as is Exley’s devotion to the Giants through tenuous connections, ghastly funny/awful reminiscences – and eventually he bottoms out. He spends not one but two stints in the psychiatric hospital, interspersed with retreats to his mother’s house in Alexandria Bay for sanctuary and solitude-enforced soul searching. His descriptions of his errant career,
his deluded confidence in his own well-being, followed by the withering and comedic episodes he tells of in the throes of mental illness – to say nothing of his fellow inmates so wonderfully described – are completely brilliant, in the manner only one slightly deranged can summon and recollect. We cringe as we chuckle, admiration
at his descriptiveness only slightly checking the inherent concern felt – where will this all end? The answer is reasonably well.
The final chapter of A Fan’s Notes – following numerous hilariously recounted escapades (Mr. Blue is a classic sidekick; his brother-in-law a complete piece of work – enjoy!) that encompass the entire spectrum of emotions - is optimistically titled ‘A Dream of Sanguinary Ends’. Exley concludes his story of tribulations once again convalescing at his mother’s home in A-Bay, licking his wounds and comforting his old faithful dog, ever hopeful. He went on to write two more novels
of much the same material, completing his trilogy. They explore slightly different angles but lack the pithy truth of this first novel. Continual bad behaviour and self-analytical recounting becomes slightly trite, losing the sparkle and lustre he captures so tellingly and succinctly in A Fan’s Notes. It is Exley’s one true, brilliantly
self-scathing, novel. He bares his soul and dissects his life with humour, despair and a certain degree of wonderment at having survived the ravages of same. His journey (the novel) is profane, dazzling, despairing, wickedly verbose, honest and unrepentant. He died relatively young at 62,
holed up in Alexandria Bay. A Fan’s Notes is his life laid bare, an eulogy of sorts. It’s his small mark in a massive, monstrous world, told from a miniscule but resonating self-perspective.
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BOUNDER MAGAZINE 63
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