This short novella captures all the confusion and naïveté of young love. Turgenev requires only a few pages of understated prose to completely expose This short novella captures all the confusion and naïveté of young love. Turgenev requires only a few pages of understated prose to completely expose his subject: Despite the intolerable pain of heatbreak, and the fact that one might view love as folly, in hindsight or with age, young love nonetheless has an enduring, preternatural strength, against which life's other fruit seem pale in comparison....more
It took Hugo nearly 20 years to write Les Misérables, and it shows. The novel is as comprehensive a work as is imaginable. Digressions, essays and asiIt took Hugo nearly 20 years to write Les Misérables, and it shows. The novel is as comprehensive a work as is imaginable. Digressions, essays and asides make up a large percentage of the word count, and nothing seems omitted for the sake of narrative pacing. The first fifty or so pages are devoted almost entirely to the detailed personal history of a priest. Later, there are sections of comparable length containing a detailed account of the battle of Waterloo, a series of essays on the clergy, an editorial on street urchins, accounts of French history and the reigns of monarchs, even a lengthy description of Paris's sewer system. But the novel is far better for their inclusion, than if they had been edited out. While these digressions may sound indulgent, in fact there is very little that is truly extraneous. Hugo's asides provide an essential framework through which the story weaves. Rather than disrupting the narrative flow, they immerse the reader in this turbulent period of French history, frame the characters and locations, and in fact serve to elevate the stakes, when the action resumes.
The story itself is utterly compelling, and brilliantly composed. Les Misérables is an epic moral drama, in which characters are at once the embodiment of societal forces, while being themselves simultaneously subject to those same external forces. This creates a sort of circular philosophical perspective, a reciprocal resonance between the individual and the society he inhabits. Hugo exposes the corrupt contradictions inherent in the morality of his age; the moral inversion that is brought about by the inequitable economic system. One really feels the true horror of industrial-era poverty, the way it subverts humanity and eliminates moral choice.
But beyond any analysis of the novel's plot or themes, what I must emphasise here, and what I cannot overstate, is the experience I had reading this novel, which was one of the most intense and satisfying in memory. Simply, this is one of the greatest novels ever written....more
This is some top-shelf literary erotica. This is some five-star filth. The Fermata treads a line between ironic, self-aware social commentary and out-This is some top-shelf literary erotica. This is some five-star filth. The Fermata treads a line between ironic, self-aware social commentary and out-and-out smut. Baker's use of language is simply stellar: he constantly invents wonderful phrases and neologisms that are as absurd as they are brilliant. The novel is shamelessly lewd, and sex-obsessed. But it is also honest, intelligent and sensitive, not to mention hilarious - I laughed out loud on several occasions. I'm almost ashamed to publicly acknowledge how much I enjoyed this novel. It may be the most fun I've had all year....more
I am reminded of the popular idea within biology of the "Precambrian rabbit" - that is, a bunny found fossilised within a much earlier geological straI am reminded of the popular idea within biology of the "Precambrian rabbit" - that is, a bunny found fossilised within a much earlier geological stratum - considered something that would be so out of place as to call into question the entire Theory of Evolution. Tristram Shandy is like a literary Precambrian rabbit. Here is a work of pure postmodernism, published in the middle of the Eighteenth Century. Whereas even with other "revolutionary" works one can usually still trace a line of incremental innovation as styles are popularised and movements take hold, Tristram Shandy seems to appear fully formed and lacking the usual explanatory pedigree. It is (language aside) so unlike the works of its time and so very much like those that would become popular two hundred years later, that it's difficult to know what to make of it, except to acknowledge that perhaps in our quest to neatly define and categorise history we can sometimes overestimate the achievements of the recent past, and overlook the incredible capacity for human creativity that has been with us from the beginning....more
Don Quixote is a massive, complex work. At its centre is the familiar comical farce of a delusional hidalgo and his squire, from which foundation CervDon Quixote is a massive, complex work. At its centre is the familiar comical farce of a delusional hidalgo and his squire, from which foundation Cervantes finds room for a multitude of philosophical and psychological digressions, uncovering themes and implications so wide-ranging as to defy concise encapsulation.
Foremost is the likable character of Don Quixote himself, whose blend of intellect and delusion is something familiar to us. Don Quixote speaks to the power of fantasy, and we are sympathetic towards his desire to do good and to strive for something greater than himself. But his character also hints at the potentially damaging capacity of self-deception as an isolating container for ideology, and an engine for misguided action. There is something of David Foster Wallace in Cervantes' conflicted esteem and criticism of this double-edged potential of entertainment (the analogy of chivalry romances being the TV of their time being hopefully not too much of a stretch).
I was surprised at how quickly I was drawn into Don Quixote, though after the first few episodes I was skeptical that the simple premise would be able to sustain such a lengthy work without becoming tiresome or repetitive. But I believe maintaining the engagement of the reader was at the forefront of Cervantes's mind, as he is constantly playful and inventive, moving first in the direction of more complex and involved plots, then to deeper explorations of his characters, and to wider societal and philosophical considerations. Surprisingly, through much of the latter half of the First Part, Don Quixote himself is largely absent from or tangential to the plot.
But perhaps the most striking and unexpectedly progressive element of the novel is its meta-fictional aspect: the way it plays with perspective and authorship, and blends and contrasts fact and fiction. Don Quixote, which depicts a fictional world, is acknowledged also as an artifact of the real world, which is then inserted back into the fictional world - all of which has strange implications for those living in both. As described within the novel, authorship is split between the narrator (presumably Cervantes) and at least three other authors, in addition to a fifth author of an alternative, "unauthorised" version of the Second Part of Don Quixote. Though the first three are understood as fictional, the last is in fact real, and the alternative Second Part was actually published in Cervantes' lifetime, and is likely to have motivated him to write the "official" version. The implications of "true" and "false" versions of fictional narratives is brilliantly and humourously explored throughout the Second Part. The novel itself never relinquishes its own veracity.
However in my opinion, the Second Part's preoccupation with meta-fiction detracted from its storytelling. While the plot of the First Part had moved progressively towards a "novelistic" structure containing an overarching narrative with subplots, the Second Part regressed to a more traditional, episodic format. Additionally, the plot of the Second Part relied heavily on deceptions created by other characters who were, like the reader, "in on the joke", in order to provoke amusing responses from Quixote and Sancho. I felt something was lost of the purity and authenticity of their adventures through these contrived manipulations. The consistency and realism also suffered in the Second Part, as certain actions of characters became noticeably incongruous to their personalities. Sancho's wisdom in governance, for example, is amusing in its irony when contrasted with his ordinary foolishness, but it is out of place with his character and undermines any serious analysis of his development.
Though Don Quixote is generally recognised as the first "great novel", I'm not convinced it is correct to call it a novel (the precise definition of which I am finding difficult to pin down). It certainly does not feel like a modern novel. Character development is not its driving force so much as humour and satire, and despite some moves towards a narrative arc, it retains a meandering, episodic structure which does not seek resolution. These elements seem to align Don Quixote more with literature's past than its future, though it is clearly a work which strives to free itself from tradition, and succeeds in breaking a lot of new ground....more
Maybe it's because I am now the same age as Knausgård was when he started writing this series, that I feel such great sympathy with the impulse to looMaybe it's because I am now the same age as Knausgård was when he started writing this series, that I feel such great sympathy with the impulse to look backwards. What is the purpose of this retrospective examination of one's life? Is it to reconcile old grievances; to come to terms with one's own faults (or attribute blame to others); to better understand one's own character, or current place in the world? It may be that life moves so gradually, and so persistently, without clear delineation, that one is only vaguely aware of having developed a past of any significance, until the sheer accumulation of minute disparate events - so many loves, shames, hopes, regrets - simply cries out and demands attention.
The exercise of looking back is by necessity one of revision - the fallibility of memory being a fact frequently acknowledged here by Knausgård, and one that I think puts to rest any real question of whether this book should be considered a biography or a work of fiction. I am reminded of Ted Chiang's The Truth of Fact, the Truth of Feeling which i read again recently. A Death in the Family seems to me to represent the Truth of Feeling side of the dichotomy, and to focus on the veracity of factual elements is to miss the emotional and human truth being told.
What is so refreshing and captivating about this book is its honesty and lack of pretension. And the question of why it should be captivating at all is a pertinent one, given the amount of extraneous detail presented here. The writing is not always perfect, and the scenes are not always immediately compelling. This is not a book that grips you in the manner of a thriller: it grips you in the manner of life itself - by holding your feet to the fire; by forcing you to face the world in all its horrendous glory. Knausgård's lays out a life that is as mundane and as tragic as any average life. There is an acknowledgement that life is more about the tedium and loose ends than it is about the big events, and it is in these little snatches - these microcosms - that we find an analogue to the constituents of our own lives. They are the universals of family and friendship, of career; the feelings that cause us to act - grief, fear, ambition, desire - and which show us to be more alike than we are different; and they are the multitude of mundane details: half-forgotten, unspoken, yet familiar to us all....more
I'm surprised by some of the low and middling ratings this book and its three stories (City of Glass, Ghosts, The Locked Room) have received. Some chaI'm surprised by some of the low and middling ratings this book and its three stories (City of Glass, Ghosts, The Locked Room) have received. Some characterise the stories as boring, derivative, simplistic, pretentious, or pointless. But for me, this is exactly the kind of book I love to stumble upon: one that surprises, and that seeks new and unconventional paths to expression. To me the writing suggests Calvino, Kafka, Borges, perhaps even Beckett and Sartre, without being derivative. This is not to say that The New York Trilogy stands beside Beckett’s trilogy in terms of literary achievement - indeed much of the ground it treads has already been broken - but I believe that novels should be judged on their own merits, on the basis their own peculiar mix of intentions, constraints and products, without necessarily having to justify their existence by comparison to other works. I think this novel stands as an exceptional work in its own right.
The New York Trilogy consists of three stories, which are distinct from each other but interact in direct and indirect, linear and nonlinear ways. There is a lot of thematic overlap between the stories, and even a fair amount of repetition. Each story could be thought of as a parallel retelling of the same story, or perhaps an examination of the same set of questions from a related viewpoint.
At the core of the stories is a questioning of identity. What does it mean to exist as an individual, separate from others? What does it mean to be oneself and not someone else? What, if anything, can it mean to live a meaningful life? There is an examination of the limitations of literature and the written record. The novel compares accounts of real and fictitious lives, and demonstrates more similarity than difference between the two, revealing a reflective quality to what is real and not real, a determination based more on perception than objective truth. It's an interesting perspective.
The stories develop so as to always avoid the next logical narrative step. There is a subversion of purpose, of cause and effect, and loss of natural sequence (which I expect is a cause of frustration for some readers). Yet in this absence of narrative logic, these stories latch on to something else, a more intuitive and direct kind of logic. I would characterise them less as coherent narratives than as meditations. The experience is one of detached observation and interpretation, like allowing one's thoughts to arise and pass, or dropping a pebble into a pond and watching the ways the ripples distort the reflection. The prose is direct and unspectacular, which supports this kind of reading, as do the dark and ambiguous thematic implications; the lack of resolution or redemption.
I was surprised by this novel - it was not at all what I had expected - and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. At the very least it inspired me to finally pick up a copy of Don Quixote and add it to my reading list....more
Jane Eyre has saved me from a string of disappointments. I found it to be not only highly engaging but also surprisingly complex and thematically richJane Eyre has saved me from a string of disappointments. I found it to be not only highly engaging but also surprisingly complex and thematically rich, despite its framing as a simple love story.
On the surface one may criticise certain contrivances of plot, improbability of occurrences, and strangeness of characters (many are typical of the novels of this time), but one cannot fault the telling: Jane's voice, her passion and perceptiveness, and her deep morality, which is grounded not in religion or idealism, but in her own experiences and her own humanity. Her experience of hardship never devolves into pathos-evoking melodrama, and her response to adversity is refreshing. She is a confident and strong-willed person, but she is also humble, hard-working and is never selfish or vindictive. Though she does not lack in courage or strength, she always takes a stance of forgiveness and reconciliation toward her persecutors - a very Christian ideal.
Jane's and Rochester's romantic, brooding love, is of a questionable nature. Built on an unclear and seemingly arbitrary basis, it is yet held, quite unreasonably, in the face of extreme adversity. Both Rochester and Jane are described as physically unattractive, and certain aspects of Rochester's manner make his character similarly unattractive to the reader (his actions and motives are at all times highly suspect). Something of the basis for the primary characters' mutual attraction is conveyed in their interactions. There is a way that each tempers the other, and their love seems built upon a sort of taming, of mutual dependence and reciprocal control. There is a sense that they are each at once both dominant and submissive toward each other. This is, I suppose, a form of equality - possibly even a revolutionary one in the Victorian Era - but it does not seem to me to be a healthy or stable condition. Yet there is a forcefulness and honesty in this depiction that speaks directly to a desperate human need for deep connection. This is an earnest passion, elemental in nature, quite unlike the detached, superficial affections of Pride & Prejudice.
The later section of the novel featuring St. John Rivers invokes a sort of spiritual conflict, which, though awkwardly handled at times, creates a fascinating contrast to the passions of Rochester. Here is the real crux of the novel, as Jane is required to choose between the conflicting elements of her own nature. In choosing passion over servitude, self-determination over duty, she acknowledges and rejects the false morality of the religious path, in favour of her own convictions. While I'm not entirely won over by the character of Rochester or the nature of their relationship, I'm struck by Jane's courage and the implications of her decision. It is an argument in favour of equality and self-determination, and in support of intelligence and reason, while simultaneously acknowledging that passion is essential to human happiness. It affirms the Christian virtues of equality, fairness and acceptance, while rejecting its coldness and lack of humanity, and hints at the possibility of a humanistic, rather than divine basis for morality....more
In 2121, around this time of year, I read three books that left me feeling utterly burnt-out, which resulted in my two-year absence from Goodreads. I'In 2121, around this time of year, I read three books that left me feeling utterly burnt-out, which resulted in my two-year absence from Goodreads. I'm sure the pandemic (with its high stress-levels and disruption of the rhythms of life) also had a lot to do with it. But as I'm now finding myself developing a renewed attraction to the titles on my bookshelf, I feel it's finally time to clear my inbox of these three unfinished reviews, and make a fresh start.
The Combinations felt like a book that was written for me. Specifically, for its themes centred around chess, music, literature and cinema; and more generally: because literature is the only art form that can utilise words to their maximal extent, and my favourite kinds of novels are those that achieve what cannot be expressed thorough any other medium. This is writing for the love of words; the expression of ideas and emotions by implication and allusion: cohesion and plot be damned. All style, no substance? Wrong, the freedom to break the cage of realism, to not tell a story, allows for a kind of expression that simply cannot be found anywhere else.
The Goodreads summary describes the novel as “Kafka’s The Trial meets Robert Musil’s The Man Without Qualities”, which is entirely accurate. I remember being absolutely enchanted by the first two-hundred pages, then becoming progressively frustrated by the novel's absurdity; its failure to resolve even a single element of plot, whilst simultaneously being enraptured by the prose and the possibilities of expression that were being laid out on the page.
I wouldn't recommend this novel to anyone. And despite this, I am certain that if I could only read one novel for the rest of my life, it would be this....more
This novel is a powerful account of the emotional stresses of abandonment. I don’t think it’s fair to dismiss this simply as a novel about an unhingedThis novel is a powerful account of the emotional stresses of abandonment. I don’t think it’s fair to dismiss this simply as a novel about an unhinged woman. Though at times extreme, the essence of Olga’s experience is genuine, and speaks to the complex and absorbing nature of that emotional state. When I was young, I saw my mother go through something similar.
What Days of Abandonment captures so effectively is the extent to which an experience like this can collapse the tower of neatly stacked assumptions upon which one’s entire self-definition is predicated. Statements such as “my husband loves me, and is faithful” turn out to be fundamental and axiomatic, and when discovered to be untrue, can overturn broad, long-standing beliefs about meaning and self-worth, which take a long time to rebuild. The disruption can be overwhelming, and permeate even mundane aspects of daily life.
Underlying Olga’s experience is the framework of gender roles within society. Her experience, though universal, is almost exclusively female (by which I men face quite a different set of challenges). Implicit in her experience are the cultural expectations that limit her choices, for example with respect to her children, and her standing among friends and peers. But there is be both vulnerability and power inherent in her position.
While there are certainly points of imperfection in this novel, I was convinced by the intensity and honesty of Ferrante’s portrayal of Olga’s breakdown. The language and the narrative is confused and erratic, but intentionally so. I have not yet read Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, but I look forward to reading them soon, and hope they can offer some of the same depth of understanding about emotional states, as she exhibits here. ...more
This collection contains four stories: two of them (Twenty-Four Hours in a Woman's Life; A Game of Chess) could be called novellas, while the others (This collection contains four stories: two of them (Twenty-Four Hours in a Woman's Life; A Game of Chess) could be called novellas, while the others (The Invisible Collection; Incident on Lake Geneva) are only a few pages long. All of them are excellent. They are stories centred on guilt and despair, but are in no way mawkish or overwrought, but are rather built on a sort of driving energy and passion that makes them a pleasure to read. ...more
Satantango is a truly strange, unsettling and powerful novel. Narrated in a dense, inscrutable style, the writing is beautiful and evocative, expressiSatantango is a truly strange, unsettling and powerful novel. Narrated in a dense, inscrutable style, the writing is beautiful and evocative, expressing a bleak desperation in which the filth and odour are palpable. The narrative style and structure are entirely disorienting. The novel constantly shifts perspectives; its hidden intentions seeming to signify something sinister lurking beneath the surface. There is a biblical quality to the writing, which suggests an allegory, but an allegory of what? Are the connotations religious, political, or sociological? All these and more are available to the reader: the novel retains its ambiguity to the end....more
In Gurion Maccabee, Adam Levin has created one of the most likable and compelling voices in recent fiction. His obsessively analytical and verbose strIn Gurion Maccabee, Adam Levin has created one of the most likable and compelling voices in recent fiction. His obsessively analytical and verbose stream of consciousness creates a world rich in idiosyncratic detail, which despite being in many ways absurd, manages to feel entirely relatable. The writing is original and refreshing. It’s very accessible – a breeze to read despite its length, and fun as hell. Sure, it gets silly and unbelievable at times – maybe most of the time - but tell me, was Gravity’s Rainbow believable? How about Infinite Jest?
The lightness of the narration belies some pretty dark and heavy themes. The novel explores the relationships and ambiguous boundaries between what we call genius, charisma, greatness, fanaticism, terrorism and righteousness. These are tensions that have existed in leaders like Caesar, Christ, Napoleon, but also those like Hitler, Manson and Koresh. The line that defines how posterity will regard these charismatic leaders is not always a clear or a moral one. Usually, it is a case of rationalising competing moral positions, with a lot of political and historical realities thrown into the calculus. In The Instructions, Gurion’s charismatic pull is powerfully felt, and through the escalation of the “wars”, the reader is forced to examine their own allegiances, and perhaps participate in these same kinds of rationalisation processes. The moral issues that are implied here are fascinating, but to my disappointment the book too often takes the easy way out on these questions. Levin seems reluctant to directly confront the implications of these darker themes, opting instead for the fantastical and fun. While this affected my feelings towards the book after having finished it, it did not detract from the pleasure while reading it - I can't overstate how much fun this book is.
I can understand why this book would not resonate with everyone, but I found it just hit all the right notes. The Instructions was (unexpectedly) one of the standout books of the year for me....more
In my review of 2666, I wrote about the effectiveness of ambiguity; the power of allowing the reader to infer connections and actively build a personaIn my review of 2666, I wrote about the effectiveness of ambiguity; the power of allowing the reader to infer connections and actively build a personal theory of meaning about a novel. The Gold Bug Variations takes a different approach. Compare it to Gravity’s Rainbow (to which it is on the back cover): Gravity’s Rainbow never spells out its central metaphor; it remains elusive and unbounded, allowed to permeate the novel in unexpected ways. By contrast, Powers never misses an opportunity to break down his metaphors, to dissect, draw together and expound on the connections. They are never allowed room to breathe. The puzzle is almost delivered in its completed form.
And yet the novel succeeds brilliantly, in part because the puzzle in question is so complex and all-encompassing; it has no definite solution. The Gold Bug Variations is driven instead by the author’s irresistible enthusiasm and the richness of its themes, which intersect biology, information science, language and music – subjects with endless permutations, possessing the ability to illuminate all aspects of life, from morality to ontology, to the common search for a life worth living.
This is a novel that was written on the precipice of the information age. Some of the depictions of computer systems, as well as the concerns about the future seem quaint and anachronistic – they have now become part of our quotidian reality; while others of these concerns seem prescient (the difficulty in parsing an overload of information is a troubling reality in the era of fake news).
Powers writes in such an peculiarly ornate and idiosyncratic style, that I almost don’t believe he is American. There’s just something very English about the way he writes. His primary characters are very attractive (particularly the lead character, a librarian), and contribute to much of the appeal of the book. At times the relationships and actions of the characters test credulity, but they are always approached with a genuine earnestness and respect that lends authenticity to the emotions and interactions. The exploration of love and change is powerful and poignant.
This is a difficult novel, one that expects the applicant to arrive qualified with a working knowledge of a wide range of subjects. A moderate understanding of evolution and cell biology is mandatory. Some background in music and computer science is highly recommended. There were many references I managed to pick up that I think would be lost on many people, and I’m sure there were many more that were lost on me. The Gold Bug Variations can be information-dense and heavy handed at times, but it is a wonderful book. This is science-fiction not in the narrow sense but in its truest sense, examining the commonalities of humanity, our searching nature, and our place and purpose in the natural world....more
Terra Nostra is a dreamscape, an elaborate allegory, infused with mysticism, symbolism, numerology, theology. There are tales nested within tales, dreTerra Nostra is a dreamscape, an elaborate allegory, infused with mysticism, symbolism, numerology, theology. There are tales nested within tales, dreams within dreams, a mirror of our world distorted beyond reason, but not recognition. The linear is discarded in favour of the circular, the finite arc of human life replaced by an endless cycle of repetition. In this view of history as a singularity there is no Old World or New, no past or future, only man and his own fractal nature, which is at all times and places equally perverse and equally transcendent. The facets comprising the kaleidoscope of diverse cultural, religious and historical perspectives differ only arbitrarily, and from these arise repeated patterns that converge into a picture of a singular, essential human nature that transcends time and place. From this perspective the individual is reduced to archetype, one aspect of a super-organism which devours itself, growing larger only in order to devour itself still more. In its nature can be found the many ironies of existence: In the act of creation one must destroy; in conquest one becomes subjugated; in piety one is most corrupted. The thesis is encapsulated in the novel’s opening lines:
Incredible the first animal that dreamed of another animal. Monstrous the first vertebrae that succeeded in standing on two feet and thus spread terror among the beasts still normally and happily crawling close to the ground through the slime of creation. Astounding the first telephone call, the first boiling water, the first song, the first loincloth.
Existence itself is seen as the primary cause of suffering. The nature of creation is such that to thrive is to destroy, and to prosper, obliterate. God becomes the ultimate destroyer: the twin of the creator god, to whom he is united by this fundamental contradiction. In the religion of Christianity it is not Adam who has committed the original sin, but God himself, in whose nature sin resides as an inseparable part of His virtue; a sin He commits by the very act of creation. Man too creates, and the crimes of man are a continuation of this shared nature, the dark half of the realisation of his destiny (though let us not forget that there is also a light half). It is perhaps no more enlightening to enquire as to why mankind seeks to commit acts of evil, than it is to ask why the waves seek to erode the shore.
But the novel is not a nihilistic apology of conquest and colonialism, merely an examination of the nature that has caused this repeated fact of history, and the complex moral questions that arise from it. How can we exist as a moral species if the nature of life itself is that for one to rise, many more must fall? What forgotten price have others paid for our telephone calls, boiling water, songs and loincloths, and how can we but expect this cost to be paid again and again by the unlucky in perpetuity, as we proceed unchecked along this path? The example of thousands of years of human history does not point to a gradual abandonment of this modus operandi, but shows rather a species relentlessly striving to perfect it. Do we possess the ability to alter our course, or will the beast inevitably consume itself?...more
One expects holocaust literature to be explicit: to lay bare the suffering and humiliation of the Nazi concentration camps. Instead, Hourglass is crypOne expects holocaust literature to be explicit: to lay bare the suffering and humiliation of the Nazi concentration camps. Instead, Hourglass is cryptic; often impenetrable, especially at first. You are never quite certain of what is going on, of the significance of people and events, of where it is all leading. Only when the story is nearing completion do the elements begin to fall into focus and the picture become clear.
It is impossible not to draw parallels between this experience of uncertainty, and that of European Jews of this time. Hourglass portrays the minor humiliations, which pass almost unnoticed; the subtle, creeping systemic dehumanisation; and the powerful human denial that made it possible to live such a confused and subdued existence, not realising what it was all leading to, until it was too late....more
I'm lucky to have been born in 1980 and not 1920. Because of this simple fact, I will never have to face an opposing army with a pistol pointed at me I'm lucky to have been born in 1980 and not 1920. Because of this simple fact, I will never have to face an opposing army with a pistol pointed at me from behind, to die in machine-gun fire, or be standing in the wrong place when a bomb is dropped. I won't be killed in a gas chamber, my body searched for gold and burned, or be made to lie on a pile of dead bodies awaiting a bullet to my head, or be sent to prison camp, subjected to beatings and forced into hard labour. I will never have to endure real hunger, have my family or my property taken away from me, to live in fear of being denounced. I will not be treated as subhuman because of my race.
What separates the world today from the horrors of that time? There is greater economic prosperity, more education, perhaps more compassion and tolerance. We have the wisdom of recent memory to remind us what we must avoid. But these are differences in external conditions; our underlying human nature remains unchanged. What would it take to find ourselves once again in 1942: a clash between major powers, a global climate catastrophe, growing inequality, religious violence, overpopulation, economic turmoil caused by automation or artificial intelligence? The seeds are visible. The challenges of this century may be even greater than the last, and the way we continually respond to these challenges defines the kind of society we will live in. We must never complacently believe that history is complete, something that has been accomplished for the benefit of those lucky enough to be living today. We continue to live in history and shape the world of the future. A novel like Life and Fate is a powerful reminder of the evil we can inflict upon ourselves, of how impossibly far we are capable of falling. ...more
I have read six novels by Bolaño now and feel no closer to an understanding of anything like a definable style to his writing. He does not rely on conI have read six novels by Bolaño now and feel no closer to an understanding of anything like a definable style to his writing. He does not rely on consistency of form; each novel seems somehow to be approached from a different angle. And though I have enjoyed almost all I have read, my expectations for The Third Reich were nonetheless low, due to its reputation as a lesser work as well as the critical endorsements printed on the covers of the book itself, which ordinarily so unashamed in their praise in this case appear to downplay the novel as one for his die-hard fans only.
But after finishing The Third Reich I am left wondering if those critics and I had read the same book. I found the novel to be an almost physical experience. From the beginning there builds a pervasive and relentless sense of dread, of unease; a dark undercurrent that seems to induce a nearly palpable vibration. So powerful was this sensation, I felt it seeping into my ordinary waking life. I could not shake it, I felt it even in my dreams, and today I felt the need to reach the end of the novel before it somehow consumed me. This all sounds very excessive and melodramatic (not to mention a little embarrassing), but for me there was something beyond the ordinary intellectual exercise of reading: something visceral, captivating, irresistible....more
Antwerp is unexpectedly brilliant for such a short work: 78 pages, mostly half-filled. It is composed of 56 short fragments (each the length of a singAntwerp is unexpectedly brilliant for such a short work: 78 pages, mostly half-filled. It is composed of 56 short fragments (each the length of a single paragraph) of disjointed, surreal, prose-poetry, which tell a strange and complex story through the implied connections between these impressionistic images.
This was Bolaño's first novel, which he tinkered with for twenty years before publishing. It is almost like a key to his work, a framework for what would come later. It features Bolaño's obsession with sexual violence, but there is something much deeper here: a recurring questioning; a relentless search for meaning and purpose. The writing is darkly comedic, full of strange quips and asides, which seem to exist outside the universe of the novel. This is the genesis of Bolaño as a writer. It is deeply personal. Bolaño himself exists inside the novel, and the novel as much as it is about any one thing, is really about his being born and defined as a writer.
It's clear that not everyone would enjoy this this kind of thing, and I'm cautious about turning the wrong type of reader onto this novel, and so I present the below passage, which is "chapter" 2 in its entirety:
Twin highways flung across the evening, when everything seems to indicate that memory and finer feelings are kaput, like the rental car of a tourist who unknowingly ventures into war zones and never returns, at least not by car, a man who speeds down highways strung across a zone that his mind refuses to accept as a barrier, vanishing point (the transparent dragon), and in the news Sophie Podolski is kaput in Belgium, the girl from the Montfaucon Research Center (a smell unbefitting a woman), and the lips say "I see waiters, hired for the summer, walking along a deserted beach at eight o'clock at night" ... "Slow movements, real or unreal I don't know" ... "A sandswept group" ... "For an instant, a fat eleven-year-old girl lit up the public pool"..."So is Colan Yar after you too?" ... "The highway, a black-topped strip of prairie?" ... The man sits at one of the cafes in the hypothetical ghetto. He writes postcards because breathing prevents him from writing the poems he'd like to write. I mean: free poems, no extra tax. His eyes retain a vision of naked bodies coming slowly out of the sea. Then all that's left is emptiness. "Waiters walking along the beach" ... "The evening light dismantles our sense of the wind"...
If the above makes you furrow your brow and scratch your head in bewilderment, then you are probably right to give this one a miss. However if you are a fan of Bolaño and this kind of writing lights your brain on fire as it did mine, then do not skip over this lesser-known of his works....more
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