Yet what a beautiful, beautiful book! Written in sumptuous Victorian style, reminiscent of Wharton or James, Argiri tells the tale of a 19th Century illicit love affair between Klionarios, an ascetic Yale art professor, and Simion Satterwhite, a precocious scholarship student who embodies Klionarios's artistic vision.
THE GOD IN FLIGHT is filled with lovely, long sensuous passages, such as when the traumatized Simion wakens in the professor's house: "The table by his bed held a tray, upon which there were an ice bucket filled with melting snow around a pitcher of what proved to be orange juice, a glass, a bell, and a silver plate of grapes. He took two grapes and savored their sweet-tart astringency. This room was like some chamber of temptation in a fairy tale, so apt it was, so suited; it was as if someone who knew everything about colors and fabrics and furniture had climbed inside his head and found out what he would like best, even before he knew himself."
No matter that the effects of Reconstruction and Emancipation are not addressed here. This is romance with a capital "R." A passionate and lyrical novel (though a bit silly), every winter I turn to its comforting literary conventions, just as surely as I return to flannel sheets and schnapps in my cocoa. But it is a strange novel, brushing over what should surely have been pivotal moments in the developing relationship of its protagonists, yet lingering lovingly on the thoughts of side characters. For me, there is really not enough plot, and the novel fails to adequately explore the central characters--and Argiri's characters are most definitely book people and not real people--but they are appealing and memorable nevertheless.
The most dismaying aspect of THE GOD IN FLIGHT is the realization that if it took Argiri nearly twenty years to write this, how long will it take for her next novel?