No one, given the heft and sprawl of “The Diviners,” could take Rick Moody for a writer of limited vision. And while the writing is vibrant and the cast of characters nothing short of over- the-top, the story itself has a hard time hanging together.
Moody loses no time in setting his stage, with a first chapter titled “Opening Credits and Theme Music.” He follows a sunrise, in exhaustive detail, as it travels west across the planet from Los Angeles and finally ends in New York. Nothing in the calm of this opening gives a hint of the coming political storm that begins one day after the election, November 2004.
Not that national politics are an obvious player in the story that follows, which centers on the efforts of many to make a miniseries called “The Diviners.” At the center is Vanessa Meandro, nicknamed Minivan for the girth that results from appetite for Krispy Kremes. It also aptly could describe her willingness to run over anyone who causes her the least displeasure – and this is one lady who is easy to displease. Vanessa is head of a movie production company, Means of Production, and trying to keep track of her mother, Rosa, who seems to be receiving cellphone signals through her fillings and who definitely has a serious drinking problem.
Means of Production is where most of this novel’s extensive cast of characters come together, and the relationships are incestuously intertwined. B-grade action movie star Thaddeus Griffin is with the company supposedly to develop projects, but he is more interested in developing passing amorous relationships with members of the office staff.
His affair du jour is with Annabel Duffy, Vanessa’s personal assistant, and together they dream up the
outline of “The Diviners.” They
envision a multigenerational saga that begins with the Huns invading the Steppes and ends with the founding of Las Vegas, each generation tied together by mystical
dowsers, the diviners. They know that Vanessa will pay no attention to the idea if it is submitted
directly so they give the script an imaginary pedigree and set out to build buzz.
They succeed, but not quite in the way they intend. The script is misdelivered, and Vanessa finds herself in a race to get the project in shape to sell. And despite the fact that
miniseries have been relegated to television’s minor screens, there seems to be quite a bit of excitement generated by the project.
Moody sweeps through chapters, focusing on first one then the next member of his diverse cast. Vanessa has added a former Sikh car driver to her staff and set him up as the guru of the “theory and practice of TV.” He has an autistic son and what was a solid marriage until pulled into the presumably evil entertainment business. Thaddeus has a lovely wife who is often out of town, a convenient excuse for his many extramarital forays. Annabel has a bipolar brother who is a bike messenger, and probably the only artist in the bunch. Each of the characters is wildly exaggerated, and each plays an identifiable role in his or her eventual and unavoidable downfall.
Moody has created a behemoth of a novel, but it’s a work of mixed success. His extravagant style is certainly amusing, but his characters are so large that their solipsistic whining loses its edge. And though Moody writes brilliant sketches, moving from one life to the next like a bee in search of pollen, it is difficult to get one’s mind around the whole. The resulting novel
has patches of brilliance, but they are separated by some long, loose and occasionally difficult to fathom sections.
Robin Vidimos is a freelance writer who reviews books for The Denver Post and Buzz in the ‘Burbs.
