ALEC

A sequel to E.M. Forster’s posthumous novel, Maurice.

Set circa 1912, written in 1912-13, and published posthumously in 1971, Maurice tells the story of a young man of the English upper-class who struggles to understand, then accept, then find love in a society in which homosexuality is a crime. Working with the same characters, di Canzio’s debut revises certain blind spots in Forster’s original—especially as they relate to Alec, Maurice’s lover. In Maurice, Alec is less of an independently realized character than an apotheosis, the final embodiment of Maurice’s long search for requited love. Enter di Canzio. He inverts the classist structure of Maurice by giving Alec a prolonged backstory and then retelling the story of Alec and Maurice’s courtship from Alec’s perspective, going so far as to reproduce verbatim much of Forster’s dialogue. But di Canzio doesn’t stop there. He further amends the Maurice-Alec tale by extending the timeline, something that Forster, who tried to turn the two men into happy woodcutters, abandoned when it became clear that no young men, regardless of their sexual preferences, could be happy together in the English countryside during World War 1. Picking up where Forster left off, di Canzio takes us to the Somme (with Alec) and Gallipoli (with Maurice), yanking the characters forward into the turbulence that Forster spared them. Will the lovers survive? Will they remain capable of love after witnessing such senseless violence? Will the green future Forster wanted for them still exist after the war? Though groundbreaking in its time for its positive portrayal of same-sex love, Maurice is inhibited by its highly visible agenda: The author’s intention for the book (that Maurice, a gay man, finds true love) is telegraphed from the first pages to the last, and every detail is in cold service to this goal. Unfortunately, though his prose is enjoyable and his book’s relationship to Forster’s original will bring real delight to readers who read the two back to back, di Canzio’s novel suffers from a similar failing. As Alec confidently diagnoses the inequities of his day, he begins to feel outside his own time period, the emanation of an author more interested in serving neat denunciations of Alec’s historical moment than in investigating whatever interior muddle that moment might stir up in Alec’s character. This may not bother some readers. But for those looking to feel embedded in the period, di Canzio will disappoint.

Fast, fluent, and enjoyable—but unconcerned with evoking the lived experiences of the characters.