At the very end of Nino Ricci’s fifth novel, Alex Fratarcangeli “slipped quietly…into his life.” Throughout Origin of Species, which uses the theory of evolution both metaphorically and thematically, quietness and life are set up in a complex tension. Over the expanse of almost 500 pages Ricci’s passive protagonist moves, with little steps, from quietness – an emotionally paralysed, guilt-ridden, past-obsessed, meaningless existence – into (fingers crossed) the fullness of normal life – responsible adulthood and fatherhood, purposefulness, an engaged present, a hopeful future.
Ricci is generous and patient with his characterization of Alex – perhaps too patient. The flawed hero’s journey is rendered through an unobtrusive observational style and layered narrative weighed down by too much detail and extreme inertia. The thirtysomething Concordia graduate student is attempting to link evolutionary theory with literary theory. Polyglot Montreal brims with the turbulence of mid-1980’s language politics, denial of HIV/AIDS, sexual politics, university culture wars, refugee social activism, gentrification and tenant strife –- but Alex is an absent presence, a rootless citizen. The novel flashes back to several haunting episodes including a harrowing adventure in the Galapagos with a mad British professor, a gripping set piece illustrating the violence and tragedy inherent in natural selection.
As the novel opens, Alex finds out that a long-ago fling with Ingrid, a Swedish born-again Christian, resulted in a son. Paradoxically, he is also tormented by his lingering feelings for Liz, an ex whom he pushed into getting an abortion. Self-loathing and fear of intimacy mark all of Alex’s relationships. He reluctantly submits to the friendly advances of his neighbour Esther, who is dying from multiple sclerosis, and the elegant Félix, a closeted French-Canadian businessman. Some supporting characters, like Esther and Jiri, Alex’s lefty Czech thesis advisor, are richly drawn. Others, such as Maria, the Salvadorian activist hottie, and her brother, are reduced to stereotype. All of these connections have the potential for meaningful human interaction but Alex remains detached, perpetuating the belief that he’s a fraud. He even lies to his Freudian psychiatrist during his daily sessions on the couch.
For those familiar with the Concordia of the 80s, it’s thrilling to read Ricci’s reconstruction of the period, complete with Trudeau sightings, imaginary conversations with Peter Gzowski, Chernobyl, Reaganomics, postmodernism, university sexual politics. But Origin of Species is a novel of ideas that drowns in too many ideas (like so many ambitious, unwieldy doctoral theses). Moreover, a tendency to explain cause and effect regarding Alex’s actions and an exhaustive use of Darwin’s theoretical framework to make sense of Alex’s life bury the novel’s delicate rendering of human relationships. A degree of subtlety in Ricci’s evocation of the complexity and randomness of the universe is also lost. In the end, Alex’s hard-earned realization that uncertainty and fear and randomness and messiness and, yes, violence, are what make us human and what lead to love, remains muted, and one fears that he hasn’t fully entered his life, not quite yet.
Maria Francesca LoDico is a Montreal writer. She is currently completing a first novel based on her childhood in Sicily -– and hoping for a quiet summer of writing.
Nino Ricci will be appearing at the Blue Metropolis Literary Festival. The festival runs from April 22-26. www.bluemetropolis.org.
