Ira Foxglove

Rating:
Summary: Charming and Life-Enriching
Review: IRA FOXGLOVE is a charming little novella that was found among the author's papers after his all too early death at the age of fifty-five.

When IRA FOXGLOVE opens, it's 1973 and Ira is recovering from a heart attack. There's no bypass surgery for him (it's 1973, remember) and Ira's cardiologist eventually sends Ira home with nitroglycerine tablets and instructions to stop smoking and improve his diet and, most of all, to avoid stress.

Ira does stop smoking and he manages to change his diet, but, as with most of us, stress doesn't absent itself from his life. The stress in Ira's life only seems to accelerate, especially after his eighteen year old daughter, Henley, goes to Paris to study, of all things, mime (I suppose she picked the perfect place for it) and his wife, Portia, runs off to London to live with an Indian immigrant named Dawlish Warren (also the perfect place).

Alone, Ira starts living in his kitchen, worrying when, not if, his heart will act up next. He grows careless about cleanliness, about meals, about money. Portia, who obviously can't forget Ira despite Dawlish, sends him innumerable postcards that he tapes up rather than chuck into the nearest waste can.

When Ira does eventually leave his kitchen, he does so in a very different way (courtesy of his friend, Neptune), traveling to Iceland, to England and to France on a voyage of self-discovery with several comic surprises thrown in, most of them involving Ira's hobby as an amateur inventor.

IRA FOXGLOVE is a delightful novella and one that is totally unpretentious. It says a lot about life without taking itself too seriously, and this, I think, is its greatest strength. The ending is pitch perfect, but to give anything of it away here would be spoiling the book for the reader.

I would definitely recommend IRA FOXGLOVE to anyone who simply wants a delightful, and different, book to read. This is a novella, not a novel, so it's also a perfect way to spend an afternoon, evening or weekend or to speed the hours on a long plane trip. IRA FOXGLOVE isn't an inane "beach read," however. It's a book that is as life-enriching as it is entertaining.

Rating:
Summary: The Inventions of the Heart
Review: This slender book, published posthumously after the author's death in 1999, is an excellent example of a small press taking on a worthy publishing venture despite the financial risks. IRA FOXGLOVE is a unpretentious and emotional story about a man who appears to have lost it all: his wife, his daughter, his work, and his health. A heart attack survivor, Ira lies around much of the day in his Massachusetts home worrying about the pain in his chest and the reasons his wife Portia abandoned him for London. Their daughter Henley, who studies mime in Paris, seems just as distant. But Ira is also an inventor, a man of ideas whose demos always seem to fall short of his hopes, and so he embarks for Europe on borrowed money and transportation with no expectations. What he discovers there is nothing short of life.

The publisher notes that this book was written thirty years before its publication; however, although there are certain things such as fashion and monetary values which are firmly rooted in the 1970's, this novel reads as a timeless story about love and its bewildering turns. At times humorous and others, heartbreaking, McMahon has fashioned a story that should appeal to a wide range of readers. His language and turns of plot are unassuming and honest. His characters are just quirky enough to be lovable. The plot is straightforward, and the imagery, while sometimes verging on the heavy-handed, manages to steer clear of the maudlin. Readers will find themselves rooting for Ira as he makes his circuitous way from the darkness of his depression into the brightness of the real world.

Maybe because I read this novel with no expectations myself, I found it a pleasant discovery. Some readers might find the lack of complexity disappointing, but this novel does not pretend to be more important than it is. Although I found the final scene a little forced, I can forgive the author this one failing in an otherwise delightful book.

Rating:
Summary: The Inventions of the Heart
Review: This slender book, published posthumously after the author's death in 1999, is an excellent example of a small press taking on a worthy publishing venture despite the financial risks. IRA FOXGLOVE is a unpretentious and emotional story about a man who appears to have lost it all: his wife, his daughter, his work, and his health. A heart attack survivor, Ira lies around much of the day in his Massachusetts home worrying about the pain in his chest and the reasons his wife Portia abandoned him for London. Their daughter Henley, who studies mime in Paris, seems just as distant. But Ira is also an inventor, a man of ideas whose demos always seem to fall short of his hopes, and so he embarks for Europe on borrowed money and transportation with no expectations. What he discovers there is nothing short of life.

The publisher notes that this book was written thirty years before its publication; however, although there are certain things such as fashion and monetary values which are firmly rooted in the 1970's, this novel reads as a timeless story about love and its bewildering turns. At times humorous and others, heartbreaking, McMahon has fashioned a story that should appeal to a wide range of readers. His language and turns of plot are unassuming and honest. His characters are just quirky enough to be lovable. The plot is straightforward, and the imagery, while sometimes verging on the heavy-handed, manages to steer clear of the maudlin. Readers will find themselves rooting for Ira as he makes his circuitous way from the darkness of his depression into the brightness of the real world.

Maybe because I read this novel with no expectations myself, I found it a pleasant discovery. Some readers might find the lack of complexity disappointing, but this novel does not pretend to be more important than it is. Although I found the final scene a little forced, I can forgive the author this one failing in an otherwise delightful book.

Rating:
Summary: The Gift of Wit, Whimsy, and Wonder
Review: Thomas McMahon is much missed. Not only was his demise untimely in 1999, but he left a legacy of the marriage of science and art that promised much more for the future and we are the lesser for his absence. McMahon trained at Cornell, MIT, and Harvard where he was a professor of biology and is created with founding the field of biomechanics. A brilliant and creative scientific thinker, he penned books on science (On Size and Life 1983 and Muscles, Reflexes and Locomotion 1984) as well as his novels of great distinction - Principles of American Nuclear Chemistry: A Novel (1970), McKay's Bees (1979), and Loving Little Egypt (1987). Brook Street Press now publishes this novel, Ira Foxglove, posthumously and while it is the first of his novels for this reviewer, I find it hard to imagine that it is not one of his best.

McMahon's joint thinking lines of scientist and artist are not unique: Michelangelo was both architect and writer (among other gifts) and William Carlos Williams joined a medical career with writing poetry. But unlike most minds whose focus is on both the analytic and the sensual - the Apollonian and the Dionysian - Mc Mahon delves into the surreal, plays with dreams and other imaginings, and creates stories that embrace humor, fantasy, whimsy, satire cum wit, and a very human pathos. The term `magical realism' has been attached to his work and while there are similarities with the works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Kurt Vonnegut, such a `classification' seems confining to his style.

IRA FOXGLOVE is the narrator of this novel - a man who has rather suddenly come to face his mortality when his heart weakens and alters his entire life. An example of Mc Mahon's wit: Foxglove is the common name for the primary heart medicine - the digitalis plant. Ira is an inventor and has had several good ideas that he allows to escape to other's hands, one of these being inflatable fabrics that never get dirty. Ira's wife Portia, who measures her life by her swimming sessions, leaves Ira and flies to Europe for adventurous escape, landing eventually in London with Dawlish Warren, a strange lover of sorts. Ira's daughter is studying in Paris with an artsy group of bohemians. Finding himself without much future Ira decides to fly to Europe in an attempt to reconcile his diasporic family. His mode of transportation: a blimp piloted by his friend Neptune who has a penchant for fishing in odd locations en route. Once in London Ira observes Portia's life, decides to visit his daughter Henley in Paris where he is oddly at one with her bohemian housemates. He surrenders to Henley's bizarre lifestyle, even participating momentarily in one of her plays. He feels an awakened passion for one of Henley's friends, Peaches, and in his becoming reacquainted with lust he "invents" an artificial heart that would not require implanting inside the body (oddly based on a tomato skin!) which promises to provide him with a solution to his own weakened heart. The pace of events speeds along disastrously resulting in his becoming truly aware of his daughter's love and wins back Portia's interest and passion and departs his European journey a resurrected man. The precise way in which the ending is brought about is left for the discovery of the reader; giving it away would lessen the joy of reading.

This tale may seem slight but it is in the telling that the magic abounds. Mc Mahon writes with a singing poetic voice ("We talked her whole childhood away.") that hints of his informed scientific mind yet soars beyond, as though knowing how things `work' allows him the luxury of disregarding facts in favor of fantasy.
This novel secures Mc Mahon's permanent place in the realm of great American writers. Would that there were more!

Rating:
Summary: The Gift of Wit, Whimsy, and Wonder
Review: Thomas McMahon is much missed. Not only was his demise untimely in 1999, but he left a legacy of the marriage of science and art that promised much more for the future and we are the lesser for his absence. McMahon trained at Cornell, MIT, and Harvard where he was a professor of biology and is created with founding the field of biomechanics. A brilliant and creative scientific thinker, he penned books on science (On Size and Life 1983 and Muscles, Reflexes and Locomotion 1984) as well as his novels of great distinction - Principles of American Nuclear Chemistry: A Novel (1970), McKay's Bees (1979), and Loving Little Egypt (1987). Brook Street Press now publishes this novel, Ira Foxglove, posthumously and while it is the first of his novels for this reviewer, I find it hard to imagine that it is not one of his best.

McMahon's joint thinking lines of scientist and artist are not unique: Michelangelo was both architect and writer (among other gifts) and William Carlos Williams joined a medical career with writing poetry. But unlike most minds whose focus is on both the analytic and the sensual - the Apollonian and the Dionysian - Mc Mahon delves into the surreal, plays with dreams and other imaginings, and creates stories that embrace humor, fantasy, whimsy, satire cum wit, and a very human pathos. The term 'magical realism' has been attached to his work and while there are similarities with the works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Kurt Vonnegut, such a 'classification' seems confining to his style.

IRA FOXGLOVE is the narrator of this novel - a man who has rather suddenly come to face his mortality when his heart weakens and alters his entire life. An example of Mc Mahon's wit: Foxglove is the common name for the primary heart medicine - the digitalis plant. Ira is an inventor and has had several good ideas that he allows to escape to other's hands, one of these being inflatable fabrics that never get dirty. Ira's wife Portia, who measures her life by her swimming sessions, leaves Ira and flies to Europe for adventurous escape, landing eventually in London with Dawlish Warren, a strange lover of sorts. Ira's daughter is studying in Paris with an artsy group of bohemians. Finding himself without much future Ira decides to fly to Europe in an attempt to reconcile his diasporic family. His mode of transportation: a blimp piloted by his friend Neptune who has a penchant for fishing in odd locations en route. Once in London Ira observes Portia's life, decides to visit his daughter Henley in Paris where he is oddly at one with her bohemian housemates. He surrenders to Henley's bizarre lifestyle, even participating momentarily in one of her plays. He feels an awakened passion for one of Henley's friends, Peaches, and in his becoming reacquainted with lust he "invents" an artificial heart that would not require implanting inside the body (oddly based on a tomato skin!) which promises to provide him with a solution to his own weakened heart. The pace of events speeds along disastrously resulting in his becoming truly aware of his daughter's love and wins back Portia's interest and passion and departs his European journey a resurrected man. The precise way in which the ending is brought about is left for the discovery of the reader; giving it away would lessen the joy of reading.

This tale may seem slight but it is in the telling that the magic abounds. Mc Mahon writes with a singing poetic voice ("We talked her whole childhood away.") that hints of his informed scientific mind yet soars beyond, as though knowing how things 'work' allows him the luxury of disregarding facts in favor of fantasy.
This novel secures Mc Mahon's permanent place in the realm of great American writers. Would that there were more!

Rating:
Summary: A blast from the past
Review: Thomas McMahon's novel comes to us after the author's death courtesy of the admirably intrepid Brook Street Press. It's a fun romp which mixes elements of McMahon's other widely acclaimed novels with the sexual daring and wit of someone like Vladimir Nabokov. The hero is Ira Foxglove, a memorable name which signals the author's intention to write a not=quite=realistic book. His wife has left him, and he's trying to re-establish a connection with his lovely young daughter.

He's not much of a stylist, and some of the racier elements of the 70s seemed to have bored a hole in McMahon's libido. As Foxglove watches a play rehearsal, he notices that: "All three were in faded blue jeans like Henley's, but through a split in one of the men's pants it was possible to verify that he wore no undershorts." And a few pages later, " Her arms were thin and languid in the long sleeves. Certain kinetic effects verified that she wore no bra."

His ingenue snaps, "You big mother-grabbing bully."

"You said it," Wolf came back. "Grabbing you is like grabbing somebody's mother."

I don't remember "mother-grabbing" as a word with any currency, but maybe in the scientific community it had a sort of lingua franca that escaped laymen. "Peaches lay still and breathed deeply. She held the wrist of my anal hand in a tight grip." It's almost as though it was a translation from some other language--"my anal hand"--excuse me?

That said, IRA FOXGLOVE is a romp through autumnal ardor by a respected author, and will please many.