A man is afflicted with dualism, constantly torn between the spirit and the flesh. He grapples with the inescapable fact that he cannot rid himself of either. His life is a web of complex relationships: a liaison with a succubus, an entanglement with a mafioso, a kinship with a capitalist, and a spiritual union with long-dead poets and thinkers. It is only through the unity of the spirit and the flesh, in the form of profit from the brainchild of a long-past friendship, that he can find healing.

Technically, the novel exhibits remarkable pacing and is otherwise generally well-written. It also incorporates a kind of Freudian repetition. Citrine, in his own life, repeats the acts of the dead poet Humboldt due to the guilt he feels for the breakdown of their friendship and his failure to greet him in the street. Like Humboldt, Citrine repeats the pattern of progressive alienation in his relationships, both with his friends and his wife. Not only that, but the betrayal of Humboldt, which is manifested through Citrine's success, is repeated by the unauthorized screening of their screenplay. This very repetition was foreseen by Humboldt in the screenplay he bequeathed to Citrine, in which the protagonist, based on Citrine himself, undertakes the same journey twice. Only by acknowledging this repetition and its source in repressed guilt can Citrine be reborn.

The novel, therefore, is essentially about death and rebirth. First, there is the attempted suicide of the flesh through a withdrawal into contemplation, followed by a rebirth into the material world, forced upon him by his wife, girlfriend, acquaintance, and brother. Then, there is the death of his old self and a rebirth through a reckoning with his guilt towards Humboldt, including his failure to acknowledge him and his sense of guilt for his own success. All of this is, of course, self-consciously indicated by Bellow through his portrayal of Citrine turning his contemplation towards death and having his girlfriend leave him for a mortician, resulting in a shared turning towards death on both their parts.

This is my third Bellow book, and it is by far the best.

I really enjoyed "Henderson the Rain King" as it was like a modern retelling of "Heart of Darkness". However, I didn't quite like "Herzog". I felt that the energetic writing style didn't match the whiny character, and I just couldn't bring myself to like him.

Fortunately, this book doesn't have any of the problems that "Herzog" had. Every character in this book is truly unforgettable. The writing style is perfect for both the hero and the main setting in Chicago.

I could really understand and relate to Charley Citrine. He has an attraction for culture and learning, which is balanced by his equal attraction to those low and questionable characters. These characters have a singleness of purpose that he admires and that represents the America he loves.

These elements of high and low are combined in the person of Humboldt. He is even more erudite than Charley, but he also has a self-destructive side. This side leads him to the insane asylum and a death in poverty in New York's pre-gentrification Bowery.

Humboldt's real gift to Charley might not be the legacy itself, but rather teaching him to appreciate the full spectrum of human existence and bringing him back to a better understanding of life through the act of leaving him a legacy.

I really enjoyed the first half of this book. It was engaging and held my attention firmly.

However, as I delved further into it, the pace seemed to slow down considerably.

And then, it almost felt as if I was reading a completely different story. There were a few hundred pages that seemed rather random, filled with issues that were repeatedly discussed by the angst-ridden narrator. For instance, the appearance of a diaphragm peaking out of a woman's luggage was given rather unnecessary emphasis.

Finally, we were treated to the explanation of the title, but by then, the damage had already been done. Tighter editing would have definitely helped to improve the flow and coherence of the story.

Also, I couldn't help but wonder if lines like, "In my private vocabulary she was a little 'nole me tangerine'" were really necessary. There were lots of intellectual references, but in this case, I just assumed that the narrator meant that "she" was different in some way.

The best thing I liked about this book, though, was the photograph on the cover of the Penguin paperback, 1996 edition. Yes, that's the narrator, a confident, strong sixtyish man crossing a street, perhaps about to start over one more time. But when you like the cover better than the novel itself, well, that's not a good sign.

If someone were to ask me about this book, I'd probably say, "It was just okay," because that's exactly how I felt. However, I do think I'll give another Bellow novel a try, hoping that it will be a more satisfying read.