Freddy and Fredericka by Mark Helprin.
Penguin Books, 2005. $27.95 — 576 pages.

Suppose Prince Charles and Lady Diana had ruined their marriage and their public image to the point that their competency to sit on the English throne was in question (Not that we have to suppose too much; they did, of course, ruin their marriage, and their competency to rule was under attack). Suppose, too, that instead of having their marriage and their lives fall into complete disrepair, that a Mr. Neil (an acronym for Merlin) met with them secretly in the presence of the queen and ordered the pair to parachute at night into the New Jersey countryside wearing only hracneets, which Mr. Neil describes as “modesty panels of golden rabbits’ fur,” in order to conquer the United States and bring it back into the Commonwealth.

Such is the premise for Mark Helprin’s Freddy and Fredericka (ISBN 1-59420-054-8, $27.95), a zany, comic, and yet serious look at monarchy, humanity, and what it takes, as the old recruiting slogan ran, “to be all you can be.” Freddy and Fredericka, having brought shame and chagrin by the bucket load to Buckingham Palace, are summoned to a secret meeting with the queen and a sort of spiritual entity of England, Mr. Neil, the man who dispatches them on their mission. They are flown to New Jersey, where a quick series of events, some favorable, some disastrous, leave them clothed and fed. As they slowly make their way west across the United States, Freddy and Fredericka work at jobs ranging from dishwasher to dentist, meet an amazing array of Americans — politicians, gang leaders, the poor and the wealthy — and slowly prove themselves worthy of the demands of monarchy. In some of the book’s most touching scenes, Freddy and Fredericka also find themselves falling in love together, drawn together by adversity and by a renewed appreciation for their gifts.

Freddy and Fredericka is not an easy novel for some readers and critics, especially for those who like their books to fit into a certain category. The book can also be annoying when Helprin’s attempts at humor — he is genuinely funny, most of the time — become strained, particularly when he gives too much leeway to his penchant for silly names and ridiculous situations. There is a politician, for example, whose name, Dewey Knott (Do He Not, as he is termed by his opponents) gives rise to a long-winded, silly, and trite discussion among his advisers regarding a name change.

Despite these passages, however, Helprin has given us a great gift in this book both in terms of its humor and in its depiction of virtue and the way it works in human beings. Here is Freddy, shortly after he and Fredericka have tumbled into New Jersey, explaining why he likes what he has seen of the American people:

“...I like the way of life here, the road, the music, the crab. I would like to be this people’s sovereign. They speak English in their way, they’re mad, and they’re vital.”

“I don’t know, Freddy,” Fredericka whispered, though within the range of Kitten’s cocked ears, which moved like radar dishes. “Can you imagine them at the Garden Party, dressed in leather, chains, turbans, and street clothes born in the circus, speaking in their atrocious accents, with pierced body parts, tattoos, and rooster hair?”

“We wouldn’t invite the intellectuals.”

Captivated by the humor and verbal iridescence of Freddy and Fredericka, some critics have missed Helprin’s careful examination of the importance and development of virtue in humanity. Like Don Quixote and Sancho, Freddy and Fredericka go off on a wild quest whose many comic twists slowly burnish their souls, rubbing away their conceits and forcing them to grow in fortitude, temperance, and love. Near the end of the book, when Freddy, who before his quest could not set foot in public without appearing the buffoon, speaks at a political convention in place of Dewey Knott:

“The model of a president has been that of a man who comes to you like a salesman and promises things. I think the model of a president should be a man who comes before you and says, ‘This is what I have seen, this is what I believe, this is how I live, and this is what I love.’ Surely you know such a man better for this than you would know a man possessed of a list crowded with numbers and littered with prostituted oaths....”

For those who love England — Helprin gives us quite a bit of English history and monarchical custom — for those who were either fascinated or appalled by Diana and Charles, for those who appreciate puns and play in fiction, and for those who seek a fine, if somewhat chaotic, examination of vice and virtue, Freddy and Fredericka offers many pleasures.

(Jeff Minick is a writer and teacher who lives in Waynesville. He can be reached at saintsbookco@aol.com.)