Books: Travelogue

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This parade of celebrities is undeniably diverting, but Cyrus is often content to characterize the notables he meets by their names alone. Their singularity rests in who they were, not in how they are described in this narrative. Similarly, Cyrus' spiritual quest for the meaning of life is rendered as a series of set-piece seminars: one sage gives his philosophy, and then Cyrus goes off to seek another, who does the same. For long stretches, the narrator seems to be conducting a survey of ancient thought a la Will Durant: "As I understand Pythagoras—and who does in his complex entirety?—he thought that the single unit was the basis of all things. From the single unit derives number. From numbers, points. From points, lines of connection. From lines, planes and, hence, solids. From solids ..."

Such passages are rarely dull, but they do produce a peculiar lifelessness in the novel as a whole. There is little to propel the reader forward except the expectation of more information. Vidal provides a multitude of incidents but no strong plot to bind them together. Cyrus abjures suspense; he has the habit of introducing characters by telling what finally happens to them first. Aside from the old man's large memory, Creation is unified by a single irony: Cyrus tells of his search for religious certainty to the person who will one day become an eminent philosopher of materialism. Near the end, Democritus interjects: "Matter is all. All is matter." According to his secretary, then, Cyrus spent his life pursuing phantoms.

The readers of this novel are more fortunate. Whatever its flaws, Creation offers a leisurely guided stroll through a complex era. The book is encyclopedic enough to be short on intrinsic pattern; it is also filled with information, oddities and wonder. —By Paul Gray