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Francis' quest plunges him into some dark, Jungian archetypes of Western civilization. It also entangles him in matters more mundane but equally diverting: some questionable brushwork, under Saraceni's tutelage, intended to bamboozle nationalistic collectors in the Third Reich; postwar work for British intelligence, during which Francis sees his old indiscretions coming home to roost. As the hero fumbles for a vocabulary that will lend coherence to his experiences, Davies pulls out nearly every trick in the old books. There is a monster in the attic of Francis' childhood home. Natural and putative fathers are seldom one and the same. Magic intervenes, and so do outlandish coincidences. But the Lesser Zadkiel issues a scornful judgment on the way mortals customarily regard such phenomena: "Coincidence is what they call pattern in which they cannot discern something they are prepared to accept as meaning."
What's Bred in the Bone stands stubbornly in the way of a number of trendy currents. It suggests, in an era of rampant individuality, that all people are but tiny figures in a carpet of immense scope and intricacy. It celebrates religious yearnings at a time when faith appears, if at all, as superstition. It argues that the old should not be replaced by the new unless the switch enhances the health of minds and souls. Best of all, this novel nourishes the brain while it beguiles the senses. Even those who dislike its message must keep it in mind while they scramble for a rebuttal. --By Paul Gray
"People are hungry for marvels," says Robertson Davies. "And the world is full of them. People don't see them even though they are right under their noses." Those who catch sight of the author himself can hardly fail to pay attention. His sturdy frame and flowing white beard have sent observers scrambling for analogies. He looks like an Old Testament prophet. No, he is a dead ringer for Shakespeare's Prospero. How about a slightly satanic Santa?
In fact, Davies has played a number of roles on his way to becoming the acknowledged dean of Canadian literature. As a boy growing up in rural Ontario, he began contributing stories to the two newspapers his father owned. Later he fell in love with acting and became good enough at it to join England's Old Vic Company, along with promising newcomers like Alec Guinness. Back in Canada in 1940, Davies became the editor of the Peterborough, Ont., Examiner and eventually its publisher as well. In 1961 he was appointed master of Massey College at the University of Toronto. Through it all, he wrote during his spare time, first plays and then the series of witty, bizarre novels (including Fifth Business, The Manticore and World of Wonders) that slowly won him an international reputation.