Tennis as Metaphor For Healing and Loss

THE TENNIS PARTNER

By Abraham Verghese

HarperCollins

$25, 345 pp.

Do you know the difference between an Eastern and a Western backhand? How about a pulsus bisferiens and a pulsus paradoxus? Have you ever considered relating an Eastern backhand to a pulsus paradoxus, and then using that relationship as a metaphor for the complexities of human existence? "Why would you want to" might be the more pertinent question, but for Abraham Verghese, such metaphors tell his story.

Verghese--whose first book, My Own Country, was a national bestseller about his work in an AIDS clinic in Tennessee--delves into his past once again, and uncovers a poignant story in The Tennis Partner. In it, Dr. Verghese tells the true story of his friendship with an Australian medical student, David Smith, who came to America on a tennis scholarship. At first, the relationship revolves solely around biweekly tennis outings. Smith challenges Verghese athletically, while Verghese's almost childishly simple passion for the game causes Smith to recall a time when he shared that passion--a passion he lost during his short stint on the pro tour. As the friendship progresses, however, tennis becomes a forum for dealing with their individual problems--a kind of therapy session. Verghese, who has just moved to the area, is in the process of separating from his wife and dealing with its repercussions on himself and his two young sons. Smith is having problems with his girlfriend, is not on good terms with his parents and most shockingly, is a recovering cocaine addict. The two help each other through small trials, but when it comes to a major one, Verghese suddenly finds himself unable to help. Though the story's conclusion is obvious from the title "A Doctor's Story of Friendship and Loss," and the dedication "In memory of David Smith, M.D.," what cannot be anticipated is the horribly painful way it comes about.

The book's most powerful asset is its brutal honesty. It is apparent that Verghese hides little or nothing. He is completely honest about the realities of the horrors and problems he describes. A more simple yet vivid portrayal of the habits, methods and thoughts of intravenous drug addicts would be hard to find. Verghese obviously writes from experience. His characterizations of the various addicts whose lives he touches as a doctor of internal medicine are lucid, compelling and endearing. These are obviously real people, and they tell it like it is--from where they get their drugs to how they inject to how it makes them feel. Verghese shows a soft, susceptible side of human nature. Scenes in hospitals lend themselves to that. Even the most menacing convict appears frightened and insecure when lying in a hospital bed, facing a serious illness. Not one of his characters is ever portrayed as an inherently bad individual, or a non-person, whatever their past, whatever their habits. Verghese is completely non-judgmental. He manages to avoid moralizing or preaching. Nor does he glorify anything. Rather, he tells it like it is, and that is more than enough to convey many of the problems and the agonies caused by addictions.

At the same time, Verghese is just as honest about himself and his thoughts and fears. He wonders how his sons will handle their parents' separation, insecurely fears that Smith is only playing tennis with him to be nice and contemplates a facet of his philosophy on life. Verghese paints a refreshing portrait of himself not as a grand savior, but as someone vulnerable and insecure, sometimes more so than his patients.

The book reads quickly, and is characterized by succinct but powerful phrasing and images that roll along, taking you with them rather than inviting you to stop and analyze them. The structure of the story in terms of time is especially effective, as it starts at an unspecified moment and scene, jumps back a year and works its way up to that first scene--then goes beyond. This arrangement pulls you into the story from the first page, and holds you fast through the remainder of the book.

Despite these praise-worthy qualities, The Tennis Partner is certainly not served up and followed through perfectly, pardon the pun. Though you don't feel that you need to know the differences between the serving styles of John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg to understand the book, the incessant barrage of tennis lingo (as well as medical jargon) can become slightly tedious. The analogies and comparisons between tennis, medicine and life sometimes seem amazingly twisted and contrived, and sometimes annoyingly simple. To truly enjoy the book you will have to find it in your heart to forgive the occasional trite phrase, such as "El Paso receded from view, and with it his hopes and dreams." It may take a few chapters, or longer, to accept the fact that, yes, tennis really is being used to deal with this hugely serious subject.

Overall, however, the story itself and its endearing characters more than make up for any of the more technical shortcomings. Verghese's acknowledgements at the end of the book, where he thanks many of the characters for their time and patience, serves as a startling reminder that it all actually happened. It's all very real--the friendship, faith and trust, but also the shocking pain, suffering and loss of self-control. The Tennis Partner opens a portal to another world, a world many people ignore, either consciously or unconsciously, one of dependency and addiction. Anyone who reads the novel will inevitably come away with an altered sense of such addictions and their repercussions, both physical and emotional. It's quite possible that one will never look at tennis the same way again either.