The Good Lie
by D.F. Bailey
Winnipeg: Turnstone Press, 2007, ISBN 978-0-88801-329-3, 320 pp., $19.95 paper.

The plot of D.F. Bailey's novel The Good Lie pivots around a kayaking accident in which a teenage girl, Jenny Jensen, and the narrator, Paul Wakefield, a bureaucrat and novice kayaker, are both injured. In a reaction typical of many victims after a near-death experience, Paul makes himself the centre of the tale and, in his hyper-vigilance, convicts himself of both legal guilt and moral culpability. He complicates the issues by not telling the whole truth about what happened and he compounds his lie of omission by lying to the girl's family about what she did. Paul convinces himself, with the help of his lawyer, that the insurance settlement for Jenny, now in a coma, will be greater if she is found to be the victim of an accident rather than the victim of a crime. Yet it is not clear, if Jenny's injuries are accidental--the result of a collision with a larger vessel--why Paul, who is just as novice a paddler, would be considered responsible for her safety.

Thus, readers have reason to be skeptical. Paul makes many bad decisions, which make it difficult for readers to maintain empathy for him. He turns someone else's tragedy into a Hamlet-like musing on philosophy and spirituality interwoven with flashbacks of his wonderful life and all that he fears he may lose. As does Valerie, his long-suffering wife, this reader wants to shake Paul and tell him to "get a grip." Like his sympathetic boss does, I want to counsel Paul to talk freely to someone, if only for the possibility that his own twisted thinking could be straightened out. Why does he do Internet searches for American legal precedents in such a very Canadian case? Some of the tension of this thriller stems from Paul's psyching himself out. His psychological issues, including a possible psychotic break brought on by the stress of his secret, also create tension. However, the effect of his "issues" is to arouse sympathy rather than empathy. Sympathy distances the reader from the protagonist.

The plot itself is gripping enough. I want to read on to find out what happens to the cast of characters, the two families most affected by the accident. The Canadian setting, Victoria and the waterways visible from the southern tip of Vancouver Island, adds greatly to the story's appeal. The instigating incident, tied inextricably to location, is rendered masterfully. And the attempt to portray illness in a way with which readers can identify is a brave choice. But the fact that the Canadian legal definitions of accident, panic, intention, self-defence, level of force, assault, homicide, manslaughter, or criminal insanity never enter the debate lessens the novel's credibility.

Perhaps it is a feeling of being manipulated, being hooked in by a good story, a possible crime scene, which is poorly investigated. The accident is reduced to a vehicle for cogitations / meditations on the meaning of life and the relationship between luck, chance, and fate. Before the accident, Paul had been satisfied living a life seemingly without meaning (other than progeneration). After the accident, his pursuit of self-justification leads to a larger quest for meaning beyond a day-to-day existence. Dead writers (Marcus Aurelius) and artists (Jack Wise) function as psychopomps, offering soulful wisdom from beyond to provide the orphaned adult guidance through his transit of tragedy. It is definitely interesting, but ultimately, The Good Lie is a magic cloak hung on a shaky peg.

J.M. Bridgeman writes from BC's Fraser River Valley.

Buy this book at McNally-Robinson Booksellers.


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