claims of the sex maniae who is the narrator.rnWithout wishing to spoil the book forrnanyone who hasn’t gotten through to thernlast page, I should diseuss “face value” ifrnonly to dismiss it later. The narrativernpurports to be a Gogol-like diary of arnmadman. Marc McMann, who worksrnas an editor in a publishing house inrnNew York, wants to explain why he mustrnmurder his mother, Gertrude. But inrnexplaining his motives he also reveals arnsatyriasis, a hypertrophy of the imagination,rnand a bent for philosophv that isrncompelling if perverse.rnKilling your mom ain’t easy and Marcrnflounders at the task, but he does adoptrna brilliant stroke. He decides to murderrnher as someone else: namelv, as ClaudernElmath, whose anagrammatic name requiresrnthat his father hail from Stratfordrnand further implies why the book mustrnend as it does. A flow of allusions tornHamlet—and to Romeo and ]uliet, Othello,rnKing Lear, Measure for Measure,rnand I’he Tempest as well—quotationsrnfrom the sonnets, and reshufflings ofrnsoliloquies, themes, and images, allrncombine to fortify this narrative andrnestablish even its unreliable narrator asrnan inspired response to Shakespeareanrnprovocation. The power of poetry isrntransformed into the texture of thernnovel; the mad narrator acts out ourrndreams and our nightmares even as hernacts out the role of Claude Elmath.rnHis “act” is literally the novel’s imposture.rn1 he themes of acting, of masksrnand masquerade, of eros vs. thanatos, ofrnthe Oedipus complex, of the castratingrnbitch-mother, of the confusion of haternand love, are paraded and drilled in fullrndevelopment. The monstrosity of misplacedrndesire, the hysteria of incest, thernparody of Frcudianisni, the narcissisticrnself-love of the masturbator, the vanityrnof the seducer, the instability of identityrn—all these are arrayed in full panoply.rnSomehow through all the couplings andrnpassionate scheming and moaning of thernnarrator, there emerges what RaymondrnChandler once called “a quality of redemption.”rnThere’s something positivelyrngood about the crazy Marc McMannrnand his struggles with his self andrnwith his mom.rnThe power e’en of “Marc McMann”rnto dominate reality by his utterances,rnto capture our provisional allegiancernthrough his voice, and to compel beliefrnin his unbelievable diary, is itself arndemonstration and a celebration of thernmagic of narrative, of the potent hocuspocusrnof writing, and of the reader’s necessaryrncomplicity in imaginary creation.rnIf, by a false etymology. The Satyr satirizesrnthe swinging 60’s, it also trumpetsrnthe death-defying sway of Shakespearern—and even its own spellbindingrnstrength as a page-turner.rnMarc himself says, “I am a very unusualrnperson. I am, for one thing, a kindrnof literary genius. I dream metaphors. Irnknow the secret meanings of words. Irnunderstand the magic of poetry. I feel,rnat times, that I can open my mouth andrnallow to issue there from a stream of verbalrnmusic.” The proof of the puddingrnjustifies his swagger, though not, ofrncourse, in the sense he means. He alsornsays, as he maneuvers to kill his mother,rn”I used to get up at dawn and read furiouslyrnuntil it was time to go to school.”rnBehind these words lies the author’s, notrnthe narrator’s, keen awareness of the allegoryrnof composition he has encodedrnin the frenzied fable of Marc McMann.rnLike a poker player peering over hisrncards and trying to maintain his deadpanrnexpression, Robert DeMaria is nothingrnif not sly. Though the author oncernhad the narrator’s publishing job, thererncan be no confusion between them.rnThe preemptive dismissal of Portnoy’srnComplaint on page 140 (“You shouldn’trnbe reading things like that”) is a trickyrnaversion of just the comparison that suggestsrnitself—one which this novel easilyrnwithstands. And I must admit that referencesrnhere to one Aldo Zappulla, arntheatrical supplier, and to a hotel namedrnthe Saxon Arms, are the sort of thingrnthat must elicit a knowing smile onlyrnfrom those who have spent rather toornmuch time in Oakdale, New York—thernglosses will wind up in a dissertation onernday. Nevertheless, I will point out here,rnat least as far as the second in-joke isrnconcerned, that the legend of Hamletrnis derived from Saxo Grammaticus—thernSaxon who could write Latin.rnOur collaboration with the authorrnends with the foisting of perhaps thernmost outrageous “happy ending” in literaryrnhistory—one that is literally self-effacing.rnIn a consumption devoutly tornbe wished, the sack of the story is pulledrninside-out by an “act” not so much ofrnself-destruction as of auto-deconstruction.rnAnd having come thus far in thisrnconspiracy of reading and writing andrnimagining together, we may be ready tornunderstand just how right it is that thernwords grammar and glamor are cognates.rnPerhaps that makes Robert DeMaria anrnItalo-Americo Grammaticus; or perhapsrnit goes to show that Shakespeare wasn’trnthe only one to wave Prospcro’s wand.rn1 he point is that in a period of decliningrnartistic resource and of degenerationrnin the publishing industr, thernreappearance of The Satyr is particulariyrnappropriate and welcome. Its affinitiesrnwith some of the experiments of Poe,rnJames, and Nabokov are self-recommending,rnand the laughter and wonderrnit inspires are self-rewarding. And thernpleasure of pondering the teasing punsrnon Marc McMann’s name and otherrnsuch quibbles is only one of the reasonsrnwe like the cards to be dealt down andrndirty.rnCheck to you.rn/.O. Tate is a professor of English atrnDowling College on Long Island.rn’DELICIOUS, NUTRiriousT^rnNONFATTENING.rnContains norncholesterolrnand OQrnsugarrnIf you love words, you’ll lovernVERBATIM, The Language Quarterly.rnEacfi interesting issue containsrninformative, entertaining articles,rnincisive book reviews, livelyrncorrespondence, amusing short bits,rnand puzzling word games.rnSubscribe now to ensure you receive thernDiamond Jubilee Issue [winter 1993).rn$16.50 a yearrnA / P I? “R A T T k /H PO- BOX 78008CflrnÂ¥ J L I V J D i 1 1 1 V I INDNPLS, IN 46278rnT h e L a n g u a g e Quarterlyrn(MCA/ISA ONLY): 800-999-2266, OPR. 6rnJANUARY 1993/37rnrnrn