Turvey by Earle Birney ~ 1949. This edition: McClelland and Stewart, New Canadian Library N34, 1963. Introduction by George Woodcock. Paperback. 286 pages.
Earle Birney, Canadian master-poet of power, grace and poignant reflection, occasionally wrote off-genre.
Perhaps most notably so in 1949, just a few years after Birney’s service in the Canadian Army during World War II, when he produced this bawdy and satirical novel – “a military picaresque”, as it is sometimes subtitled – combining a farcical account of a common soldier’s adventures during his quest to get to the front lines in Europe with a critique of the absurdities of military bureaucracy (Birney served as a personnel officer so had an insider’s knowledge) and a scathing if understated depiction of the horrors and human toll of war.
We follow one Thomas Leadbeater Turvey, originally native to (fictional?) Skookum Falls, British Columbia, as he enlists in the Canadian Army and goes through an interminable saga of slow advancements and sudden setbacks on his mission to join his best friend Mac Macgillicuddy in the (fictional?) Kootenay Highlanders as they head to Europe to take on the Nazis.
First edition dust jacket.
Private Turvey is of the species amiable innocent, and though he goes through an astounding series of mild-to-dire accidents and ailments, he always manages to crawl out from under with a sheepish grin. We are ever on his side, fingers tightly crossed, especially after he does eventually achieve Europe and a reunion with the ultimately ill-fated Mac.
Hedy Lamarr snuggled tighter into Turvey’s arms. The other dancers cleared the floor to watch, entranced with their grace. Her fingers slid down and caressed his wrist. Lifting her luminous eyes she murmured:
“Come on, lug. Open up your trap ‘n lift that tongue.”
Turvey awoke in time to gag before the little icicle of a thermometer could slide down his throat. The orderly, who had been holding Turvey’s wrist with a thumb and forefinger as if it were a piece of bad meat, dropped it. The time was 0600 hrs. Turvey began his thirteenth day in Ward Two of Number Umpteen Basic Training Centre Hospital…
Turvey takes hit after hit and comes out each time a little bit wiser; on his post-VE Day return to Canada he finally develops a righteous sense of indignance (anger is too strong a term for this sweet-natured man) at the powers that control the fates of lowly privates and hies himself off in pursuit of his left-behind English sweetheart and a well-deserved happily ever after.
I thoroughly enjoyed this engaging and deeply funny novel; its serious moments hit hard in contrast to the lightheartedness; the combination works perfectly; Earle Birney’s touch is sure and precise.
Turvey won the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour in 1950. Reviews of the book are easy to find online, and a short but interesting post on the novel appears here, at the Canus Humorous blog.
My rating: 9/10
Leaves & Pages 
After feeling your absence this summer, I’m now feeling spoiled. Your reviews are coming so quickly. I’m in awe. Please continue!
It’s been several decades since I read Turvey. If memory serves it was the Collins White Circle edition. Wish I still had that copy. It was replaced by a first edition signed in fountain pen (the very best sort of signature) that was bought for a song from an American bookseller.
I’d like to reread the novel, but would prefer the 1976 “unexpurgated edition.” Several years ago, I came upon a letter written by Birney to publisher Jack McClelland in which he defends the, um, more colourful language used in Turvey by pointing out words and phrases used in fellow Canadian James Benson Nablo’s The Long November (1945). Birney provides a list: “Jesus Christ, Christ Almighty, By Jesus, for Christ’s sake, goddamit, Bugger all, sonofabitch, suck-holing, stumblebum, crap, shacked up, quickie, a lay, shove it up your keister, tired of being screwed-without-being-kissed.” Who knows what filth is in the unexpurgated Turvey!
I join you in recommending the book. As far as I know, it is one of only two Canadian novels to feature a character named Busby.* You can’t ask for anything more.
* The other is Charles Templeton’s The Kidnapping of the President.
Thank you for the kind words, Brian! I’ve just finished up with a large, time-consuming clerical and graphics job which has kept me hopping since May, so there’s time again to read and type personal things. I didn’t post much this summer, so some of what we’re seeing is catch-up from the book pile.
But I did just read Turvey, and enjoyed it much more than I had anticipated.
I’ve doublechecked my edition, and it is indeed the 1971 “first reprint”, but I am definitely going to keep my eyes open for the 1976 “unexpurgated” version. The edited text is chock full of gloriously frank language, though the editor’s hand is visible most obviously in the amount of “bucking” going on. Must remember that little verbal cheat myself when emotion runs high. I can’t quite fathom what else would have been pruned away; the mind rather boggles.
Doesn’t the Busby in this one come to an unfortunate end? I thought there was a brief mention of him perishing in Europe, with Turvey subsequently shedding a tear for him by the sad sea waves. Can’t find that passage now; perhaps it was someone else?
Grand novel.
By the way, I was thinking of you when I read and discussed E.G. Perrault’s The Twelfth Mile. Are you familiar with that one? Right up there with The Last Canadian! (Just saying.)
It’s been so long that I can’t remember a thing about the Turvey Busby other than that his first name is Calvin.
I really have to reread the novel.
I enjoyed your E.G. Perrault post, and am wondering how it is that I’d never heard of the man. “Right up there with The Last Canadian, you say. In that case, I’m going to read Spoil!. Care to join me? It may be right up there with The Swordsman.
I’ll be looking for other E.G. Perraults as the fall book sales start. Interesting what one can find if the radar is on. Just the other day I was not-very-optimistically glancing over a rack full of 10 cents each romance novels at a local Royal Canadian Legion rummage sale, and what should pop out at me but John Buell’s Playground. So you just never know, do you?!
I’ve never heard of this but it sounds delightful! Will have to search out a copy soon.
It should be rather easy to find. And yes, it’s a grandly satirical bit of Canadiana. I enjoyed it much more than I had anticipated. I wasn’t quite sure what Birney would do with a full length novel in such an unusual-to-him genre, and he absolutely pulled it off.
Gosh, yet another example (the top one) of the worst cover designs in literary history, guaranteed to turn eager readers reluctant, and reluctant readers off.
Yes! Perfect description of those hideous covers. “Let’s see, now. How can we make this utterly unappealing…” I sometimes amuse myself by trying to find some sort of symbolism in those murky swirls, thinking that perhaps there really is an abstract image related to the story within. But this optimistic theory was scotched when I discovered that the cover images are not necessarily exclusive to any one title – some were used more than once.
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