about man’s troubled fate is their centralnconcern. The vitality, or degree, ofnan author’s moralism is reflected innthe strength of the solutions he proposesnfor life’s seemingly hopeless struggles.nThus Hannah seems the least ”moralistic”nof the three authors in that henproposes no solutions—in fact, he denlights in challenging the reader himselfnto design a solution for the decay andnchaos in which Ray finds himself. Raynis a doctor in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, anveteran of fraternity parties, early youthfulnidealism and the Vietnam War.nCharacteristically—and not surprisingly,nsince the plot is an old one—Raynwent off to war as a patriotic youth.n”Ray has moral tone.”n”Barry Hannah is marvelously rude.’nwatched his buddies blown to smithereens,nblew a number of the enemy tonsmithereens himself and came homenjaded, disillusioned and unable to findnmuch purpose to his existence. Back innTuscaloosa. Ray settles in as the townndoctor and, as the novel opens, proceedsnto give us a running commentary onnTuscaloosa in the 1980’s.nQuickly we see that Tuscaloosa is annemblem of all modern life, and, further,nan emblem of the absurdity of humannexistence itself. The violence of Tuscaloosanis no less terrible than the violencenof Vietnam, it is just more subtle. Individualsnrape, beat, murder—the morenopen and gross the acts, the more likelynsociety’s condemnation. To Hannah,nthis is only the surface of the perversitynthat pervades the modern era-the scab,nso to speak, on a much deeper wound,nthat of the purposelessness of existence.nCharacters in the novel struggle desperatelynto feel something of value,nsomething that completes their existencesnand gives them direction. Instead,nthey feel the rather pointless emotionsnof lust and anger, greed and denspair. There is a hunger in all of themnunChronicles of Culturento be more than they are and to experiencensomething that lends life a degreenof sacredness amidst the profane.nThey all fail in the quest: Ray acquiresnthe American dream—a devoted wife,nchildren, a huge house, a respected,nmiddle-class profession—only to findnhimself in adulterous liaisons feelingnthe voice of conscience dim and be replacednby the unanswerable voice ofn”Why not.^” His friend. Charlie, feelsnthe same pointlessness as he drinks andnchases women: he tells Ray on a huntingntrip that if he doesn’t kill somethingnhere he’s going to have to kill his wife.nRay is empathetic to Charlie’s troublesnand knows how he feels, but can offern— Village Voicen—New York Times Book Reviewnno advice, for Ray, too, is enmeshed innthe endless drifting; Ray, too, knowsnthe hypocrisy of trying to pretend one’snown life has meaning when, in truth,none knows that it doesn’t.nRay’s problem is compounded by thenfact that he is the town’s doctor and sonencounters more of the results of violencenand despair than the average person.nMurderers, rapists and those whonbeat their wives and children arenbrought into the emergency room; Raynencounters them all and sees that theynare but exaggerated portraits of himself.nOccasionally he rises to what, for him,nis an ethical stance—moral outrage at anman in intensive care who feels no renmorse at having beaten his wife andnseveral of his children to death and whonvows, when he gets out of the hospital,nto get the rest of them. Ray’s responsen— to pull the plug on the man’s respiratornand send the bastard on his waynto hell.nThat Rav can even feel a modicum ofnoutrage is in itself a good sign, yet anpallid one, for Ray himself is a productnof the very amorality that cripples hisnera, a man disjointed in time, who hasnnndreams of the Civil War in which hensees that the same ideals for which thosenmen fought were shattered by their war.nleaving them stranded in time, isolatednfrom hope, left with the pure knowledgenthat they would never see lifenagain with a clear sense of purpose.nAt the novel’s end, Ray turns forty andntells us he will be all right—a declarationnthe reader may or may not findnconvincing. If Ray means “all right” innthe sense that he will be able to continuendrinking and engaging in a successionnof nameless, faceless, sexual encounters,nthe reader can accept this; if henmeans “all right” in the sense that hensees the absurdity of his predicament yetnstill can function, this, too, the readerncan accept. But if Ray means “all right”nin any deeper spiritual or ethical sense,nthis the reader will find hard to accept,nfor despite Hannah’s brilliant depictionsnand characterizations, despite hisnexcellent and apparently logical rationalizationsnfor Ray’s malaise, it is apparentnthat Ray is guilty of what bothnHemingway and the existentialists havencalled bad faith—the refusal to confrontnthe consequences of one’s choices and,non an even deeper level, the failure tonrecognize one’s freedom to makenchoices. Ray, and perhaps Hannah,nwould have us believe that the weightnof the world, the irrationality and absurditynof life itself, is responsible fornRay’s ethical demise when, in truth,neach step toward corruption, or at leastndissolution, is Ray’s own—includingnhis first adulterous liaison, which convincesnhim that true love and commitmentnto one person in the bond of marriagenare not for him and thus are, likeneverything else in life, disappointingnand meaningless. It is definitely easiernfor Ray to come to this logically flawednconclusion than it is for him to recognize,non the deepest level, that he isnweak-willed. He prefers, throughout thennovel, his immediate personal gratification,nwhatever the cost or consequences,nto the more difficult strivingnfor long-term satisfactions and the morenarduous demands of an ethical stance.n