In agreement with what other reviewers have said, I enjoyed The Quest for Corvo primarily because of the ways the book displays the author's quaint but intense enthusiasm for his subject. This is, to me, the most interesting aspect of the biography, for the most defining (and perhaps most important) thing about Fr. Rolfe was not his literary exploits (relatively few, mostly unnoticed) or indeed anything he ever accomplished, but rather his eccentricity of character. And Symons' enthusiasm for Rolfe's eccentricity is infectious, and it lends not only authenticity but genuine merit to his choice to structure the book as a "quest" instead of as hagiography.

Nonetheless, despite his intrinsically fascinating character, Rolfe should be approached first through Hadrian the Seventh, and not directly through The Quest for Corvo--if only because then the reader will be following in the biographer's footsteps.

As for the content of the biography, I found its wayward structure refreshing, but confusing, especially with regard to the author's depictions and analyses of Rolfe's literary output. A bibliography or chronology would have been quite helpful. Also, echoing other reviewers, Symons's reluctance to speak at length about Rolfe's homosexuality (especially the elements that might still be considered deviant today) leaves too much of Rolfe's character and contemporary reactions to him concealed.

One summer afternoon in 1925, A. J. A. Symons and Christopher Millard, each somewhat obscure and eccentric literary figures in their own right, were sitting in a garden discussing books and authors that had never received proper recognition from the arbiters of literary history. Millard asked Symons whether he had ever read "Hadrian the Seventh." Symons acknowledged that he had not and that he was unfamiliar with the book. "To my surprise, [Millard] offered to lend me his copy-to my surprise, for my companion lent his books seldom and reluctantly. But knowing the range of his knowledge of out-of-the-way literature, I accepted without hesitating; and by doing so took the first step on a trail that led into very strange places."

Very strange places indeed! Symons began reading "Hadrian the Seventh," a book written by Frederick Rolfe, also known as Baron Corvo, and originally published in 1904, and quickly felt "that interior stir with which we all recognize a transforming new experience." Symons went on to spend the next eight years of his life tracking down the details of the life and writings of Baron Corvo, one of the most eccentric, original and enigmatic English writers of the last one hundred years. The result was "The Quest for Corvo: An Experimental Biography," a fascinating book that has been in- and out-of-print since its first publication in 1934 and has enjoyed a literary cult following akin to that of the text ("Hadrian the Seventh") and the author (Rolfe, aka Corvo) that originally inspired it.

As one reads "The Quest for Corvo," it seems that Symon's text represents the outermost of three concentric circles of eccentricity.

The innermost, core circle is "Hadrian the Seventh," a strange and imaginative novel that tells the story of an impoverished, eccentric and seemingly paranoid writer and devotee of the Roman Catholic faith, George Arthur Rose. Rose, a brilliant, self-taught man whose candidacy for the priesthood had been rejected twenty years earlier, is unexpectedly approached one day by a Cardinal and a Bishop who have been made aware of his devotion and his shameful treatment by the Church. Rose is ordained and ultimately becomes the first English Pope in several hundred years. While a work of fiction, Symons' biographical investigations disclose that much of the story of "Hadrian the Seventh" closely parallels the life of its strange author, Frederick Rolfe.

The second circle of eccentricity is, of course, the life of Frederick Rolfe, Baron Corvo, himself. It is the telling of this life that occupies Symons in "The Quest for Corvo," and the result is a fascinating, if perhaps not always historically accurate, detective story cum biography. Starting with his obsessive search for information on Rolfe and his meetings and correspondence with those who knew him, Symons brilliantly recreates a life-the life of a strangely talented artist, photographer, historian, and writer who led a life of seemingly paranoid desperation, ultimately dying impoverished in Venice at the age of forty-five.

The third, outermost circle is the eccentricity of the author of the "Quest for Corvo," A. J. A. Symons, a founder of The Wine and Food Society of England, a collector of music boxes, and a master at card tricks and the art of forgery. Like Corvo himself, Symons died at an early age-he was only forty years old-and his life and his book is seemingly as eccentric as its subject.

"The Quest for Corvo" is one of those little gems that deserve a cherished, if perhaps minor, place in English literature and the literature of biography. Happily, it is back in print again, courtesy of New York Review Books. Read it, and then read "Hadrian the Fourth" (also brought back into print by NYRB) for a fascinating turn in the world of the imaginative and the eccentric.

In recent years we've been treated to many thoughtful and highly readable studies on the nature of biography itself, such as in Richard Holmes's FOOTSTEPS and Janet Malcolm's THE SILENT WOMAN. Symons's THE QUEST FOR CORVO could almost be a sketch for these later, deeper studies in its very metatextual approach to what it means to compose a biography of Frederick Rolfe, one of the strangest figures in fin-de-siecle British letters. Although later biographies took this work to task for its errors and omissions, that shouldn't dissuade you from enjoying how Symons juxtaposes differing perspectives on the quarrelsome and paranoid Rolfe's actions and behaviors, and his desire to get at the "real man." Greater drawbacks, I think, might be Symons's homophobia--which, while very common for its time, seems a bit hysterical today--and the fact that Rolfe (or "Baron Corvo," as he liked to style himself) as a person either enchants readers completely or eventually becomes as tiresome to them as he did to his contemporaries. Still, even though Rolfe's antics do grate on some people's nerves a bit after a while(as they did mine), the fascination of his personality remains quite compelling.

This edition features a beautiful cover and paper stock (as do all NYRB editions) and an intelligent and thoughtful introduction (which, unfortunately, they do not always).

Judith Lassiter has a problem. She is unhappy in her life. At the start of this novel she deals with it the nice way: she mails love-letters to herself and plants them on the breakfast-table beside her when they arrive, hoping her husband, Victor, will ask about what sort of mail she's getting. It seems she somehow wants to live out a romantic fantasy, and yet also use it to create ripples in her drab, unfulfilling realworld environment. But Victor never seems to care enough to ask about her private mail. Victor, in fact, is under investigation at work for some shady business practices that start with collusion in a blackmail scheme (to force a nature-lover to back off from protecting property that Victor's architectural firm wishes to develop).

Stuck in a rut, Judith begins a passionate, breathtaking extramarital affair with a fellow much her junior--Billy, who has the odd job of re-teaching veteran drivers how to brush up their eroded road-skills. A strange form of employment, but that's not all that's strange about Billy; near as Judith can come to figure it, Billy is either living with his mother or perhaps is hiding another lover at home. Plus, he has a rough past, once hiring a group of toughs to rough up his own father.

As her husband becomes more guarded in his comments about how much trouble he could be in at work, and as all her close friends seem to be suggesting she actually stay in bad marriage, Judith and Billy try to work out a possible future. But there are complications. Judith seems to be developing some kind of fractured personality, and when someone tries to blackmail her using an embarrassing portion of her past against her, Judith begins to contemplate hiring a hitman to clean up her problems before she can run off with Billy.

Several short sections of the novel break in on the main narrative to show just little hints at how it is all going to turn out: there will be at least one corpse lying in some underbrush. The murder victim's identity is of course revealed at the finale, where we learn how all Judith's trials and tribulations, including her need for Billy, have led.