gaffed Talent, like Abdullah, and honest Talent like Fat Ladies.

Hah, "breasts hung like great half-filled wallets of suet," ick.

Anyways, good book, the ending was a bit lackluster in my opinion, especially since it was the ending of the trilogy, but aside from that a great book.

So read the Deptford trilogy (if you have not already) and you will not be dissapointed.

I could waist away with politics,
or drown myself with wine.
Confine myself to solitude,
and inject poison into my mind.
Meanwhile outside, everything still grows,
Wild like fire and fury, while I wish alone.