The Testament of Yves Gundron

Few emerging novelists--or experienced ones--could handle the kinds of challenges Barton deftly accepts in this triumphant debut, a charming seriocomic fable about the seductions and dangers of progress. As it opens, the novel appears straightforward enough, the document of a medieval farmer who recalls how his invention, the harness, changed life in Mandragora, where plowing is a new development and 20 is the largest number people know. But Barton is full of gentle surprises, and what initially seems a historical account, prepared for publication by anthropologist Ruth Blum, soon evolves into something more fanciful. Yves's wife, it turns out, has a natural talent for singing modern-day blues, and his brother Mandrik le Chouchou, the local mystic, often describes his travels to ""Indo-China."" Such allusions seem peculiarly anachronistic for a rural medieval land, and in fact, this society is facing a shocking run-in with the future and all its frightening technology. The brilliant maneuvering and unveiling of this collision is one of the novel's most surprising pleasures. Editor and researcher Blum, despite her best intentions, cannot remain an objective observer for long; in her footnotes to Yves's text, a love story takes shape that confounds local tradition, and as she becomes an integral part of the Mandragoran world, a magical combination of past and future is woven through the tale. For all of her storytelling prowess--and this book is exuberant with story--Barton's real asset is her febrile imagination. Mandragora's quotidian routines are detailed so convincingly, and so lovingly that the reader starts to resent the encroaching future, with ""its hum and its terrible energy,"" as much as Yves himself does. Barton's intelligent and amusing facility with idioms and speech patterns rooted in Middle English injects a dynamic historical feel into her truly visionary project. Agent, Eric Simonoff at Janklow & Nesbit. (Jan.)