January 3, 2003

"Zuleika Dobson" by Max Beerbohm: "Dames is trouble." Those words of advice were slurred to me by my Uncle Earl as I left to make my way in the world. And a truer sentiment has never been uttered. Yes, ol' Earl is quite profound; a regular Buddha with a beer bottle. Alas, if only the young men of Judas College in Oxford could have heeded his alarm.

Although what good is a drunken warning from an unemployed prophet when compared to the beauty of Zuleika Dobson? How could the undergraduates of the prestigious institution have fared any better once confronted with the delicate features of Zuleika, a woman of such grace and loveliness that every man that spies her falls instantly in love? Men can't help but worship Zuleika. And that, my friends, is precisely the problem for Ms. Dobson.

Our story begins when Zuleika travels to Oxford to visit her grandfather, the Warden of Judas College. The two have been estranged for some years and the meeting is seen as an attempt at reconciliation. An orphan, Zuleika had to struggle to cut a living for herself, or at least she struggled as far as the adoring young men around her allowed. It was through one of these faithful fellows that our heroine took up the art of conjuring. It didn't matter that she had no real talent or skill, her mere presence on stage made her magic act a sensation wherever she plied her profession. It's in the grips of this new fame and wealth that she ventures to meet her grandfather.

Zuleika's arrival at the train station throws the university's youth into a mad fit of idolatry. Pulses race. Hearts swoon. And Ms. Dobson, accustomed to the attention, does little to discourage the adoration. Make no mistake, Zuleika loves the way men treat her. The catch is she has never loved a man. That's not to say she lacked for desire. It's just she has never found one worthy. The moment they admit their love for her, she finds them remarkably dull. Only that soul that could deny her charms would win her hand. If such a man existed.

That brings us to the Duke of Dorset, the pride of Judas. The Duke is held in great esteem by all who know his name. He's handsome, wealthy, intelligent; almost the male equivalent of Ms. Dobson. In fact, he too has never known love. The only difference being that the Duke had never felt the need, or want, to dally with such trifle matters. Hey, being a Duke is a full-time gig.

Zuleika first encounters the Duke while riding home with her grandfather from the station. She sees him mounted horseback in regal air and is immediately intrigued by his not paying her the slightest consideration. That evening, at a dinner held by her grandfather, Zuleika experiences firsthand the emotions of true love when the Duke all but ignores her through the course of the meal. But, unbeknownst to Zuleika, the Duke's behavior isn't an affront to her, but a testimonial. It is only his nervousness and fear of revealing his true feelings that prevent his gaze. After all, as a wise man once said, the eyes are the windows to the skull. Or I don't know, something like that. Earl was drinking a lot back then.

Anyway, the point is the Duke was, indeed, in love with Zuleika. He just did a swell job of hiding it. Almost too good. Fearing he had ruined any hope of winning her, it was with immense shock, and more than a little joy, that the Duke discovered Zuleika at his door the next morning professing her love for him. Naturally, the Duke was quick to return the favor. Big mistake. The moment she was convinced of his love Zuleika turned cold. The Duke tried to argue his case, pointing out the advantages of being married to someone as affluent as himself, but Zuleika would not be swayed. Her love for him was gone.

The Duke was so devastated by Zuleika spurning his love, and so enraptured by her image, the thought of living without her held no promise. He informs Zuleika that he will kill himself to prove his love. Now, Zuleika kind of likes this idea. No one had ever killed themselves in her honor. Oh sure, it had been talked about, but she had never actually seen anyone do it. She not only approves, she encourages. Once word gets out of the Duke's imminent tribute, his fellow undergraduates all follow suit with similar vows of suicide in hopes of declaring their love for Zuleika. And that's when the real fun begins.

Simply put, "Zuleika Dobson" is brilliant. It's a wonderfully clever, biting satire of love and the folly of youth. Mr. Beerbohm, a renowned English caricaturist of the early 1900s, is a staggeringly good writer. He's the kind of guy that, like, if you talked to him at a party, you'd think to yourself, "Wow, that guy should be a writer!" Whereas, on the other hand, people that speak with me are often amazed that I'm able to dress and feed myself. Everything Mr. Beerbohm does here is so smart, so funny, so well-crafted, it's a marvel to behold. Sure, he can be a bit verbose at times, but that only adds to the pleasure of reading his work. With Beerbohm, it's the delightful journey that matters most, not merely the destination.

The book's voice is also somewhat unique in that Beerbohm uses himself as the narrator. He addresses the reader as that of a witness to the events chronicled, explaining that Clio herself, the Muse of written History, empowered by Zeus, had bestowed upon him the form of a ghost so as he could float around undetected in order to accurately portray the events of the fateful weekend at Judas when Ms. Dobson descended upon its unsuspecting halls.

Literate comedy, at least the sort that is genuinely funny and significant, is the rarest of commodities. "Zuleika Dobson," and its writer, should be cherished.

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"Seven Men" by Max Beerbohm: So taken were we by "Zuleika Dobson," 70 Proof was quick to procure another of Mr. Beerbohm's texts. And we were not disappointed.

"Seven Men" is a collection of five stories profiling men of singular character. The most famous of which is probably 'Enoch Soames,' about a failed, neglected writer so assured of his greatness that he strikes a deal with the Devil to project him 100 years into the future, to June 3, 1997, so he can read of his success in the eyes of posterity. It's been said that in Soames Mr. Beerbohm wanted to create a character that wishes he had never been born yet also despises the idea that he'd ever die. How good is that? Creative bliss, to be sure.

Other stories included in "Seven Men" are: 'Hilary Maltby and Stephen Braxton,' which tells of a rivalry between two one-hit wonders of the literary world and the haunting consequences of a small lie that perhaps ruined both of their careers; 'Savonarola Brown' is the tale of a diligent yet somewhat talent-starved playwright and the unfinished work he left behind; 'James Pethal' relates the life of a man always willing to gamble anything, including his family and loved ones, in pursuit of the rush it brings; and 'A.V. Laider,' a curious chap who, during a discussion of palmistry and free will, claims to be a murderer.

As with "Zuleika Dobson," Mr. Beerbohm once again bears witness to all events. Except this time he does so in the flesh. The stories tell how he came to meet and know all the gentlemen mentioned above. For instance, he met Enoch Soames through a mutual acquaintance while attending school, he first saw James Pethal in a baccarat room while vacationing in Dieppe, France, and A.V. Laider was discovered at a seaside hotel as he convalesced from a bout with influenza. And it's in these varied introductions to the characters and plots that Mr. Beerbohm displays his sparkling ingenuity. Each set up is fresh and enticing; hooked from the start are grateful readers.

Of the lot, 'Enoch Soames' and 'A.V. Laider' earn the most praise. 'Enoch,' with its memorably "dim" eponymous lead and clever Faustian agreement, not to mention its knowing swipe at the sincere nature of writers, really should take its place alongside the great short stories of literature. 'Laider' is equally as clever in holding the reader's attention and delivering a deserved smile upon conclusion.

Even if the subjects of the two books reviewed here today don't strike a chord within you, our valued readers, 70 Proof implores you to read the works of Max Beerbohm if for no other reason than to study the craft in the hands of a true master.

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