Book Review: Homer & Langley by E. L. Doctorow

“I’m Homer, the blind brother.” So begins Homer Collyer’s narration of the story of his life and that of his “lung-shot and half insane” brother, Langley.

You may already know something of Homer and Langley Collyer, the title characters of E. L. Doctorow’s latest novel. They were real people. They made the papers in the 1940’s for their eccentric, reclusive habits, and ultimately for dying in a houseful of hoarded rubble so deep that one of their bodies could not be found for over two weeks, despite the stench of decomposition that declared it must be in there somewhere. Their names continue to be associated with hoarding and obsessive “collecting” of useless junk, with living in squalor despite having money in the bank, with abandoning society for a hermit’s isolation. Doctorow may have changed that now, having used his art to bring Homer and Langley back to life, to make them real people once more, perhaps more real to us in their fictional forms than they were to the post-war world that, having discovered them buried in their own home under piles of trash, declared their lives and deaths a tragedy. Their story has been fictionalized before, but I dare say never better than it is here.

Doctorow has revised the lifespans of the Collyer brothers, who actually lived from the 1880’s to 1947, and moved their home down Fifth Avenue south of its true location in Harlem, allowing them to experience the sweep of American History from World War I to the 1970’s. Homer may be as sightless as his namesake, but his powers of observation are keen. Through his memoir, we see the iconic events of the 20th century become personal to the brothers even as they gradually sever normal connections with the outside world.

At first, the brothers are quite social, spending many evenings in clubs and speak-easies, where they meet women, and gangsters. Homer has a job at a silent movie theater; he gives music lessons in their home. Langley has a few dates and talks of finding a wife. They hold tea dances in the dining room on Tuesday afternoons. The household continues to be run by servants, much as it was before their parents succumbed to the flu epidemic of 1918.

But as time passes, both brothers turn inward and Langley’s war wounds, mental and physical, take a greater toll on his sanity. They find fewer reasons to interact socially or even to acquiesce to society’s rules. Langley goes out twice a day for the morning and evening editions of all the New York newspapers, and to scout around for still-useful items being discarded or auctioned off. Homer leaves the house less and less often. What comes in the front door rarely goes out again. Only people leave. Langley’s brief half-hearted efforts to find a wife dwindle and are forgotten. Servants are let go, or die, or are taken away by the authorities. Some very interesting visitors pass through, including Vincent the Gangster, and a clutch of hippies. The dining room is occupied by a Model T Ford, Langley’s failed experiment to generate his own electricity. First the phone, then the electricity, and finally the water service are shut off for lack of payment. Something can be heard scuttling around in the ceiling. We know no good can come of it all. Yet reading the saga from Homer’s perspective, none of this feels quite as bizarre as we know it to be. And for the participants, it isn’t tragic, it’s just life. As Homer tells a friend at one point, “You have looked in on this house. You know there is just no other way for us to be. You know it is who we are.” Now we know too.