Abridgment Dilutes a Complex Saga of Family Secrets

Shortly after the death of his only son in Vietnam, lonely alcoholic Thomas Mann finds a picnic basket on his doorstep. Inside is a baby, and taped to the basket is the terse message, “Eddie’s Bastard,” which is also the title of this first novel by William Kowalski.

Determining that he is a true Mann--his grandson--by his blue eyes, the old fellow aims to keep the infant. After all, he tells the local doc, he needs to tell his stories to someone, and the newly named Billy will do just fine. (Harper Audio, abridged fiction, four cassettes, six hours, $25, read by Campbell Scott.)

Billy’s relationship to his grandfather is central to the plot, but so is his relationship to Annie Simpson, a little neighbor girl who hides terrible family secrets. The story is rife with subplots, including a family curse, shared dreams, a diary belonging to a Mann ancestor, Billy’s search for his mother’s identity and exceptionally rich family lore. Alcoholism, abandonment, sexual abuse, child abuse and greed are all part of the mix. In fact, sometimes there is a little too much going on, but for that we can blame the abridgment.

In the printed version, subplots are allowed to play out as Kowalski deftly blends the real with the surreal. Shades of gray fade to black and white in the audio, as so much information is strung together that subtlety and depth are lost.

Campbell Scott, who is improving over the years, is one of the more solid narrators in the field. He has a pleasant and moderately deep voice and a manner that is growing ever more comfortable with the medium. Scott is also less likely to tackle an accent or voice that is out of his reach, as he was wont to do a few years ago. Instead of a cast of different vocal characters, Scott employs a finely tuned performance to bring out the emotions, both subtle and powerful, of Kowalski’s novel.

*

Lauren Belfer is another first-time author who entwines grand themes with a personal story, in “City of Light.” (Bantam Doubleday Dell Audio, abridged fiction, four cassettes, six hours, $25, read by Jan Maxwell.) Louisa Barrett, the headmistress of an exclusive girls’ school in Buffalo, N.Y., tells a story that takes place in 1901.

At the heart of her tale is 9-year-old Grace Sinclair, the daughter of Louisa’s recently deceased best friend. Grace has begun displaying frightening and possibly unstable behavior since her mother’s death. Grace’s father, Tom, is the director of the hydroelectric project about to open at Niagara Falls, a project that has made the conservationists murderously mad. When two men die under mysterious circumstances at the plant, Louisa begins to appraise her friends and acquaintances with a suspicious eye.

The novel is much more than a simple murder mystery, as Belfer writes of the invisibility of women and minorities just as the nation begins the arduous task electrical illumination. Romance, tragedy and the plight of workers are all at play here, though Belfer makes one glaring misstep with her insertion of historical figures into this fictional tale.

An integral part of the story is a brief liaison between Louisa and President Grover Cleveland. Belfer writes so disparagingly of Cleveland that one’s thoughts wander from her story to that of the actual man. Perhaps Cleveland was a shallow and vile womanizer, perhaps not. But, a fictional character would have distracted less from her themes of powerlessness and sexual politics. In an interesting literary conceit, Belfer’s protagonist tells her tale not as it happens, but in retrospect from 1909.

As she is looking back, we learn the fate of those involved and discover that while time has not exactly healed her wounds, it has softened the blows. The audio contains only about a third of the original novel. Lost is much of Belfer’s musings on the subjugation of the working classes, sexual double standards and the crushing onslaught of modernity.

The grand story Belfer created in print encompassing all aspects of life at the turn of the century is mostly reduced to a maudlin and tragic tale here. The truncation may be a travesty, but narrator Jan Maxwell is an asset.

Maxwell’s voice is low with just the faint wisp of sultriness. Her manner is vital and strong. She sounds like a woman accustomed to leadership, though there is a slight reservation to her manner, which suits Louisa’s proper and rather uptight description. She slips easily into an Irish brogue that is lyrical and light. Even more commendable is her ability to convincingly relate young Grace’s words. Many narrators adopt a mincing and cloying tone when portraying children, but Maxwell sounds youthful and innocent.