PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF

By Paul Gray

On and off for a period of nearly 15 years, a prominent psychiatrist treats a young neurotic named Gene Kenny. After much painstaking analysis, Dr. Rafael Neruda sees what he believes to be a triumph of his therapeutic skills: Gene is no longer a passive wimp but rather a rising computer whiz with a wife, a son and--somewhat to the shrink's discomfort--a beautiful mistress. After their last session, Neruda notes, "I have to admit a surge of vanity: I was proud of what I had wrought." A bit later he hears from his former patient, "You cured me. I'm not a neurotic anymore. It's just that I can't bear the normal misery of life." The message is read to the doctor over the phone by a detective investigating Gene's murder of his wife and subsequent suicide.

This eerie moment forms the emotional and intellectual hinge of Rafael Yglesias' eighth novel, Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil (Warner Books; 694 pages; $24.95). Unfortunately, it occurs 465 pages into the narrative, well past the halfway mark but nowhere near the end of a long, long reading haul. Psychoanalysis, the so-called talking cure, has rarely, if ever, received a talkier fictional presentation.

Which is a shame, because Yglesias is a skillful, intelligent writer and the questions addressed in this novel have some real bite. To what extent are people responsible for their own behavior? Who is to assess their degree of guilt or innocence? And how is it possible to distinguish the healers from those who need healing?

These issues, and many others, are unfortunately whirled about in the indiscriminate sludge of Neruda's free-associated reminiscences. To understand the doctor's treatment of Gene Kenny, readers must first endure an almost novel-length account of Neruda's exotic childhood--Spanish-Cuban father, Jewish mother--and his later adoption, after both his parents had in diverse and perverse ways betrayed him, by his fabulously wealthy maternal Uncle Bernie. As he does throughout the novel, Neruda interrupts his story with bracketed explanations of psychoanalytic hindsight. Recalling a family gathering at which he noticed the blossoming of his cousin Julie, he interjects, "[Strangely, perhaps hilariously, I must attempt to explain my interest in her breasts...]"

Those who slog through the entire novel will find it difficult to tell whether Yglesias wants to portray his Dr. Neruda as hero, fool or, when he investigates the circumstances leading to Gene's fiasco, charlatan. With first-person narration, it is left to the reader to make that judgment. But what to make of a man who tells his lover, "Diane, if you review what you just said carefully, I really believe you'll see a contradiction." This is a man to track down evil?

--By Paul Gray