There is no enduring tradition of experimental fiction in Canada. Despite the perennial appearance of Leonard Cohen’s second novel, Beautiful Losers, on university English literature syllabuses, and despite the heroic efforts of a small handful of stalwarts – Graeme Gibson, Stan Rogal, bp nichol, and their ilk – naturalism has been the preferred vehicle for fiction writers in Canada.

It is therefore a matter of some moment when a first-time Canadian novelist chooses to eschew the path of naturalism and venture out into more uncharted territory. Miss Lamp, the debut novel by Calgary’s Chris Ewart, exists somewhere near the confluence of the novel and the prose poem. There’s no real plot to speak of – although there are plenty of incidents – and the language is highly allusive and playful. The story, such as it is, finds the title character, a lawyer, ensconced in Room 32 of the Peachland Hotel, where she is preparing to defend the town dentist, Delano, who has been accused of stealing his patients’ teeth. Other characters flit in and out, many of them unnamed and referred to only by such descriptors as Paper Boy or Room Service Boy.

The refusal to apply proper names to his characters is typical of Ewart’s approach: he is more interested in the language of his story than in traditional notions of plot or characterization. The problem with foregrounding the language so relentlessly is that this approach also underscores the linguistic infelicities, such as the preponderance of clichés and phrases lifted from advertising slogans. In some cases, quirky or overly clever turns of phrase call undue attention to themselves, leaving the reader pining for prose that is less self-conscious, less knowingly smug. In other cases, the rhythms of the sentences are too discordant to allow for a smoothly satisfying reading experience.

There is nothing wrong with linguistic pyrotechnics when they are ably performed, and form in fiction is ultimately inseparable from content. However, cleverness for the sake of cleverness becomes grating over the course of a novel. In the end, Miss Lamp is just too precious for its own good.