Hux
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Posts posted by Hux
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The Iliac Crest (2002) Cristina Rivera Garza
Very engaging.
I'm not sure how to describe this book. The writing feels very stream-of-consciousness without actually being stream-of-consciousness. I think this is due to the vague narrative, the way it's always on the cusp of describing reality but holds off, almost keeping the reader at a distance so that the story has a foggy, unclear quality which borders on something magical and obscure. It actually reminded me of The Blind Owl but with a stronger framework and a more concise method of story telling. There are cities that are simply referred to as South City and North City; there are blurred lines regarding where we are, and at what time. Plus, there are characters who are detached and ill-formed, almost ghosts or memories. But, despite all this, it's still very accessible (and immensely easy to read).
The basic premise is that a young man (a doctor) is at home one stormy night when a woman appears at his door. He doesn't know who she is but let's her in. This woman is then followed by his ex girlfriend and the two women come to live at his house where they speak a private language he doesn't understand. The stranger is called Amparo Davila (a real writer) and she claims to know the protagonist's secret. That he is actually a woman.
The book explores notions of gender and reality, of insanity and language, and of the means of trying to know the difference between these things. I didn't fully connect with a lot of those themes (women might better enjoy that aspect) but I enjoyed the book overall (which was pleasingly short).7/10
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Boredom (1960) Alberto Moravia
I adored this.
I'm not sure if it was the writing, the subject matter, the characters, or even just the feel of the book in my hand (heavy, with a smooth surface and crisp pages). Hell, even the yellow cover was hugely appealing to me. All I know is that I haven't enjoyed reading a book as much as this for a very long time. The words almost seemed to melt from the pages as I read them.
It begins with our narrator (Dino), the wealthy son of a rich mother, telling us that from a very young age he has always suffered from boredom. Not the regular variety that accompanies a lack of activity or engagement, but a version which is probably better described as ennui. He finds that once he is bored of a particular thing (inanimate object, person, lifestyle) he no longer feels connected to it, no longer feels that it exists for him as part of realty. Reality itself is taken away from him. He is a painter who, ten years after taking up the vocation, can no longer do so. This too has left him bored and detached. Across from his studio is another painter named Balestrieri, older, in his sixties, who paints beautiful young models and often has sexual relations with them. These women come and go but one day, a young 17-year-old girl becomes Balestrieri's muse and he is apparently besotted with her, in a way that has evidently never happened before. Then, not long after this, Balestrieri dies (perhaps during love-making).
Dino finds himself almost instantly beginning a relationship with this young woman, Cecilia, and he seems to slot into the same role as Balestrieri just as quickly. They regularly meet for sex, until Dino decides that in order to end the relationship with her he must become bored of her, so that she is no longer a part of his reality. But there is something unique about this girl, something which, despite her vast sexual appetite, almost suggests the same illness of ennui. She is very matter-of-fact, passive, unemotional, and sees the world only in terms of today and now. Dino finds himself struggling to escape from her as a result, believing that only by possessing her can he become free of her.
I must say, I think Cecilia might be my favourite ever female literary character. She is everything which Dino claims to be and more. She is utterly uncompromising. You keep thinking there might be a twist, but there isn't. This is just who she is. And the fact that she (painfully) reminded me of an ex-girlfriend might admittedly have played a part in my fascination with her too.
This book was an absolute joy. I only discovered Moravia a few months ago and will definitely be reading more of his work.10/10
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Just now, Hux said:
Did this site just censor the word: 'lady of the night'.
LOL apparently.
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Did this site just censor the word: 'lady of the night'.
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The Blind Owl (1936) Sadegh Hedayat
I know a lot of people rave about this book so my expectations were high. But I found it utterly mundane and devoid of emotion. In theory, it ought to appeal to me; an opium fueled fever dream of repetition and prose, a swirling descent into madness and surrealism. And as much I loved the idea of his perspective being lost in a haze of vague interpretation and illusion, the murder of his wife, his 'lady of the night', set to a backdrop of obscured memory, unreliable narration, and confusion, the fact remains... I was so thoroughly bored by its sheer banality.
There's something interesting here to be sure, something unique and worth exploring, but it simply drags on in a monotonous tone of drab half-formed stream of consciousness. If you're going to do that then the writing needs to be significantly better than this (I will assume the translation was an additional hurdle).
Even the fact that it's short doesn't help. It only adds to the sense that something meaningful needs to arrive sooner rather than later. But it never does. The whole book felt like a slog to me, only a brief moment towards the end possessing a lyrical fluidity which is lacking everywhere else. But even that doesn't last. As much as I like the themes of the book (as well as the subverted narrative style), the fact remains I need to be engaged and I just wasn't. I might go back to it in the future (an alternative translation perhaps) but it's not a priority.4/10
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The Confusions of Young Törless (1906) Robert Musil
The book is about four boys in a boarding school. One of them (Basini) is caught stealing by the other three and they decide to spare him from being reported to the school authorities, agreeing, instead, to punish him themselves. At first, it's basic humiliation and violence, but gradually it descends into severe beatings, disturbing sexual humiliation, and eventually sexual abuse. Meanwhile, Torless finds himself attracted to the boy and Basini reciprocates, leading to a series of sexual encounters which border on tenderness and love. But Torless is ashamed of this and finds himself growing ever more appalled by Basini.
I thought this book was fascinating. Partly, because it was published in 1906 and yet deals (very openly) with homosexuality, but mostly because it explores the human instinct for cruelty, shame, and horror. Musil is tapping into those human qualities which would inevitably lead to the rise of fascism, that human desire to have power over others combined with the need for social norms to be met (even in resistance to our own happiness). This urgent defence of normalcy is the driving force of western civilisation, and is so powerful that it fosters a kind of dull ignorance of our true selves and natures. Torless is clearly falling in love with Basini but knows that a heterosexual marriage to a woman is in his future -- this is the norm -- and so he hates himself for his feelings towards Basini but more explicitly, he hates Basini for having triggered them. It is this battle between rational and irrational which confuses him, though it also applies to his sexuality and his faltering grasp of morality. Reason fascinates him but there is a spiritual element -- an imaginary reality -- which always stands in the way of that reason.
The book isn't as beautifully written as The Man Without Qualities but it is more accessible. Sadly, there aren't many more works by Musil to read beyond these two (some short stories, I believe) which is a tragedy because he is a superb writer.8/10
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16 hours ago, Hayley said:
I actually found the writing more memorable than the plot of this one (although I did love it overall!). I thought it was very beautifully written, with the narrative cleverly weaving in the themes of the river and storytelling. Do you think that might be why you found it generally enjoyable, even though it's not the type of book you'd usually choose?
The writing was clear and to the point. Books like this (not my cup of tea) usually live and die by how engaging the story is. I liked the Rita Sunday character and was intrigued by the dead child mystery (though didn't entirely enjoy the resolution). As I said in my review, it felt like one of those cosy Sunday evening dramas (I'm amazed ITV hasn't announced they're making it).
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Once Upon a River (2018) Diane Setterfield
On a winter's evening in 1887, a man bursts into the Swan pub on the Thames with a dead girl in his arms. Half an hour later, the girl is alive again and several characters claim her. Robin Armstrong (more so his father, Robert) who believes she is his missing daughter, abandoned by his ex wife. The Vaughans who believe she is their kidnapped daughter returned to them. And Lily White, who claims to have a deceased sister. All of this is investigated by what I would describe as the protagonist, Rita Sunday, a nurse who knows all the players involved.
The book is very engaging, easy to read, and has a touch of magical realism to it. It's not the kind of thing I normally read and I wasn't entirely blown away. But I could see that it was a fun and entertaining yarn. If you enjoy plot driven books with a style to them that has an element of mystery (like those programmes on Sunday evening about a vicar solving crime (or some other amateur sleuth... there's a million of them) then you'll probably enjoy this. It's not my cup of tea but I found it mostly enjoyable as a read, though I did spend a lot of my time thinking... I could be reading something far more substantial instead of this. Along with the much better Piranesi, it's probably the only other contemporary novel I'll read this year as I'm becoming increasingly unmoved by them. It felt much like all the other contemporary novels I read (and it annoyed me how easily everyone began weeping... at one point, a character wept so much, their sleeve became damp... how?)
Anyway, like I said, if you like plot driven mysteries, you'll probably like this.6/10
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1 hour ago, ~Andrea~ said:
I read The Collector many years ago and remember loving it., one of those books that really draws you in. I seem to remember it had a rather oppressive atmosphere. I don't remember all the details of the story but I'm tempted to find it again and give it a re-read.
It's very effective. I was most impressed with Miranda being given a chance to be more than just a victim.
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The Collector (1963) John Fowles
Magnificent!
An anti-social (and sexually impotent) man named Frederick Clegg who has no friends and collects butterflies becomes obsessed with an attractive young 20-year-old art student named Miranda. He has fantasies about kidnapping her, making her fall in love with him. One day, he wins the pools and suddenly has the money to make his fantasies come to life. Step by step he finds himself buying a van, a house in the countryside where he can keep her, but all the while he doesn't really believe it will ever come to anything beyond meaningless fantasies. Then, as if on auto-pilot, he actually does it.
Miranda is kept in a basement where Fred takes care of her every need, buying her nice clothes, perfumes, her favourite food, whatever she wants. He provides her with records, books, and the materials she needs for her art (including a drawing pad). At first she is understandably belligerent, refusing to speak, refusing to eat. Then she adapts her technique to better her chances of escape, almost befriending him, wanting to get to know him. Finally, she succumbs to the inevitable and offers herself to him sexually, only to find that he is appalled by this. Nothing she does seems to get through to him.
The book reminded me a lot of The Tunnel by Ernesto Sabato. But while that book only gives us the man's perspective, this one gives us both. Part one is narrated by Fred, we see things from his point of view, see Miranda as he does, a kind of precious item placed on a pedestal. But then, in part two, we are given access to the diary Miranda has been writing during her captivity, and we not only get her perspective but we suddenly get a human being, one that is complex and flawed; she is no longer just that beautiful creature he is obsessed with but a person, with thoughts, ideas, and loves of her own (including an older man she is seemingly in love with referred to as G.P throughout the novel). Fowles isn't even afraid of making her a little unlikeable, because, in truth, all fully formed human beings are. The point is, she is more than just the idealised fantasy that Fred wants her to be.
Given that this was published in 1963, I was amazed at how modern it feels. Fred is very much what we would call an incel today, low on confidence, self-pitying, while Miranda is opinionated, sure of herself, intellectually dominant. It was such a fantastic book to read, so easy to get lost in the stark prose, so nuanced in its portrayal of a madman and his victim who refuses to be a victim. And the ending has a sting.10/10
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Therese Raquin (1868) Emile Zola
Therese Raquin is married off to her aunt's son, Camille, an anemic hypochondriac endlessly spoiled by his doting mother. The marriage is thoroughly sexless and insipid. Camille's mother and Therese set up a shop in Paris while Camille gets a job at the rail company; there he meets an old friend, Laurent, an aspiring artists who paints Therese and pursues an affair with her. To continue their affair they must kill Camille and they drown him in the river (though he puts up a fight and bites Laurent on the neck).
Here begins their spiraling into madness, the paranoia, the guilt, the torment. Laurent begins to convince himself that Camille might not actually be dead while the scar on his neck, throbbing and pulsing, is a continual reminder of the crime they have committed. It is almost eating into his flesh. To make matters worse, Laurent and Therese don't even like each other very much yet persist in wanting to marry as a kind of justification for their actions. She was simply an unhappy woman while he merely wanted some sex. But in 1860s France, the moral code dictated that you couldn't simply have those things, couldn't get divorced and pursue casual encounters. And so this is the mess they find themselves in. But soon, they do marry and continue to live with Camille's mother who, after several strokes, becomes paralyzed. They argue in front of her, confess their crimes safe in the knowledge that she can do nothing about it. The guilt torments them, sends them both into insanity and plotting. Therese begs at the feet of her dead husband's silent mother. Laurent sees no way out.
Along with Crime & Punishment, this is one of the greatest literary explorations of guilt (and its capacity to torment individuals) I have ever read. These are two people who ostensibly just want to experience some pleasure and happiness but the chains of culture have stifled them into becoming self-hating monsters. Specifically Therese, a woman who, like her contemporaries, is doomed to experience the restrictions of social convention even more than men; which is presumably why the novel is named after her; she, more than anyone, is a victim of the age.8/10
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Against Nature (Á Rebours) (1884) Joris-Karl Huysmans
I think this book might qualify as a modern novel, not in the writing style (which is very much of its time) but in the utter lack of a plot. There is only one character (Des Esseintes) and he essentially spends the entirety of the book detailing his likes and dislikes in regards to the more creative and decadent human fields. There are chapters where he discusses his favourite paintings, their meaning and impact on him, as well as chapters covering scents and fragrances, jewels and furniture, music and food, wine and sex, literature and travel. The book is understandably classed as being part of the decadence movement. And it feels like it, as though you're enjoying a sumptuous meal of the senses, an opulent and nourishing exploration of luxury and excess. He is very much a privileged member of society (more so than Huysmans) and this allows him to explore his tastes as he pleases.
Des Esseints is especially enamoured with he works of Baudelaire and Poe, delights in their writing. A lot of his praise can seem remote and out of context if you're not familiar with their work, but for the most part, you simply enjoy Des Esseintes' love for these writers. He also mentions the things he dislikes (women writers get a special mention) and laments, as many modern writers do, the era he is living though, his opinion being (as it is with contemporary writers) that we have lost something, moved into a new and less interesting period, certainly one which lacks greatness and wonder. The book ends with Des Esseintes concluding that the spiritual world of the past is gone, no longer lit by ancient hope.
The book also includes a rather famous part where Des Esseintes plans a trip to London and while eating a meal in an English restaurant in Paris as he waits for the train, he observes the English patrons, pictures the trip ahead, the streets of London, the museums, the sights and sounds, before concluding that there is no longer any need to go -- he has already experienced it in his imagination as vividly as he would in the flesh. At which point he returns home.
This is not a perfect novel by any stretch but it's very good, certainly unique, and the only book I can think of which includes a jewel encrusted turtle.8/10
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Riddley Walker. Set two thousand years in the future. Written in gibberish pidgin English.
Not an easy read.
Alternatively, One, No One and One Hundred Thousand is about a man who becomes obsessed with who he is to the point of breakdown. Very good.
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The Tunnel (1948) Ernesto Sábato
it was amaziThe story of a man who becomes so obsessed with a woman that he murders her. That isn't a spoiler, it's literally on the first page. The narrator, Juan Pablo Castel, wants to tell us how it came about, how they met, how it ended, etc, and this is very much his perspective.
He is an artist who, at one of his exhibitions, notices a woman looking at one of his paintings. He then spends months fantasising about meeting her again, running through the various scenarios of how the encounter might unfold (he does this a lot). Then, as luck would have it, he sees her in the street outside a building and speaks to her so enthusiastically that it understandably intimidates her. That being said, she too seems to be drawn to him and, once he walks away, she chases after him. There follows a tawdry affair of passion, paranoia, and possessiveness. This only exacerbated when he discovers that she is already married to a doddering old blind man. And even further when he discovers that she spends a lot of her time at a coastal home with her husband's cousin, Hunter, this leading Castel to conclude that they too have some kind of romantic relationship. The whole book is an examination of jealousy, possessiveness, paranoia and passion. Castel comes across as deranged, as someone who can't let anything slide; he continually asks her questions, nitpicks every answer, runs through every possible scenario that might prove he is being deceived, humiliated, mocked by her. It's a rather brilliant portrayal of a man with low self-esteem who endlessly ruminates on life rather than living it. Some may take issue with the character and dismiss him as a bad guy but I found that Sábato was excellent at making you go from understanding his obsession to wondering why he was behaving so irrationally. Sábato gives you just enough to empathise with Castel's paranoia but not enough that you ever agree with it. It's a masterpiece of exploring a mind that won't switch off.
There is little in the way of an alternative perspective, namely that of the murdered woman, Maria. And while it would have been nice to know more about her, her background, her desires, and yes, her potential for being all the deceitful things Castel was worried she might be, it's also understandable that we don't get any of that. After all, this is a book exploring obsession. And so, Castel's perspective is the only one we need. It would be easy to criticise her lack of presence (not to mention the rather flimsy manner with which they meet and fall in love) but that would be missing the point. It is a story of possessive love and obsession. A thriller. A gripping and urgent look at the unhealthiest aspects of passion. It's Castel's story.9/10 -
Zazie in the Metro (1959) Raymond Queneau
A strange little book.
I chose to read this because it was on Le Monde's list of 100 books of the century (36). I knew absolutely nothing about it otherwise (apparently it was a huge hit on publication and produced an equally successful film the following year). It's a comedic novel and generally those don't appeal to me and it's written in a manner that must have been hard to translate (what is it = wotzit, etc). It wasn't terrible.
Zazie is being looked after by her uncle (unkoo), Gabriel, in Paris for three days and while there she wants to see the metro but due to a strike, never actually does. Her uncle shows her around Paris where they meet some quirky individuals and he explains to Zazie that he works nights as a security guard (in reality he performs in a gay club as a drag act). His performance is cleverly skipped over so we never know exactly what it entails though he insists it's an artform. Eventually -- due to Zazie's belief that he's a hormosessual -- he agrees to take her and the rest of their family to see the show.
The book reminded me a lot of 'A Confederacy of Dunces' in the sense that the characters are slightly bombastic and unrealistic. Zazie is probably the only exception, a foul-mouthed know-it-all with a burgeoning interest in sex (and hormossesuals in particular). It also reminded me of 'The Man Who Was Thursday' especially the character of Trouscaillon, who adds a surreal, almost disturbing role to proceedings which I genuinely found perplexing and creepy (especially his rapey encounter with Marceline). No explanation is given for this and just when you want one, the book suddenly descends into further surrealism with an astonishing ending which equally bewildered me. I'll have to think about it some more.
Easy to read. Well worth a look. Unique.7/10
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Berlin Alexanderplatz (1929) Alfred Döblin
This is a heavyweight novel. One of those intimidating buggers which demands you invest more than merely your time. The style is experimental and sometimes difficult to follow, but worth it in the end. The novel begins with a third person narration but very quickly we discover that Döblin switches to first person when it suits him. You will hear the protagonists thoughts but there will be no marker telling you when the change has occurred which, at the beginning, was difficult to deal with. Gradually, however, I did find this technique actually quite enjoyable, producing an effect which adds to the overall flow of the narrative. Then we come to dialogue. Döblin doesn't use speech tags and, to make matter worse, doesn't break up dialogue by starting a new paragraph; instead, it's simply a wall of text where only the presence of apostrophes delineate between speakers. Again, this was hard to follow at the start but, similar to the narration, I actually found it very affective once I got into the novel. And I did get sucked in after a few chapters. After that, the whole thing flows really well and you find, rather intuitively, that you're correctly guessing who is speaking and when (Döblin spares us too many conversations involving more than two participants).
Style aside, the basic story is about Franz Biberkopf, a lowlife criminal who begins the novel being released from prison after 4 years for the murder of his girlfriend (the crime itself described by Biberkopf as 'some stupid stuff'). He intends to go straight but struggles to break the cycle of his social status. As the novels says: ' As long as he had money, he remained decent. But then he ran out of money.' Soon, Biberkopf gets involved with a criminal gang and one tragedy after another seems to befall him. It's one thing after another and frankly a rather bleak worldview (plus there's a certain political movement on the horizon in late '20s Germany which bubbles away in the background and only adds to the foreshadowing) That's the basic premise of the narrative and there are no real happy endings to be found here.
This is one of those novels, like so many of the '20s and '30s, which want to look at civilisation as a whole, delving into the underbelly of a particular city and examining some of its many inhabitants. Döblin occasionally drops us into the lives of people who aren't remotely involved in the main story, occasionally throws in some Greek myth, the bible, an old drinking song, whatever takes his fancy. There are stream of consciousness elements, sound effects, parables. Some of it works, some of it doesn't, but it's all in service of a wonderfully ambitious and interesting book (to me at least). I was genuinely enraptured by the writing at times, though it must said, I also struggled. But I'm one of those people who takes a certain perverse pleasure in being asked to put in some effort when it comes to my reading.7/10
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Berlin Alexanderplatz.
Less stream of consciousness, more stream of dialogue.
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Incest (1999) Christine Angot
I keep telling people that I don't like stream of consciousness but whenever I read it, I seem to enjoy it a great deal. This is another example. The book is predominantly about a woman explaining the breakdown of a relationship with a woman, this relationship, in contrast to all her previous romantic relationships, being her first with a woman. Towards the end of the book she details the incestuous relationship she had with her father having met him for the first time at the age of sixteen (hence the title). This incestuous relationship lasts for two years then ends with a complete severing of ties. She then meets her father again at twenty-six (whilst married) and the relationship briefly begins again.
There was nothing especially salacious or shocking about the book and the only time it crossed that line was, incidentally, when it also lost a certain amount of credibility (when, still as a sixteen-year-old, she has a new thirty-year-old boyfriend and ends up going to the cinema with him and her father and giving them both a hand-job). That felt utterly unconvincing which is apt because the book itself, despite using the author's real name (and the names of other real people) is clearly fictional. This, I'm reliably informed, is called 'autofiction.' I'm not against writers making things up but when they deliberately blur the line and present things as true (especially when it's a sexual relationship with their father), it feels slightly false and performative. Dare I say it, it feels very middle-class (wanting a more interesting identity than the one you have). This is very common in the modern world but Angot's book was published in 1999 and was, by all accounts, a sensation in France.
The subject matter itself was never really all that gripping but I did find the style (that stream of consciousness rapid fire, short sentences style) very compelling. Perhaps because it made me read very quickly. I'm not sure. That's one of the reasons I'm suspicious of stream of consciousness writing, I'm always of the opinion that it's a sneaky way to make mediocre prose seem more vibrant than it actually is.
But hey ho... the bottom line is I enjoyed it.7/10
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The Tartar Steppe (1938) Dino Buzzati
A young soldier (Drogo) rides towards a remote fort in a desert where he is to be stationed. There, by the Tartar Steppe, the soldiers are tasked with watching for any potential movements of the mysterious northern army. Once there, he wants to leave but agrees to do his four month stint. Various circumstances dictate that he ultimately stays for two years. He makes friends, he rises up the ranks, he does his duty. Occasionally, there's excitement at the prospect that the northern armies might be mobilising. But it usually turns out to be an illusion. He is young, he has the best days of his life ahead of him.
A further four years go by. Drogo has been promoted, he continues to do his duty. One day, a soldier sees movement among the desert and the potential for glory appears to be on the same horizon. But again, it's a false alarm. And Drogo and his comrades go back to their marching, their routine, their daily activities. He is still young, he still has the best days of his life ahead of him. Fifteen more years go by. Drogo is now second in command. He is a middle aged man, watching new, younger men, arrive to do their duty. He has never married, has no children, has accomplished little in his career, but he continues to hope, continues to believe that his life has meaning. But he is no longer young.
Drogo is now in his late-fifties, closing in on retirement. He is struck by an illness and becomes withered and guant. Just then, the Northern armies do indeed appear to be on the march towards the fort. But Simeoni (the leader) says that he is too ill to fight and so must return to the city to recuperate. Just as his purpose to life arrives, he is taken away in a carriage, has it snatched away, and dies pointlessly in an inn. The end.
The book is a curious (kafkaesque) look at the repetitive nature of existence, at the wasted years we throw away on working in jobs we hate, at the wasted youth we cannot hold onto, at the desperate search we have for a purpose, a meaning. To find something that will distract us from the ticking of the clock. But in truth, no matter what we do, we waste our lives. Because what purpose is there? Marriage? Children? Being a success? All things designated by others as symbols of a successful life. But what difference does it really make?
This was a truly fascinating book. It wasn't necessarily the most enjoyable read and the prose never fully gripped me. But the ideas explored, specifically the ambiguous (Buzzati never tells us how to feel) notion of a what a worthwhile life is, are enormously powerful.7/10
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Keep hearing her name. Will probably get around to this one at some point (once the backlog is dealt with).
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Serotonin (2019) Michel Houellebecq
Another superb examination of the West's decline.
The narrator is a 46-year-old man named Florent-Claude who is experiencing depression and, after discovering his Japanese girlfriend is a pervert, chooses to walk away from his life and disappear entirely. He quits his job, leaves his rented apartment, and has no family so it's easily done, before living in various hotels (always looking for ones that allow smoking), whilst being prescribed antidepressants by his doctor. He then takes us on a journey of his past, specifically his past relationships and loves (Camille being the one that got away) and does his best to stave off feelings of failure and regret which come attached to a growing sense of futility and suicide. This is the trade-off of being on antidepressants. He no longer has a sex drive. He no longer has a life.
He then spends some time with an old friend, a farmer, whose wife has taken their kids and left him. While there, he witnesses a protest which his friend is instrumental in organising but there's always a sense that he has thrown himself into this protest as a consequence of his deteriorating mental state, which leads to a disastrous outcome. This might be viewed as another way of Houellebecq exploring how we distract ourselves from our real problems by manufacturing alternatives. It's during this period that Florent almost loses touch with reality. His apathy (most easily observed in his encounter with a paedophile who he doesn't judge or contact the police about) is also a symbol of the drug (and the culture we've created around it) but also of the West's decline in general. To Houellebecq French and German civilisation are the peak of that civilisation. And this is where they are now.
This was such a fantastic book. I would say it's almost as good as Atomised and Houellebecq is always at his best when he's looking at the decline of the European identity. I sometimes feel like he wants to criticise certain things more specifically but reigns himself in by focusing on the bigger picture. As always, there's plenty of laughs along the way, much needed as you descend into the realm of hopelessness.8/10
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Siddhartha (1922) Hermann Hesse
A rather simplistic and somewhat prosaic novella that plods along nicely without ever really reaching any great heights. It's all very matter-of-fact, mundane, obvious, straight-forward, uninspiring. Ultimately, I would describe the narrative (and the prose) as enormously dry and artless.
But then comes the ending. The simplicity of the book suddenly becomes beautiful and profound. Knowledge can be communicated, but wisdom cannot. Siddhartha has found enlightenment through the means of accepting that it cannot be taught. He respects the Buddha, finds his outlook sincere and pure, but does not believe (as his friend Govinda does) that he can be taught because words and thoughts never truly become things. Like the river, like the rock.
To me, this is a book that requires you reach the end to fully experience (and appreciate) the words that led you there. All the dry, meandering story telling that precedes it comes into its own light and beauty when Siddhartha And Govinda meet one last time as old men. It all comes together. And the mundane becomes poetry, wisdom, insight.
I recommend listening to Nick Drake's 'Riverman' (inspired by the book) when you finish.8/10
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Astragal (1965) Albertine Sarrazin
Anne limps into the road with her broken leg after having escaped prison and meets another career criminal named Julien. He takes her in, first with friends, then with a woman called Annie and her young daughter. Anne then spends some time in hospital dealing with her broken foot (risking being send back to prison). After Julien goes to prison himself she begins working as a prostitute. She is waiting for Julien, waiting for happiness.
Throughout the book she has to deal with the pain of her leg and the ongoing issues it presents her. This is where the title comes from. Astragal being the French for the talus bone.
If you like stream of consciousness, you'll probably like this. I tend to have an up and down relationship with that kind of writing but the prose here is great. The chapters skip along at a pace while you hang on every word. She has the ability to make her thoughts seem urgent and alive but it never becomes vague and obscure. One of the issue I have with stream of consciousness is that it can often seem like you're eavesdropping on a private conversation, one which leaves you with no context. Sarrazin avoids that and allows her lyrical language to maintain a strangely matter-of-fact approach which never becomes too ethereal or whimsical. It is utterly engrossing.
The book is a roman-a-clef, a story which is essentially Sarrazin's own life. The more you learn about this women, the more tragic she becomes. The fact that she had such an awful life and only began to achieve recognition for her writing just as it was prematurely ended adds to the sadness.8/10
Hux Book Blog 2022 (Spoilers)
in Past Book Logs
Posted
The Birds (1957) Tarjei Vesaas
This is the story of a mentally challenged man named Mattis who lives with his sister, Hege, in a small cottage by a lake in a rural part of Norway. She is 40, acquiring grey hairs as she makes a living knitting jumpers, while he is three years younger and tries to find work on the local farms. Sadly, the local community knows of Mattis (many refer to him as simple Simon) and they know he isn't very good at doing the work required. But occasionally, he might still get some work. His sister has spent most of her life looking after him and while that has been frustrating, nothing has yet come between them. Until Jørgen arrives.
The story is very basic, matter-of-fact, and the prose reflects this, it also being very terse and to the point. It reminded me of Hemingway a little. It's actually enormously engaging. And the narration is third person but we also hear what Mattis is thinking (as well as what he isn't thinking), so it often feels more like a first person story. That element is important because it shows us how Mattis thinks. Or rather how he can't seem to fully express his thoughts or feelings. It's extremely well done. You can feel the frustration that Mattis feels, can understand how his inability to communicate is causing him problems (it brought to mind Lenny from Of Mice and Men).
I found it very enjoyable, especially the world it evoked. One of those very simple human stories that just has a very concise and beautiful charm. You're dropped into a small community, in a simple time (almost medieval but for the reference to cars), and you follow this character for a brief period of his life with the assistance of some very gentle and authentic prose.
8/10