false 21 9 9 true 5646754 read 0 true 167062 currently-reading 0 true 167061 to-read http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/63241477 to: Autumn in Peking (Paperback) by Boris Vian
Autumn in Peking – Boris Vian

A few years ago I met a thirty something Frenchman in a youth hostel in Bariloche, Argentina and he confessed to me he had read everything by Boris Vian – including many works yet to be translated into English – but had read them a long time ago, during his University years, and that he hasn’t revisited them since. Vian represents a period author for my French friend; specifically young adulthood. Similar to say Kurt Vonnegut, Jack Kerouac, Ayn Rand, or Hermann Hesse for young readers in the U.S. (if indeed these are still viable youth magnets today...?). I know when I was 19 years old I carried around a rumpled paperback of Hesse’s “Narcissus and Goldmund” in my back pocket as I strode across the college green. As a young man I was drawn to tales of vagabonds traveling the open road, as well as works of a jaded literary humor, i.e. “Catcher in the Rye” “The Crying of Lot 49” “Cat’s Cradle” etc.

I didn’t discover Vian until my late 20’s, and, I suppose as I am currently still immature for my age, I can state with sincere confidence how much I continue to appreciate and enjoy entering the hip, weird, edgy world of Boris Vian’s fictions. The publisher Tam Tam Books has made it their mission to bring Vian to the English speaking world, and their efforts deserve our gratitude:

http://www.tamtambooks.com/

http://tamtambooks-tosh.blogspot.com/

Although Paul Knobloch conjures admirable magic with his inspired, fun, readable translation, a work like “Autumn in Peking” with the author’s idiosyncratic wordplay, fantasy and innuendo, questions the validity of literary translation, at least on a linguistic level. In his preface the translator admits “Translation is a tricky business, and translating Vian can be downright daunting.”The story itself with its otherworldly setting and absurd events translates well, and the Tam Tam edition is a fantastic romp. Vian’s imagination lives in translation, and since I’m someone that doesn’t read French, I can only speculate as to the depth and nuance present in the original text.

I’ll try to avoid cheap comparisons in this review, but the single work Vian’s “Autumn in Peking” most reminds me of isn’t a book at all, but Terry Gilliam’s film “Brazil.” It’s large, imaginative, subversive, slapstick...pick your adjective, the book is that clever. For the Vian newbie, I’d recommend beginning with his surrealistic masterpiece “Foam of the Daze” but for the adept, the Vian veteran, or just someone that enjoys a challenging work of imaginative writing, “Autumn in Peking” is a fascinating, extended belly laugh of a book...
]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/62439616 to: Los Caprichos (Paperback) by Francisco Goya
There are numerous clues scattered about this collection of pictorial fables; symbols intended to provoke mental excitement, layers of unconscious innuendo, and an appreciation of puns.

Here is my interpretation of print #60 -- "The Trials"

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:G...(60).jpg

caption: little by little she is making progress. She is already making her first steps and in time she will know as much as her teacher

It doesn't require much in the way of advanced deduction to recognize the couple is naked, and both are levitating just above the ground. We can infer from the caption the man is a teacher and the woman his pupil, in which case this might be considered a gruesome portrayal of the expression" "I'd like to pick your brain." Indeed, the student reaches inside the teacher's ear cavity as though she was scooping the insides of a pumpkin. We can assume, given her open eyes and the smirk that doubles as a smile on her face, that she enjoys her studies. The artist has given her an ecstatic purpose. She is hungry for knowledge and is buoyed up in her pursuit. The teacher, conversely, is suspended in animation. He holds on to his student's ear for support. His other hand reaches out for something on the ground. Perhaps he has dropped his lesson plan...?

The more ominous symbols are in the center of the etching where the cat and shadowy goat-headed figure are framed in opposition. Both creatures stare directly at the viewer. The cat looks in the know, one serious minded cat. This isn't intended as personification, but rather a reflection of the artist's direct gaze at the viewer, as if the cat were struck by thought, the kind approaching sentience. Meanwhile the gloomy, goat-headed figure lurking in the background represents something abstract like the arcane specter of the teacher's wisdom. Certainly it brings a sinister aspect to the scene. If you examine the goat head close up with a magnifying glass...a third eye appears in the center of its forehead, and if you look even closer you can see the chromatic, rotating, pinwheel of its insanity. Perhaps this cyclopic devil-goat is levitating the teacher with its powers of mind control...?

Then again, maybe I am reading too much into this... ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/62432137 to: The Exquisite (Paperback) by Laird Hunt
The terms noir and mystery are likely to be affixed to this book, and its mood belongs to the genre. It is foremost a work of literary fiction, meaning a type of storytelling where the emphasis is placed more on the way of telling - the language, imagery, verbal stunts, metaphors, and various linguistic tropes - then on the story itself and its delivery.

The narrative, in fact, is strictly non-linear, abstract, and confusing...deliberately so, which adds to the overall stylistic effect of Mr. Hunt's dark mystery. There is humor, head-scratching, and moments of subtle persuasion within the two main, crisscrossing story lines involving the narrator Henry, a kind of existential thief, and Mr. Kindt, an eccentric old man, a kind of crime boss with charming interests, personal magnitude, and ambiguous purposes.

To borrow a line from the book the story performs: "...instances of exaggeration for the purposes of provoking artifice..." Hunt's fiction owes a debt to Kafka, which is a fine thing, and he permeates the book with a dream like quality where absurdities make sense and the reader is transported to a deeper, metaphorical meaning beneath the events.

]]> http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/1344.Boris_Vian Marcus joined the Boris Vian group. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/25518600 to: Gnome and Garden: A Gnovelty Kit (Hardcover) by Marcus Mennes
The writer of this book is a friend of mine. He's a hack, but a pleasant enough guy. He bathes often, dresses sharp, a pretty good kisser...

o.k. o.k. so maybe this is shameless self-promotion in lieu of an agent. Whatever whatever...if you buy a copy of this kit, next time we meet, the drinks are on me... ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/25518022 to: Maldoror and the Complete Works of the Comte de Lautréamont (Paperback) by Comte de Lautréamont
My favorite line from Maldoror is, "...laugh but weep at the same time. If you cannot weep with your eyes, weep with your mouth. If this is still impossible, urinate. But I warn you, some sort of liquid is needed here..." which pretty much sums up the book's thesis. This book is (for lack of a better adjective) dark. It is also weird and funny. The laughter released is based in the gut, a coarse, foolish, belly laugh. It is distinct from the throaty chuckling made in response to some polite quip, or the safe, recognizable smirk of satire, sarcasm, farce, etc. The humor in Maldoror is based in exaggeration, with wild, physical, athletic poses. It is intended to provoke, to be ribald and aggressive, of muscular impulse, not for the faint of heart or those who prefer their jokes wholesome and clean.

Most readers are familiar with Rimbuad, while too few are aware of Latreamont, which is a shame. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/25517602 to: Fishboy (Paperback) by Mark Richard
When I seek out writing where the language draws attention to itself, I usually turn to modern poetry, which is to say not that often. In his novel Mr. Richard is drunk with language and the results are intoxicating— the consonants are thick, the nouns rounded, caught upon the gag prickles on the back of the tongue, the words blur, the tone drones, the sounds are ground down into an insomniatic over a static radio in a bathtub on lithium W.C. Fields kind of address...and it works, for me at least. The story is pretty good too if you like high seas adventure involving secret tattooed maps on one armed men... ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1534208 to: The Hundred Brothers (Hardcover) by Donald Antrim
If you’re like me then you find exaggeration, at least in principle, to be exceedingly funny. A certain type of absurdity is created when too much of something is introduced, when a situation builds & builds to an anticipated level, and then, as they say, goes over the top.

In Donald Antrim’s novel there are literally one hundred brothers living together in a big, sordid mansion. It is a short book without sections or chapters, and should be read, I presume, with some momentum. Within the first few pages we are introduced to each brother in the dysfunctional fraternity, through the p.o.v. of Doug, one of the brothers. The narrative takes place during a single evening, set in the estate’s library where the brothers have gathered for a ceremonial supper. Hilarious antics ensue…impossible to summarize. The humor operates on the “how many clowns can you squeeze into the clown car” kind of dynamic. It is a fun romp, and reads like a Monty Python sketch — clever, silly, a little bonkers, and something completely different.
]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1399672 to: Against the Day (Hardcover) by Thomas Pynchon
At 1085 pages, accommodating hundreds of characters, locales, sub-plots, digressions, etc., "Against The Day" isn't exactly summer beach reading. I bought my copy the day it was released (Nov. 21, 2006) and started reading that day. I'm currently (May 23, 2007) on page 892. This pace doesn't reflect a lack of desire, or even time, but rather a cautious appreciation of this book. I figure writers gamble and devote years of their lives preparing a book, while the reader invests mere hours, or days digesting it. Given that Pynchon just turned seventy, and given the ten (or more) year spans between his novels, this could well be his last...so I'm milking it.

Pynchon has always been given the rap of being "difficult." True, you'll want to keep a dictionary close at hand, and those who desire a linear plot with fully developed themes and characters will certainly be disappointed by this novel (as goes for any of his other works), yet for the persistent few, his writing is able to elicit a kind of "unhealthy mental excitement."

In a sense, you need to learn how to read Pynchon, and really, the only way to read him is to surrender to his onslaught. It requires a spirit closely related to John Keats' concept of negative capability: "that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason..." In other words, the ability to let go, and read for sensation rather than full comprehension. Once you get into Pynchon's rhythm, style, and are able to crack his codes, there is, on nearly every page a kind of "aha!" moment. He lays little tripwires in the prose, so that upon careful reading, or re-reading, the running jokes and poetic asides have a renewed, and lasting vitality. Whether it is a turn of phrase, a strange metaphor, or a moment of comedic timing that produces a l.o.l. moment of absurdity, I am continually forced to put down the book, and silently marvel at this man's capabilites as a writer. He is a mad genius, a luminary, and I would argue, one of our national treasures.

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