The Exorcist
by William Peter Blatty
The Exorcist is a case study in the successful weaving-together of narratives into a whole. Blatty presents his character's objectives and weaknesses to the reader, and then he sets each one in motion to find their way into battle against the demon Pazuzu. The story seems like a chessboard upon which each character's moves affect the other characters. I plan to re-read portions of this novel to help me learn to set up my story peoples' journeys and get them to play off each other in their goals, motivations, and conflicts.
First is Father Merrin, who has learned to love most people he meets, even when they are dressed in rags and have rotting teeth. But he is loved, in turn, by everyone who meets him. He has personal magnetism and gravitas that lead us to believe he will inevitably be the one to save Regan. But in the novel's best twist, Merrin falls dead before the exorcism is complete. Victory comes, instead, to Father Karras, a priest who has lost his faith and belief in God. Karras's triumph is total since it encompasses outwitting Pazuzu while at the same time realizing the demon is real—and so God must be real, too. During my re-reading of the novel, I noticed, for the first time, the foreshadowing Blatty uses to illustrate what's in store for Pazuzu: Jesus calls the demons out of a man and sends them into a herd of sheep, and then sends the sheep to their deaths.
Blatty's writing style is curious, and it takes a little time to get used to it. He employs sentence fragments and one-word sentences. The style seems dated, but I think it would have sounded contemporary, even "hip", in the early '70's.
Chris's dialog is natural, fresh and peppered with curses, a quality that keeps her character from sentimentality as she worries for her daughter. The way she talks to Regan is true to the way mothers and daughters speak to each other in everyday transactions. I thought her a strong heroine even though she cannot take much direct action to save Regan. But she never gives up in her quest to get someone to help her.
Detective Kinderman is indeed a "kind man." I would imagine many have written about him being a precursor to the TV detective Colombo. He affects a bumbling and self-effacing personality, continually apologizing to his busy interview subjects for taking up too much of their time, sly all the while as he inexorably puts together a solid case.
The dialog between Kinderman and Karras, and later Dyer, sounds odd to me, and I feel out of my depth during their conversations. I think Kinderman has an accent, and that could be part of it. His invitations to the movies and recounting of what shows are playing and who is starring in them is baffling. Where does that preoccupation come from, and do the Jesuits share it? Does Blatty mean for these to be common-sounding conversations? They don't sound like my friends and I when we talk about movies, but I'm not sure what's different. Is the dialog old-fashioned? Here is where I feel that Blatty has inserted me into a world that is not my own. The dislocation is one of the great things that books do, though, so I'm grateful.
The subplot of Karl and his daughter Elvira is heartbreaking. Karl has a secret, and Kinderman must uncover it, and he does. Elvira, like Regan, escapes her demon. Karl is such a strong character even though he barely speaks. We learn about what kind of man he is from his actions. Karl stays in the room at Regan's side hour after hour, day after day. He gives his daughter money while sparing his wife the knowledge of the hell of Elvira's life. It is a lesson for every writer on how to show rather than tell. Karl's stoic, unassailable figure shows us everything we need to know. Does he ever find out that Elvira is now in a clinic since Karras dies before he can give him the message?
I was surprised at how long the novel took to bring us to the first scene of the exorcism. But it is a book about processes more than events. How people meet fate, how they regain faith, how they find help, how they find understanding.