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The figure that stood in the doorway made no move. In the half light Qwilleran saw square shoulders, heavy sweater, square jaw, high square brow. 'Narx!' said Qwilleran. The man came to life. He sidled into the room, reaching for the table. His eyes were on Qwilleran. With a lunge he seized the palette knife and rushed forward. Suddenly...shrieks...snarls! The room was full of flying things - swooping down, across, back, up, over! The man ducked. The hurtling bodies were quicker than the eye. They flew down, under, up, across. Something hit him in the arm. He faltered. In that half moment Qwilleran pounced on the flashlight and swung it with all his force. Narx staggered back, went down. There was a sharp, rending crack as his head struck the tiled counter. He slumped slowly to the floor." |
And that is both the first and last we see in the flesh of Oscar Narx. Longtime visitors to this site would naturally think that the first Could Read Backwards supporting character to whom I'd write a tribute would naturally be Mountclemens. (This makes Narx an even odder choice for an honorarium, he being the one who offed Mountclemens.) All in good time, but Narx's characterization, so unique, effective, and easily overlooked in favor of the man's dramatic employer, deserves recognition - as does Braun, who painted his portrait so well so subtly, with so few words.
Few words, but none of Narx's, for he does not utter one syllable on-page in the entire book. We learn of his personality entirely through his actions. And who is revealed is a man a good deal more capable than he is ever given credit for - mannered and professional enough (for Mountclemens's standards, no less) to pose as the representative of a big-ticket artist; aware enough to put two and two together concerning the events of the day of Earl Lambreth's death; alert enough to notice the lime-peel scent outside that fateful night in the back alley, connect it with Mountclemens's presence, and take appropriate action within a very short window of time. His employer's underestimation of him indeed proves fatal.
And yet it is indeed underestimation that rules Narx's life. His physique couldn't have helped matters - Narx was a big, hulking man and must've suffered from the stereotype of brains and brawn being mutually exclusive. And Mountclemens wouldn't have taken on as his surrogate painter and accomplice anyone he thought smart enough to pose a threat to his schemes; for a man who is meticulous in his plotting, Narx is an utter non-factor in his plans, until the critic decides to wrap up his scam and eliminate any possible incriminators - and even then, he deems Narx such a non-threat that when the time comes to dispatch him, he attempts the deed with one hand if not tied behind his back, at least left back on top of the refrigerator. Thus, while Mountclemens found Narx's technical skills useful, he himself was hardly highly regarded by his employer; in his boss's little murder drama, Narx was relegated to the role of muscle-bound dumb-guy stooge - a mere tool, a means to an end, easily dispensed with once his usefulness was expended.
Qwilleran's post-confrontation assessment of the man is to-the-point but spot-on - "he felt like a flunkey [sic] - a robot - always carrying out the big man's orders". And that is the central, vexing dilemma in Narx's life; following "the big man's orders" is the fellow's only avenue to success - but the success is not truly his, as his work is never accredited, and he is only used as a vessel to carry out another's will. The Scrano paintings are really Mountclemens's in design and spirit, and even though it is his execution which brings those plans to fruition, it is a fictional front man conjured up by Mountclemens who gets all the credit in the venture.
Narx is, as his actions reveal, a very able man. (And he knows it full well, not lacking in self-respect; the festering bitterness in his personal artwork indicates that he has a fine grasp of his skills and knows it is not "right" for him to be stuffed into the background.) But - and this is the problem - he can attain any measure of accomplishment only through subduing himself to the point of anonymity. His quandary, though it revolves around his involvement in criminal activities and is half self-inflicted, is ultimately a sympathetic one, since it taps into universal frustrations. Working for an intensely egocentric man who makes a heck of a lot more off his labor than he himself does, in a job where he gets no respect, appreciation, or fulfillment - what modern wage slave can't relate to that?
Narx's resentment is potently expressed in those "disturbingly real" self-referential robot paintings Qwilleran discovers - the only artwork here that was truly Oscar Narx's, lying dusty and forgotten in a back room. The canvases show some glimmer of artistic expression, even if it's on the level of that of a bright high school student, behind the technique, and they convey a honest, heartfelt sentiment about his rather sad station in life on canvas. His self-awareness of his pathetic situation makes him an even more empathetic character. The bluntness and potency of the feelings behind the paintings helps to humanize Narx - all the more so since they're our first (and only) direct glimpse into the mind of a character created and developed exclusively through inferral. Which, actually, does befit Narx's position as the invisible man behind the scenes - that his characterization be so indirect, gleaned through the psychological imprints left on his work, the deeds of which he was capable. Never do we talk to Narx himself, to anyone who knows Narx about the man - his very existence is never directly acknowledged in the main storyline. His work acquaints us with the man before we even are aware of his very being - and it is ironic, actually, that he should finally be made known to Qwilleran and the reader by that which he lamented had been languishing in obscurity.
Narx's exit is as swift as his physical entrance but apropos. When, at the very end, he finally does win somewhat proper credit and renown, it's for exploits that earn him twenty-five to life. Even in victory, Narx is the man who gets no respect.
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