I don't know if I've made it clear to everyone exactly how good a writer Robertson Davies is. the only reason I don't say more about him is that he tends to leave me a bit breathless. But I guess the kicker is this--by common acclamation, Murther and Walking Spirits is his worst novel. Having read, as far as I can tell, all of his novels now, I think I would concur. and yet so many passages in the book just astonished me. The premise of the novel is strange, and it's sevelopment is stranger yet. The main character dies in the first sentence. If this isn't strange enough, he spends the vast majority of the book in disembodies form, watching a film festival which has been organized by his murderer. Since the story is only told from his perspective, it isn't certain, but it seems that the films the ghost, Connor Gilmartin, is watching are not the same films which the living in the theater are watching. Mr Gilmartin's films all are about his ancestors, told in a vareity of tales from the early 18th century to the mid 20th. The are not, in my opinion, of even quality in terms of holding the reader's interest, but as I mentioned, there are some priceless moments of prose strewn about. In the end Gilmartin, through circumstances a bit complicated to explain here, attempts, unsuccessfully, to comunicate with his wife and his colleague/murederer, with whom his wife was having an affair. The book ends with the murderer attempting to find forgiveness, or at least some relief from guilt, and I'm pleased to say that the end was indeed the high point of the book, but I won't give it away.

Hmm. Didn't intend to write a whole review. Guess I just wanted to get in a good plug for someone who, though dead himself, has been a bit of a companion to me over the last two years.