A review of

A Dead Language

by Peter Rushforth

Central question: How might an unkind adolescence shape adult traumas?
Format: 648 pp., cloth; Size: 6" x 9"; Price: $26.00; Publisher: MacAdam Cage; Editor: Tim Binding; Print run: 15,000; Book design: David Mann; Typefaces: Fournier and Horley; Author began writing second novel: during an opera; Maximum number of times Whoop! appears on one page: ten; Other frequently occurring onomatopoeia: “KER-BOOM!!!” “SIZZLE!!!” “WHUMPF!!!” Representative sentence: “He kept on doing this until there was no more paper left, singing the same lines, making comments—‘The pretty little bride,’ ‘The hyphenless husband’—and all the time Linnaeus was sobbing.”

Errare humanum es, Dr. C.! To err is human!” the precocious boys of Crowninshield’s Academy chime, riffing off the tiny dose of Latin they’ve learned, or rather, realized they already knew. Their assignment was to find and list common Latin phrases, so that weekend found young Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton leafing through a dictionary (pausing to cautiously examine the words cir-cum-ci-sion and cop-u-la-tion) and—more prudently—spending hours at the cemetery, where a bounty of requiescat in paces and hic iacets rests.

This is British novelist Peter Rushforth’s vision of prepubescent Lieutenant B. F. Pinkerton, the man who impregnates and abandons Cio-cio-san in Madame Butterfly. Ben, a slight, fair-featured boy who appears briefly in Rushforth’s previous novel Pinkerton’s Sister (2005), takes the spotlight in its sequel, A Dead Language. He’s a delightfully complex character whose stream of consciousness whips and whirls through chemistry equations, relations with effete friends and cruel father figures, and a vast inner struggle with his masculinity. He blushes easily, and his surname makes him all the more susceptible to taunting (“I think it’s Pink!” is a classmate’s usual greeting).

Pinkerton’s Sister surveyed a day of Ben’s eldest sibling—a quintessential madwoman-in-an-attic—with a style plucked from Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters. A Dead Language, in contrast, spans years and seems descended from Joyce, Woolf, and perhaps even Barthelme. These books marked a literary reawakening from Rushforth after a quarter-century hiatus from novel-writing. After publishing his first book, Kindergarten (1979), to acclaim, Rushforth spent the next decades heading a high school English department in North Yorkshire, struggling to write while teaching and administering. In 1994, friends intervened. They took him to Brazil and left him, as Rushforth told it, “on a mountain for a month with nothing to do but write.” He returned home with a draft of a novel, quit his job, and conjured a plan for the Pinkerton books. In 2005, with one published and a second drafted, Rushforth died while hiking on the Yorkshire moors.

We hope you enjoy this excerpt.

To read the full piece, please purchase a copy of the magazine from The McSweeney’s Store.

—Christine Lagorio

Christine Lagorio has written about university professors who watch pro wrestling and about poets in the army. She has contributed to a number of weekly newspapers as well as the New York Times and CBS News. She often reads on the subway.

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