to tent-show revivalism in three novels:nit is not hard to see that Garrett wasnbreaking new ground for himself withneach book, moving from locale tonlocale, situation to situation. Along thenway he was also finding new forms fornhis fiction, and Dillard is at his bestnwhen he explains what happened duringnthe writing of Garrett’s majornworks to date, the novels Death of thenFox and The Succession, the first annimaginatively reconstructed life of SirnWalter Raleigh, the second a book withnno central character, but so rich withnfleshed-out characters and authenticitiesnof Elizabethan and Jacobean lifenthat the reader never notices there is nonmain figure.nDillard sees in the two books morenthan the run of historical novels. Togethernthey offer, he says,na fiction of artistic subtlety andnintelligence rather thannderring-do, of living fact rathernthan antiquarian gesture, ofnimaginative meditation onnhistory rather than thenrecounting of invented eventsnagainst a backdrop of history.nGarrett builds up a historicalncontext of great richness andnfactual accuracy—annElizabethan and Jacobean worldnwhich is fully researched andnvividly rendered—but henabandons conventional plotnalong with almost all of thenother conventions of the genrenin a successful effort to creatennew narrative forms, “openntexts” which engage readers innthe very act of historicalnimagination . . .nPoison Pen, which gets the nextnchapter in Understanding GeorgenGarrett, is a controversial novel composednof crank letters to celebritiesn(Lyndon Johnson, Christie Brinkley,nTed Kennedy, Brooke Shields, etc.),nlists of hilarious literary judgmentsn(e.g., “Dave Smith is the Robert PennnDickey of American Poetry”), authorialndenials, entrances and exits by onenJohn Towne, a seedy academic who atntimes seems to have written Poison Pennitself—in short a hellzapoppin’ Olsonnand Johnny romp. Mr. Dillard deservesnsome new literary award for being ablento untangle the structure of this one.nWhen misread, as by the reviewernwho saw it as a monsterly creation ofn”Bad Georgie,” Poison Pen’s satiricalnintent can be misconstrued, for it trulynis the many-layered kazoo concertonanother reader judged it to be, aimed atnour time, when celebrities tout theirnprojected, media-fabricated personalitiesnas the only truth. (Garrett quotesnhis wife as saying at one point, “Publicnlife is an illusion. Only private life isnreal and matters.”) And that is thenpoint to the celebrity-puncturing thatnoccurs in Poison Pen.nWherever he can, Mr. Dillard hasnthematically related Garrett’s poemsnand short stories to the novels. Whatnwe now also need is a new, true versionnof Do, Lord, Remember Me, a collectionnof Garrett’s feisty essays, andnsomewhere down the line someonenmust tell the story of Garrett’s role asnFather Confessor and Godfather to anyounger generation of American writers,nfor no other contemporary teachernand writer has as many books dedicatednin gratitude to him. R.H.W. Dillardnhas made a fine beginning with UnderstandingnGeorge Garrett, and the lastnword here should be his.n[Garrett] has maintained hisnserious dedication to writing ofnpoetry and short fiction, evennwhile his reputation wasndeveloping as an importantnnovelist. He has taken chancesnas an essayist and critic byndaring to point a revealingnfinger at the emperor’s newnclothes, no matter whatnpowerful literary figure wasnwearing them at the time. Henhas written a body of seriouslynChristian art at a time whennChristian belief is too oftennworn on literary sleeves rathernthan in writers’ hearts.nRecognizing both that peoplenmust learn “to lie a little andnlive together” in this worid ofnlies and that the complex lie ofnart may be the surest way ofnspeaking the truth in such anworid, Garrett has truly gone hisnown way, and those who havenbenefited most are his readers,nfor he has shared with them annintensive and vital imaginativenexperience.nBrendan Galvin is a poet living innDurham, Connecticut.nnnA More PerfectnUnionnby William A. DonohuenIn Pursuit of Happiness andnGood Governmentnby Charles MurraynNew York: Simon and Schuster;n341 pp., $19.95nn Pursuit is a philosophical exegesisn/ on what is wrong with contemporarynsocial policy analysis. In somenways it is a sequel to Murray’s LosingnGround, having much in commonnwith Part IV (Rethinking Social Policy)nof that influential book. Though this isna more enterprising work, it is also anless successful one, leaving the readernwith a sense that Murray’s real goal isnto provide a somewhat novel argumentnfor a libertarian conception of thencommon good.nMurray concludes In Pursuit bynstating that “much of what centralngovernment must do first of all is tonleave people alone, and then make surenthat they are left alone by others — thatnpeople are restrained from the use ofnforce against each other.” What elsenshould government do? That’s aboutnit. It is no wonder that three pages laternMurray approvingly cites the libertariannphilosopher Robert Nozick. Butnwhereas Nozick was content to arguenagainst big government on the principlenof individual liberty, Murray seeksnto up the ante by arguing that thenpursuit of happiness is best fulfilled bynhaving the government do next tonnothing. Now it is one thing to shownwhy government programs usually fail,nquite another to maintain that thenminimal state is man’s best hope fornattaining human happiness.n”The purpose of government,”nMurray says, “is to facilitate the pursuitnof happiness of its citizens.” Here he isnat one with the Founding Fathers,nmaking the case that government existsnto enable men and women to use theirnresources in a way that liberates andnpromotes happiness. Borrowing fromnMaslow’s hierarchy of needs, Murraynmakes the case that material resources,nsafety, self-respect, and enjoyment arencentral to the pursuit of happiness, andnthat limited government best facilitatesnthat process in the long run.nMARCH 1989/33n