an Iroqois saint with whom his wife had identified. Reading over his shoulder was F., who appeared disinterested and seemed to devote most of his energy to teaching our protagonist his lecherous ways, when he's not busy being lecherous or playing in the political arena. The actual events of the book center around the romantic and erotic history of the bittersweet love triangle, but you get the feeling that these encounters are beside the point, as their bond grows dangerously strong. As the narrator gets closer to the truth (and farther from resolution), he begins to unravel, and the reader is removed more and more from the nature of his thoughts, until we don't recognize him as himself any longer.
This story is told beautifully, with no word out of place, even if it DOES help if you can read French. (I can't.) I was turned inside out by sadness and longing, every moment I was reading it, but reading it was a tremendous reward in itself. Despite the cool, dark atmosphere and settings (a basement, a forest), there are rays of sunshine cutting through between the lines. I forgave the imagery and metaphors light-years beyond me and (I think) most of his audience, out of pure enjoyment - even if it doesn't make sense, it SOUNDS really good, right? I agree with Ben that Cohen's writing resembles Henry Miller's. I hadn't any idea Leonard Cohen was a top-five sort of writer who can adeptly switch styles (nearly every segment is written differently than the one before) and carry a story that won't disappoint you. If you're smarter than I am, then you REALLY should read this book - maybe you'll get it, and you can explain it to me.
