The Folded Leaf (1945) - Druckversion

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The Folded Leaf was written in 1945. Maxwell said it was his favorite novel for "personal reasons - the whole of my youth is in it". Set in the 1920s in Chicago, the story centered on the unlikely friendship between two adolescent males: Lymie Peters and Spud Latham. It depicted a true-to-life picture of life on an American university campus that came with horrific initiation parties, the facetious pomposity of being a member of a Fraternity or Sorority, drills of lectures, and after-class cafe chats.



I had a soft spot for Lymie who could not play a game to save his life. Lymie was also socially awkward and painfully thin. He was always the last to be chosen in any kind of team sport. But Lymie’s academic star was shining. Spud, by contrast, had the body of a Greek god. He was athletic, confident, and socially aloof. Lymie was drawn to Spud when the latter saved him from drowning. The friendship developed in heartwarming ways but became strained when Sally Forbes became a mutual love interest.



The novel, however, is no shallow coming of age story. I was surprised at the philosophical reflections that emerged at various points in the narrative; some of which, I felt, were out of place. For example, this interlude - "But to live in the world at all is to be committed to some kind of a journey." –appeared somewhat dislocated in the narrative. There was a chapter wholly devoted to the desert which did flow better from the story line: "The desert is the natural dwelling place not only of Arabs and Indians but also of people who can't speak when they want to and of those others who, like Lymie Peters, have nothing more to say, people who have stopped justifying and explaining, stopped trying to account for themselves or their actions, stopped hoping that someone will come along and love them, and so make sense out of their lives." Heartbreaking but real for some of us.



To me, the most disturbing reflection was on truth. "The truth is nothing like as simple or as straightforward a thing as Lymie believed it to be. It masquerades in inversions and paradoxes, is easier to get at in a lie than in an honest statement. If pursued, the truth withdraws, puts on one false face after another, and finally goes underground, where it can only be got at in the complex, agonizing absurdity of dreams." I could not help but wonder if even a strong friendship could confront the truth and not be irrevocably jeopardized. Truth comes at a cost.