The race to the top of the world

Some historical novels want to be histories, and some want to be novels, but the best authors succeed however they cast the foreground and background. For instance, in Kevin Baker's "ParadiseAlley" (reviewed Oct. 17), the fiery riots of 1863 take center stage, ably assisted by a stellar supporting cast of characters.

Though no less devoted to the past, WayneJohnston takes a different approach in "The Navigator of New York." Here, the Newfoundland author keeps his attention focused on a precocious young man and uses history – the race for the North Pole – as a stunning backdrop to his hero's personal search. (In 1999, Johnston employed a similar method for "The Colony of Unrequited Dreams," a novel about Newfoundland's first premier.)

Devlin Stead tells the sad story of how his father abandoned them soon after the family began. At first, Dr. Stead left on the charitable pretense of bringing medical care to poor Eskimos. Then, he asked his wife to be patient while he devoted himself to the grand quest for the North Pole, which so obsessed the early 20th century. As a member of Lt. Robert Peary's legendry team, he participated in some celebrated near-successes. (History buffs will appreciate how cleverly Johnston splices fictional characters into real-life events.)

Despairing of her loneliness, Devlin's mother drowned herself in the sea; some time later, his father wandered away from Peary's camp in northern Greenland and was presumed dead.

Since then, Devlin has been well cared for by a devoted aunt and barely tolerated by a chilly uncle who finds his presence a constant annoyance. To the people of St. John, Newfoundland, Devlin is a dark symbol of family tragedy, a genetic time bomb sure to self-destruct some day just as his parents did. Isolated by this cloud of ignominy and smothered by his aunt's love, he develops – as you might expect – into a rather contemplative, lonely young man.

The novels he reads aloud with his aunt every night provide his only real experience of the world, which endows his own narrative with a sonorous Victorian voice and a penchant for analysis that's sometimes comically precise. In a typical example, he describes an acquaintance this way: "His were the eyes of a man humbly and indulgently resigned to the loneliness of greatness, a man who, though he knew he would never meet his equal, had a gentle, all-forgiving view of humankind. But at the same time, there was that barely perceptible look of amused disdain, a universal dissuasiveness, an inclination to regard all things, himself included, as ultimately inconsequential." You know, those kind of eyes.

Plenty of people will find this hard going and prefer Kevin Baker's breathless description of the riots that consumed New York City. But there are deep riches here for readers with a taste for adventure who appreciate the careful parsing of thoughts and motives in the manner of Hawthorne or James.

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