The Cheese Stands Alone by David Craig (CMJ Associates, 1997, 220 pp., $12.50)

Those who aren't familiar with the delightfully offbeat poetry of David Craig, the Catholic Pulitzer-prize nominee, now have the chance to read Craig's first foray into fiction, The Cheese Stands Alone. The book is written in Craig's signature unrhymed meter, following the rhythm of real speech with a wonderful poetic redundancy (for example, this description of modern culture: “Big Brother with the gladdest of hands, slapping your back, directing your life, killing your children”).

The Cheese narrates the conversion story of an eccentric but lovable angry young man in today's world. It's an unusual story of a counter-cultural faith. Instead of leading him from rags to riches and fame, James Bailey's return to the Catholic Church leads him to taking up the idiosyncratic ministry of a Midwestern cab driver.

Initially, Jim Bailey is the cynic of all cynics, an Ohio college dropout who's seen and done it all and is on an erratic search for the meaning of existence. In the beginning of the book, he and his drunk girlfriend Judy drive off to Cleveland to start life over. But even Jim is sarcastic about the chances of uncovering anything really satisfying. “Who knew, maybe I could find something there for me in this new place, some electric jolt, what I needed to make it through this toucan night. Some power jell or jive, maybe enough sex, money, radishes to make it worthwhile.”

Craig's narrator is a modern hippie, unshaven, dabbling in high culture, dropping in and out of school. But unlike his girlfriend who loves the material glamour and otherworldly philosophy of the New Age, he yearns at times for a modest happiness surrounded by real people. “I was for cut speech, a wisp of beard, old porches, banjos, barefooted kiddlings in patchwork jeans. I wanted a Rottweiler neighborhood, rusted Belvederes with bad mufflers out front, multi-cultural kids riding their bikes up and down the streets, yelling in foreign languages.”

His unconventional viewpoint enables him to give an honest and often very funny assessment of much in the modern world, from the New Age movement to the charismatic renewal, from crass capitalism to bleeding-heart liberalism.

And despite his self-hatred, he likes many of the people he meets, from drunk construction workers to dope runners, from savvy intellectuals to born-again hitchhikers, from would-be pals to the many women he falls in love with (to Jim, there is apparently no such thing as an unattractive woman).

Estranged from all family and committed relationships, addicted to drink and hard drugs, Jim plays with words and at times dimly becomes aware of his need for some type of transcendent answer. When a drug deal gone wrong sends him running from the cops, he finds himself hiding out at a rural Canadian retreat house which is a thinly veiled version of Madonna House. Jim works on the house's farm and gradually finds himself becoming what he pretends to be-a serious Catholic.

His almost-inevitable conversion and baptism in the Holy Spirit are merely the beginning of a long and hard journey towards holiness. After leaving the farm on a spiritual high, puffed up with his own self-importance, he rationalizes himself in and out of his faith before he finally comes to grips with the challenge to live a Nazareth life, hidden and unassuming. It is the funny and at times sad story of an angry, violent man trying hard to become St. Joseph, a meek and loving companion to the Blessed Mother and her Son.

Craig's gritty poetry/prose is the perfect medium for this human story. Under his deft word-sculpturing, Jim is believably transformed, letting go of his virulent self-hatred without losing any of his wry and accurate humor.

Craig captures the weird habits and individuality of his characters, especially the goofy humor of Generation X. Jim's friend Periwinkle greets him after a long absence: “‘Oh, oh, Jimmy is here, Jimmy is here,’ her short hair bouncing like a Kewpie doll's. ‘Crush him, crush him,’ she said as she gave me a big hug, spun around with me a couple of times.”

The occasional typographical error in the book is unfortunate, as is the publisher's awkward decision to replace all the strong language with confusing blanks. While realizing that the intent was not to offend readers, surely a more aesthetically pleasing compromise could have been reached.

Readers should applaud the new publishing house, CMJ Associates, for taking the risk to bring us this exceptional and well-crafted book by a man who is pulling his weight admirably as a Catholic voice in the field of modern poetry. Those who enjoy The Cheese Stands Alone should search out Craig's other books of poetry, especially the Pulitzer-nominated Like Taxes: Marching Through Gaul.

Regina Doman writes from Front Royal, Va.