Dream homes for sale

No one should turn to Mark Twain for financial advice. But the man who managed to lose at least two fortunes did famously and wisely recommend buying real estate: "God's not making any more of it."

Fortunately, the supply of novels about real estate is still strong. Richard Ford's "Independence Day" and Steven Millhauser's "Martin Dressler" both won Pulitzer Prizes, and Tom Wolfe's mansion, "A Man in Full," should have.

With Jane Smiley's new novel, another prime parcel has come on to the market. There may not be a thousand acres here, but it's still a major piece of literary property. Everything about "Good Faith" is in perfect move-in condition, which is a relief after the string of white elephants she's put up for sale lately. First, it's a manageable size, with just a small collection of expertly drawn characters. Second, all of these characters are people - no cows and pigs ("Moo") or studs and mares ("Horse Heaven"). And finally, it's a novel constructed without any prefab components ("Adventures of Lidie Newton").

Of course, "Good Faith" displays all the remarkable attention to detail that's the hallmark of Smiley's work. Her subject this time is the 1980s real estate boom, along with the savings and loan debacle. Clearly, she's earned an agent's license and probably degrees in accounting and engineering along the way, but all that technical homework is subordinated to the needs of the story. She no longer sounds like a brilliant, tiresome student angling for an A++ by cramming in every last bit of impressive research.

Indeed, despite the flashy context - billions created and billions lost in the nation's most spectacular financial bubble - Smiley keeps "Good Faith" tightly focused on a single real estate agent in a small New England town. Joe Stratford, the narrator, is a careful, honest man, the kind of agent who makes a living by looking out for his clients' best interests, understanding their concerns, enduring their rants, and soothing their anxieties.

He was raised by righteous, hardworking parents, members of a small, rapidly shrinking Christian sect. But since high school, Joe has felt like a son to Gordon Baldwin, a classic wheeler-dealer, generous to a fault with friends and family, but always looking to take advantage of everyone he negotiates with.

Joe lives modestly and neatly, and radiates integrity with every handshake, while Gordon struts through all the trappings of wealth, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and tax court. Together they've developed a symbiotic relationship: Gordon keeps Joe supplied with new houses to sell, and Joe keeps Gordon honest.

All that changes with the arrival of Marcus Burns, an ex-IRS agent who swoops into town and mesmerizes everyone. He's a prophet of the inflationary economy, preaching a doctrine of leveraged financing that sounds like voodoo economics to Joe. But with a phone call to old colleagues, Marcus makes Gordon's tax problems disappear. And then he has such creative ideas about how to enhance Gordon's latest subdivision project. "I would have to say that that's when the '80s began," Joe recalls, "the first week in June 1982, when modest housing in our rust-belt state got decked out with Italian tile."

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