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he was held grew, his commerce with the world was impoverished. In fact, the signal moment in Baddeley’s “year after the hospital” was the end of his friendship with Gil Davidoff.
    Yes, Gil was self-absorbed and self-important but his flaws had never put Baddeley off. Speaking with Gil was like watching a bird with a broken wing attempt flight: round and round going nowhere. Davidoff could speak of nothing but himself for long and rarely strayed far from the subject. But Baddeley had always taken comfort in being led from his troubles by a mind that acknowledged no troubles but its own. Whenever he grew tired of himself, spending time with Davidoff allowed Baddeley to grow tired of someone else. It allowed him to return refreshed to his own company. He had enjoyed Gil’s books for the same reason. They were not good but they were “Gil” and that had been enough.
    As Baddeley’s standing in the literary community grew, first Gil and then Gil’s publisher, Lance Swann, asked him for a blurb for Gilbert “Gil” Davidoff’s latest novel, Slow Boat to Peru . Baddeley agreed to do it, and if he had not read the book, if, rather, he had written a few words about how wonderful Gil’s company had always been, all would no doubt have been fine between them. But Baddeley read the manuscript. It was, as Gil’s novels always were, a pale, plainly written imitation of Malcolm Lowry: one man, heroically “drunk,” absorbed by the detritus of his deliria. The only thing that ever changed, in Gil’s fiction, was the locale. In the past, his protagonists — never more than stand-ins for Gil himself — had been delirious in Paris, delirious in Mexico, delirious in Bolivia, and delirious in Kuala Lumpur.
    Baddeley’s first thought on finishing his friend’s book was that, the world having a nearly inexhaustible supply of place names, Gil’s novel could be written over and over until cockroaches covered the face of earth. His second, and more charitable thought was that he would write, for friendship’s sake, an anodyne blurb, something that could be taken for raise if it were left unexamined:
    I have read a marvellous book!
    â€” Alexander Baddeley
    or
    Slow Boat to Peru is a real book!
    â€” Alexander Baddeley
    or again
    Of all the books I have read, this one is by the wonderful Gil Davidoff!
    â€” Alexander Baddeley
    But he found he could not write anything dishonest. Something in him was no longer biddable. And when Mr Swann asked him, more and more insistently as the publication deadline approached, for his blurb, Baddeley could only say that, this being the first time he had written a blurb for a friend’s book, he was having difficulty finding words to express his feelings. This answer, delivered with a sigh and a tone of contrition, was enough for Mr. Swann. It was not enough for Gil himself, though. Gilbert “Gil” Davidoff was outraged that his friend, whom he now found he did not much like, could refuse so simple a request. Nor was he fooled by Baddeley’s excuses.
    Their breach came when the deadline passed and Baddeley had given Swann nothing. When next Baddeley saw Gil Davidoff, Davidoff allowed him to gaze on his profile while he — that is, Gilbert “Gil” Davidoff — shed increasingly vituperative opinions about reviewers: reviewers in general; reviewers in Toronto; and reviewers who, without reason, thought too highly of themselves. Thereafter, Gilbert Davidoff could not be reached by Alexander Baddeley, no matter how Baddeley tried. And, at first, Baddeley did try. It was more as a matter of habit than anything else, though. Having made four or five calls, having left three or four messages on Gil’s answering machine, it finally occurred to Baddeley that Gil Davidoff was petty, unworthy, and mean, that Davidoff was the literary scene and the literary scene was Davidoff. Disenchanted with one, why