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A review by barnesstorming
The Man Within by Graham Greene

adventurous dark emotional reflective sad medium-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? No
  • Diverse cast of characters? No
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.25

While there are moments that read like proto-McCarthy, beautiful sections of terse prose, Greene frequently veers into purple language in this, his first published novel. More than a few times I had to re-read a paragraph to follow the narrative hidden in obtuse language, as the story's protagonist is constantly mired in an anguished inner-dialog. It's got a lot of stuff going for it, otherwise, including some brave and frank work with sex scenes, atheism, and feminism. Problem was,  from the interior of the protagonist, I didn't find the guy likable at all. The relationship between the man and the book's most interesting female character (of only three) goes from distrust to love at a narratively convenient lightspeed. Still, have I mentioned the transcendent moments? Some of the more clever passages:

  • This wasn't the way for a woman to behave. She should be frightened, but she very damnably wasn't.
  • The candles were no longer alight, but dropped in weary attitudes of self depreciation.
  • A year later, while the child was at school and the father at sea, the mother died with the serene faithfulness of a completely broken will.
  • He was on the point of making some stumbling gesture of contrition, when the coward in him leaped up and closed his mouth.
  • Along the coasts were scrubby little men, with squinting eyes, hard wrists and a sharp mispronounced knowledge of the English coinage who knew his face well and Carlyon’s better.

So while I'm hard pressed to recommend the whole book, since it's now public domain and readily available online (I like Standard eBooks), do spend a few minutes reading Chapter IX, which is the heart of the book. 

Opening passage:
He came over the top of the down as the last light failed and could almost have cried with relief at sight of the wood below. He longed to fling himself down on the short stubbly grass and stare at it, the dark comforting shadow which he had hardly hoped to see. Thus only could he cure the stitch in his side, which grew and grew with the jolt, jolt of his stumble down hill. The absence of the cold wind from the sea that had buffeted him for the last half hour seemed like a puff of warm air on his face, as he dropped below the level of the sky. As though the wood were a door swinging on a great hinge, a shadow moved up towards him and the grass under his feet changed from gold to green, to purple and last to a dull grey. Then night came.
 
Closing passage:
To Andrews’s sense now there were two stars or it might be two yellow candles in the night around him. One was the sole companion of the moon, the other glimmered more brightly still in the belt of the old officer in front of him and bore his own name. Slowly his hand stole out unnoticed on an errand of supreme importance, for between the two candles there was a white set face that regarded him without pity and without disapproval, with wisdom and with sanity.
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