Modish BoredomnGore Vidal: Creation; RandomnHouse; New York.nby Joseph SchwartznK^reation is set in the 5th centurynB.C., the age of Persia, Darius, Xerxes,nthe Buddha, Confucius, Herodotus andnPericles. The narrator, Cyrus Spitaraa,nbrought up in the Persian court and befriendednby Xerxes, is made an ambassadornand journeys to India, Cathay andnGreece. He has two questions on hisnmind. How did creation come to be,nand what explanation can there be fornthe existence of evil? The novel speaksnof the contemporary world in the guisenof history. Potentially heady and excitingnstuff, indeed, but Gore Vidal’s 18thnnovel is, instead, a dull and listlessnaffair.nThat it is dull comes as no surprise;nso were Myra Breckinridge, Two Sistersnand Myron. But he has never been sonweary before. Creation is a tired worknthat challenges itself by going on andnon, as if length alone would somehownprovide the author with an opportunitynto bring the exhausted (and exhausting)nnarrative to life. Cyrus Spitama, thenprotagonist and narrator, is a 75-yearoldnbore who has “a voice that neverndeserts me, nor does my memory.”nWould that both had done so about onethirdnof the way through. His long-sufferingnnephew and amanuensis, Democritus,ntakes down his dictation and winsnan award for endurance. The “speak,nmemory” device fails because Cyrus isnsimply not interesting enough to holdnone’s attention through 510 pages. Hisnbeing blind, suggesting a parallel tonHomer, is outrageously inappropriatenand certainly pretentious. His goals innlife are to serve Xerxes and to see faroffnplaces, tellingly modest ambitionsnfor a grandson of Zoroaster. When suchnDr. Schwartz is professor of Englishnat Marquette University.ncolorless narrators have been used withnsuccess, it is because they were pairs ofneyes through which interesting charactersnwho bear the burden of action werenseen. The characters in this novel arenwithout exception two-dimensional andnhastily sketched. Even their names arenforgotten while reading the book.nXerxes, the Great King, for instance,nis described as “more than a brother tonme … my other self.” If he is so im-nPerhaps the implication is that one’snperson is so attractive and compellingnthat it requires some kind of attentionnin the historical game of now-you-see-it,nnow-you-don’t. But Cyrus is about asninteresting as a post. He is like thosensailors of whom Cardinal Newmannwrote who traveled around the worldnseeing only the underside of the carpet,nbecause they had no perspective fromnwhich to see the design of the whole.n” ‘Julian’ was wonderful; ‘Creation,’ I am happy to report, is even better.”n—New York Timesnportant to Cyrus, one would expect himnto emerge at some point in the novelnas more than a stick figure; he doesn’t.nLais, Cyrus’s mother, comes on stagenall abustle and threatens to become interesting,nbut she is dropped and remainsnlittle more than a name. Tellingnrather than showing is an economicalndevice for the historian but must beneschewed by the novelist. As in his earliernBurr, Vidal does not rise to thenchallenge of making historical personagesninteresting. Rather, like the quickienwriter of historical romances, he dependsnupon the persona in esse to capturenand hold the reader’s interest.nMore important than this, however,nis that the narrator is his own worstnenemy, self-defeating because of hisnview that “there is no such thing as antrue account of anything.” That thisnis the posture of much modern historicismnis no excuse. It is as debilitatingnfor historians as it is for Cyrus. Whynshould he bother to ramble on and onnif this is the case.” How can he hope toncorrect Herodotus, one of his aims, ifnhe holds the view that seeing the worldnfrom one’s own vantage point makes antrue account impossible.-‘ In that case,nHerodotus, or anyone for that matter,nneeds no correction, since correctionnis impossible without a standard bynwhich perception and its results can benjudged. This is pluralism gone mad.nnnContradicting his own words, Cyrusndoes wish to give a true account of thenmajor theologies of his time from hisngradually weakening Zoroastrian pointnof view. Since he cannot have it bothnways, there is major confusion with respectnto purpose in the construction ofnthe book.nxhere are three ideological strandsnin the novel. First there is the attempt,nas in Vidal’s Julian, to take a non-Westernnperspective on things. The Greeksnare the villains and Cyrus speaks fornthe great East. Readers familiar withnRobert Graves and Mary Renault willnmake interesting comparisons withnVidal. What we have inherited fromnPlato, Aristotle and the rest—the importancenof mind and metaphysics—cannbe said to be why we went wrong fromnthevery beginning. Second, Cyrus’s travelsnand the many tiresome coincidencesnmake it possible for him to come in contactnwith Taoism, Buddhism and Confucianism,nand to reassess his own Zoroastrianism.nTaoism, harmony withnthe “always-so,” is rejected because itndemands a passivity which Cyrus cannotnaccept. The rejection is based asnwell, I suspect, on the demands whichnthe “always-so” makes of one. The Buddha’snidea that existence in itself isnsomething painful appeals to Cyrus, butnhe concludes finally that “the BuddhanXowember/December 1981n