31 August 2015

Dear Life by Alice Munro

 Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

In my opinion it is a necessary characteristic of good fiction that it deals with life and explores human nature in its many facets instead of simply recounting a series of events. To look deep into the souls of their heroes and heroines some writers fill huge tomes, while others need just a few pages to show the emotional ups and downs of a protagonist struggling with the vicissitudes of life. The book that I chose for today’s review is a good example for a short story collection bursting with characters who feel so human and real that it wouldn’t be much of a surprise to meet them in flesh and blood someday although only a limited part of their self is actually revealed. The focus of Dear Life by Alice Munro is on moments in life that have a lasting impact for one reason or another. 

Alice Munro, maiden name Alice Ann Laidlaw, was  born in Wingham, Ontario, Canada, in July 1931. After high school a two-year scholarship allowed her to study at the University of Western Ontario majoring in journalism, later English. In 1950 her first short story appeared in the university’s undergraduate literary magazine, but although she continued writing and publishing stories the following eighteen years were dedicated above all to the family and as from 1963 to her husband’s bookshop in Victoria, British Columbia. Only in 1968 the author’s first short story collection titled Dance of the Happy Shades came out and won the Governor’s General Award right away. Heaps of individual short stories printed in important literary journals and thirteen original collections, all of them highly successful, followed until 2013 when Alice Munro received the Nobel Prize in Literature “for her mastery as a short story writer”. The most notable of her works probably are Lives of Girls and Women (1971), Who Do You Think You Are? (1978; published under the title The Beggar Maid outside Canada), Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage (2001; also reprinted as Away From Her), The View from Castle Rock (2006), and Dear Life (2012). Alice Munro lives in Clinton, Ontario, Canada.

The fourteen stories of Dear Life show a kaleidoscope of ordinary women, men and children as they peopled small town neighbourhoods in Canada, above all around Lake Huron up to Toronto, between the years of World War II and the 2010s. They all deal best they can with the great themes of life, namely love, sex, illness, old age and death. There are the detached ones like the ex-soldier in Train who has just returned from overseas after World War II and lets himself drift through life avoiding to tie himself down, or the harelipped accountant of Pride who rather sells his house than to allow his sisterly friend to move in with him when they are getting old. Others like the poetry-writing house-wife and mother Greta in To Reach Japan and the teacher Mary just out of training college in Amundsen unexpectedly experience what sexual liberation means, while the narrator’s Aunt Dawn in Haven gets tired of putting her husband’s needs and happiness first after years of marriage. The protagonists of Leaving Maverley and Gravel have to come to terms with the actual loss of loved ones, whereas the seventy-one-year old narrator of Dolly just imagines that her eighty-three-year old partner could leave her for the flame of his youth whom fate has blown into their house as a door-to-door seller of cosmetics. Wealthy Corrie and her married lover, on the other hand, find that the death of the woman who blackmailed them for decades doesn’t change anything between them. In the Sight of the Lake is the story of an elderly woman with a seemingly clear mind who in fact turns out to be drifting in her memory because she suffers from dementia, maybe Alzheimer’s Disease. And in the grand Finale comprising The Eye, Night, Voices, and the title-giving story Dear Life the author herself makes an appearance sharing some childhood memories with her readers.

As the title of Dear Life suggests, the underlying theme of this short story collection is nothing more and nothing less than everyday life as it oscillates between joy and disappointment, happiness and grief, birth and death. And it is about the choices that people make all the time, be it consciously or instinctively. Several stories also show how the living conditions of women and their role models have changed since the end of World War II when the author herself was coming of age and how growing old inevitably affects our relations as well as our ways of life. The style which Alice Munro employs to tell her stories is pleasantly modest and unpretentious for the work of a contemporary writer, moreover a very popular one who won the Nobel Prize in Literature. Their tone is quiet, gentle and to a certain degree contemplative, no matter if they are written in first or third person, no matter if they are fictitious or overtly autobiographical like the final four. Descriptions of scenery are vivid and rich in images to the point of being poetic although the author’s language remains simple and concise even in such passages. The stories are easy to read, but they certainly are much deeper than they may seem to a superficial reader.

I enjoyed all stories of Dear Life by Alice Munro very much although it is true that some of them are rather sad or even depressing. Reading the book I often felt like listening to a grandmother from the old times talking melancholically about the long life that she has already lived. According to the author, only the final four stories are in fact autobiographical, and yet, all of them have the aura of personal experience about them. Before this collection I read only one other work of the author, namely The Bear Came Over the Mountain which Sarah Polley made into the film Away from Her (»»» read my review). The stories of Dear Life are in the same line and I gladly recommend them.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

26 August 2015

The Storyteller by Mario Vargos Llosa

Reviewed by Gillian Valladares Castellino

Mario Vargas Llosa's Nobel Prizewinning novel, The Storyteller begins in the 1950s, in a small Florentine gallery, where a Peruvian writer (one of the two main narrators), chances upon a photograph of a tribal storyteller deep in the Amazonian jungle. On seeing the photograph he is gripped by the feeling that he knows this individual. More specifically, that the storyteller is his old college buddy Saul Zuratas. He begins to reminisce about the conversations he and Saul had as students, searching for clues that would corroborate his hunch. Saul's most distinguishing feature was a disfigurement - a massive, ugly birthmark that covered the right  side of his face. As a consequence of it, he was nicknamed Mascarita (or Mask Face) and was exposed to a constant barrage of horror, revulsion, unkindness and even abuse from random strangers. He never seemed to mind any of it. That, coupled with the fact that he was raised by a devout Jewish father and had a Creole mother, set him apart from his peers.

On a field trip to the depths of the Amazonian jungle, with the Department of Ethnology (with which he was studying), he became acquainted with an indigenous tribe called the Machiguenga, a people for whom "God is air, water, food, a vital necessity, something without which life wouldn't be possible." The tribe holds a strange fascination for him. He debates the effects of modern civilization on them with his friend, insisting that "taking away their gods and replacing them with our own, an abstract God who's of no use to them at all in their daily life... is damaging."  These realizations  trigger a change in him which culminated in his turning his back on the modern world, eventually erasing his identity within it and transforming himself into 'El Hablador' (the storyteller) within the tribe.

The book traces the trajectory of this transformation, not just in terms of events, but in terms of insights that occurred to Saul as he interacted with the tribe. The interesting aspect of the book was how Llosa chose to delineate the process of change. There is a limited description of events to progress the plot, instead Llosa created a second narrator who is a kind of tribal being or consciousness embodied in a person called Tasurinchi who is a repository of tribal stories and folklore.  His thought and speech patterns are very different from those of modern people. Interspersed between folklore, personal anecdotes and dream-like sequences of seemingly illogical thoughts and correspondences are insights and nuggets of truth and wisdom which modern man has "forgotten".

As the story develops, Tasurinchi morphs into Jehovah-Tasurinchi giving us the first clue that Saul is somehow involved with this "being". Jehovah-Tasurinchi, integrates into the narrative Saul's experiences of injustice, exile, alienation and difference and eventually becomes "El Hablador". Speaking of the process, he says, "I became a storyteller after being a listener. It happened without my willing it, little by little. Without even realizing it, I began to find my destiny... I discovered it myself." His acculturation into the tribe is complete. 

In charting Saul's transformation, Llosa touches on a range of themes including globalization and its dis-empowering impact on indigenous populations, the pros, cons and practicalities of cultural hybridization and cultural nomad-ism. These threads weave their way through the narrative creating a rich tapestry of images and insights that demand a second or even a third reading to reveal their subtleties.

As he spends time with the Machiguenga, Saul intuitively develops an understanding of the wisdom inherent in primitive cultures, but this is not based on the 'noble savage' stereotype that so often underpins writing on these cultures. There is a certain lyricism in the way in which Llosa charts this: "Go on listening, carefully, respectfully... after a while the earth feels free to speak.  It's the way it is in a trance, when everything and everyone speaks freely.  The things you'd least expect speak.".... One and all have something to tell...Some things know their own story and the stories of other things, too; some know only their own.  Whoever knows all the stories has wisdom, no doubt." 

He simultaneously discerns a framework within which to make sense of the reactions he experienced because of his disfigurement or "otherness".  There is poignant vulnerability in the phrases Llosa chooses to express this  - "To look like a demon or a little devil and be only a man... must be both the work of evil and a misfortune and that's just what it is, I'd say... Only their outside is that of a monster, inside, they're still pure, no doubt about it..."

As he assimilates these thoughts, he begins to see parallels between the Amazonian nomadic tribe and the Jewish people - "Yet despite so many misfortunes, that people didn't disappear.  In spite of its sufferings, it survived.  It wasn't warlike, it never won wars, yet it's still here. It lived dispersed, its families scattered through the forests of the world , and yet it endured. Greater people, warriors, strong peoples, ... peoples who seemed indestructible, all went.  Disappeared that is to say.  No trace of them remained in the world, nobody remembered them.... Those survivors, however are still about. Journeying, coming and going, escaping, alive and walking. Down through time, and through all this wide world too."

Then his understanding evolves further and Saul is able to discern the psychology that underlies oppression - "Was it hated because it was different?  Was that why, wherever it went, peoples would not accept it? Who knows?  People don't like living with people who are different.  They don't trust them, perhaps. Other customs, another way of speaking would frighten them, as though the world had suddenly become confused and dark.  People would like everyone to be the same, would like others to forget their own customs... violate their own taboos and imitate theirs. If it had done that [targeted minorities] would have disappeared. Not one storyteller would have survived to tell their story."

Reflecting on all this, Saul comes to understand of the effects of forced acculturation and why he rejects it.   - " I used to think: A people must change.  Adopt the customs, the taboos, the magic of strong peoples...It wasn't true... Who is purer or happier because he's renounced his destiny.... I ask you? Nobody. We'd best be what we are.  The one who gives up fulfilling his own obligation so as to fulfill that of another will lose his soul... It may be that when a person loses his soul the most repulsive beings, the most harmful predators, come and make their lair in the empty body..."  In grasping all this, Saul realizes what his own deep needs are and why they matter to him. In fact, why they matter to us all.

Original Post at Healing Scribbles:

31 July 2015

People in the Summer Night by Frans Eemil Sillanpää

Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

Since times immemorial Midsummer has been an important date in the solar calendar with many traditions linked to it, especially in Scandinavia, but not only as proves the fact that William Shakespeare wrote a play entitled A Midsummer Night’s Dream. However, my literary rambles take me to the Finnish countryside this week. Due to luminous and warm nights summer there almost necessarily invites to stay up like the protagonists of the classical novel People in the Summer Night by Frans Eemil Sillanpää do for very different reasons. People give birth, people fall in love, people crave for sleep, people stroll around observing and musing, and people die in this novel of the Finnish Nobel laureate revolving around the human condition in all its diversity. 

Frans Eemil Sillanpää was born Frans Eemil Koskinen in Hämeenkyrö, Finland, in September 1888. His parents were crofters who made great sacrifices to send him to high school in Tampere. As from 1908 he studied Natural Sciences (Biology) at the University of Helsinki, but never took any exams, presumably due to anxiety disorder. Five years later he returned to his parents and, in an attempt to earn money, he wrote his first short stories which were bought by a newspaper in Helsinki and made a publisher offer him a contract for his first book. This debut novel was Life and Sun (Elämä ja aurinko: 1916) which was an immediate success like also his second entitled Meek Heritage (Hurskas kurjuus: 1919), while his novellas, short story and essay collections of the 1920s weren’t received too favourably. In the 1930s the author’s career gathered momentum again thanks to the novels The Maid Silja (Nuorena nukkunut: 1931), A Man’s Way (Miehen tie: 1932) and People in the Summer Night (Ihmiset suviyössä: 1934) which together with his early work earned him the 1939 Nobel Prize in Literature. In his later years, grieving over the death of his first wife and suffering from alcoholism, the author wrote only two more novels – The Month of August (Elokuu: 1941) and Life’s Beauty and Misery (Ihmiselon ihanuus ja kurjuus: 1945) –, but he had a popular show on Finnish radio from after World War II through 1956 which he made into three collections of autobiographical essays. Frans Eemil Sillanpää died in Helsinki, Finland, in June 1964.

It’s a first Saturday of July in the early 1930s and the People in the Summer Night of Teliranta, a farm house in the wider area of Tampere, hardly get any sleep because at this time of year
“[t]here is almost no summer night in the north; only a lingering evening, darkening slightly as it lingers, but even this darkening has its ineffable clarity. It’s the approaching presentiment of the summer morning. …” 
But in this particular Nordic summer night people remain sleepless also for other reasons. There are the daughter of the master of Teliranta called Selma and her cousin Helka, for instance, who go to town for an engagement party with the violinist Arvid and his friend Hannu come by in their cars for a surprise visit. The two couples talk and dance and enjoy themselves away from the critical eyes of Selma’s parents and grandmother until long into the small hours of Sunday. Meanwhile their neighbour Syrjämäki-Hilja goes into labour with her fourth child and sends her husband Jalmari to fetch the midwife, but the crofter is a slowpoke and in addition things don’t go like clockwork. So in the end it’s Martta, the wife of the master of Teliranta across the lake, who assists the woman giving birth, while Jalmari rides in search of the midwife and then the doctor in vain. At the same time the young raftsmen Yrjö Salonen called Nokia and Matti Puolamäki get themselves into trouble with Mettälä-Jukka who is dead-drunk once more and rough as always. This time, however, his bullying words throw Nokia, who has had a sip or two of Mettälä’s liquor too, into blind fury
 “[a]nd there among the cow parsley, which was turning to seed, and the meadowsweet, which was just about to bloom, lay Mettälä, head partly in the rye, in the gray serge clothes and patched, high-legged rafting boots. He lay with his eyes half open; they seemed to stare unblinkingly at the moon, which by then was setting. At this time of the year the full moon does not stay long above the horizon. …” 
There’s nothing the doctor can do. He is late to save Mettälä and he is late to bring Hilja’s and Jalmari’s baby into the world. All the while the old mistress of Taliranta, the grandmother of Selma and Helka, is wide awake and longing for sleep without being able to find it because her mind is working relentlessly. And also the artist is out all night rowing his boat on the lake, strolling around the land and observing his surroundings.

People in the Summer Night is no usual novel with a main plot and several more or less relevant story lines to give it substance and width, but rather it’s a series of alternating scenes or vignettes from the life of a rural neighbourhood in times long before the Internet. The stories are only loosely interconnected by the fact that they are set in the same area at the same time which entails that also the people (directly or indirectly) involved are often the same. Despite the crime story that is included it’s a very quiet and contemplative novel focusing above all on feelings and atmosphere instead of outward action. Consequently it is full of picturesque images of a typical summer night in the Finnish countryside that serves at the same time as background and mirror of the great, yet usual events of life, i.e. birth, love and death. At the same time the author gives a comprehensive picture of Finnish society in the 1930s showing the good sides as well as the bad. The detached third-person narrator tells each of the alternating scenes from the point of view of the respective protagonist which results in an extraordinarily large number of different voices ranging from young to old, from rich to poor and from uncultured to well-bred. The author’s language is precise, concise and highly poetic as becomes evident already in the very first paragraph of the slim novel. Even in translation the beauty of expression is impressing and I was under its spell right away.

As you can see, reading People in the Summer Night by Frans Eemil Sillanpää has been a very pleasurable experience for me. It’s a pity that outside his country this author, Finland’s only winner of the Nobel Prize so far, is rather forgotten today. Only few of his books seem to be available in translation and some of them are quite hard to find as it turned out. However, if you can lay hands on a copy of this one, don’t let it go! It’s an excellent book that I warmly recommend to you.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

30 June 2015

Penguin Island by Anatole France

Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

We humans are a strange lot. We are proud of our history although it tells of so many wars that there probably are only very few places in Europe that can boast with NOT having been a battlefield at one time or another. We highly appreciate virtue and cast it into elaborate forms like social conventions and religion, and yet, we seem to have inherited a rather vicious vein which strikes through ever again and results in incredible atrocities. The history of Penguin Island by Anatole France holds the mirror up to us showing plainly and in a rather cynical tone how our modern society was to became what it is and where it might lead us in the future. 

Anatole France was born François Anatole Thibault in his father’s small book-shop in Paris, France, in April 1844. He soon turned to writing for a living and also was an assistant librarian at the Senate between 1876 and 1890 although he really aspired to be a full-time writer. In 1865 he made his literary debut with the short story Eliza published in the journal of a friend, but his first big success came only in 1881 with the novel The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard (Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard). It was followed by many very popular, often satirical and historical novels like Balthasar (1889), Thaïs (1890), The Queen Pedauque (La Rôtisserie de la reine Pédauque: 1892), The Red Lily (Le Lys rouge: 1894), Penguin Island (L’île des pingouins: 1908), The Gods Want Blood (Les Dieux ont soif: 1912; also translated as The Gods Will Have Blood or The Gods are Athirst), and The Revolt of the Angels (La Révolte des anges: 1914). Apart from novels the prolific author wrote the notable historical biography The Life of Joan of Arc (Vie de Jeanne d'Arc: 1908; also published as The Complete Life of Joan of Arc), several prose collections like The Well of Saint Clare (Le Puits de Sainte Claire: 1895), A Mummer's Tale (Histoire comique: 1903) and The Seven Wives of Bluebeard and Other Marvellous Tales (Les Sept Femmes de Barbe bleue et autres contes merveilleux: 1909), a few plays, literary and social criticism, memoirs, and in his early years some poetry. In 1921 the author was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature and the following year the entire corpus of his work was put on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum (Prohibited Books Index) of the Roman Catholic Church which actually mad him proud. Anatole France died in Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire, France, in October 1924.

The story of Penguin Island begins in times immemorial with the mistake of much revered, but very old Saint Maël whose weak eyesight and deafness make him believe that the colony of penguins on the northern island where he stranded in a storm was a tribe of heathens to be evangelised. He preaches to them and eventually baptises them producing quite some confusion in paradise because the holy sacrament has never been intended for animals. Uncertain about what to do God convokes the Council of Heaven consisting of the major theologians and saints of all time to discuss the matter and its theological implications. In the end God decides to transform the penguins into human beings with a soul since it’s the simplest way out of the dilemma. The island is moved further to the south where the climate is more suitable for their new condition and the converted Penguins are under the control of Saint Maël. Thus the history of Penguinia on the island of Alca off the Breton coast begins. The first generation is quickly engaged in fights for possession, especially land. Fraud, theft and murder are common practice until the biggest and strongest of the Penguins seizes power and establishes the rule of the wealthy and powerful based on laws that favour them. There is, however, a clever Penguin called Kraken who defies the governing regime leading a secluded life in a remote cave and haunting the other Penguins disguised as a dragon. On one of his raids he abducts beautiful Orberosia and makes her his mistress. When the Penguins finally unite to kill the dragon it is she who suggests a trick to make them believe that Kraken and she liberated the people from the scourge. They succeed and are princely rewarded with lasting wealth and glory which enables their son Draco to found the first royal family of Penguinia. During the Middle Ages the story of the dragon, Kraken and Orberosia turns into a legend and sly Orberosia is elevated to the status of the virtuous patron saint of Penguinia. Time passes and the Penguins live through the same ages as the rest of Europe from the Renaissance over modern times to a all but inviting future. 

It is clear from the start that Penguin Island is a satirical, not to say rather cynical outline of human history with a pretty pessimistic outlook on the future. In the preface the author declares himself an historian attempting to write a comprehensive History of Penguinia and in fact the entire novel is written in the style of a history book, but one from the eighteenth or nineteenth century which embellishes known facts quite a lot. Consequently it can be no surprise that the narration is third-person and strictly chronological although it only treats certain, particularly important stages of history. A French reader will certainly recognise many parallels to French history, especially the Dreyfus affair which dragged on from 1894 to 1906 so people must have been well acquainted with it when the novel first appeared in 1908. However, described events and developments haven’t been limited to France, but they are much more universal… and highly political regarding today’s situation. From beginning to end Anatole France also skilfully satirises the people who make up a nation, their social conventions, their habits, their fashions, their beliefs. In addition, the author uses a very elegant style which even after more than a hundred years is a pleasure to read. 

To cut a long story short: I thoroughly enjoyed reading Penguin Island by Anatole France who seems to be a bit of a forgotten author outside France today. Since he died in 1924 the original French versions of his extensive œuvre are all in the public domain and can be legally downloaded from several websites. Considering the great number of self-published editions which I found in English I’m led to believe that also a lot of English translations of his works, including Penguin Island, must by now be in the public domain. Take the opportunity and read it! It’s a literary gem which deserves more attention.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

31 May 2015

Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz

Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

Here in Europe and in America knowledge about Egypt is mostly limited to history which is a pity because the country didn’t cease to exist with the death of Cleopatra in 30 B.C. In fact, Egypt is an important power in Northern Africa and the Islamic world today although she seldom makes the headlines unless in the context of terrorist attacks, wars and revolutions. Western-style literature doesn’t have a long tradition there, and yet, there are writers like Tawfiq Al-Hakim, Naguib Mahfouz, or Bahaa Taher (»»» read my review of Sunset Oasis) who are known worldwide. Today I’m reviewing the novel Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz, the Egyptian laureate of the 1988 Nobel Prize in literature, which revolves around the simple residents of an old street in 1940s Cairo when the country was under British protectorate and thus involved in World War II.

Naguib Mahfouz (نجيب محفوظ) was born in Cairo, Egypt, in December 1911. He was raised in the lower middle-class and devout Muslim environment of his extended family which didn’t prevent him from growing to be first an avid reader and later a professional writer, though. He studied philosophy at King Fouad I University (today: University of Cairo) and published several short stories in literary journals. After graduation he became a civil servant like his father for a living, but continued to write. According to wikipedia he brought out 34 novels, over 350 short stories, dozens of film scripts and five plays in a career that spanned more than seven decades and that was crowned with the award of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1988. Many of the Egyptian author’s works are available in English translation, the most important among them are his Three Novels of Ancient Egypt: Khufu's Wisdom (1939: عبث الأقدار) , Rhadopis of Nubia (1943: رادوبيس) and Thebes at War (1944: كفاح طيبة), Cairo Modern (1945: القاهرة الجديدة), Midaq Alley (1947: زقاق المدق), The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk (1956: بين القصرين), Palace of Desire (1957: قصر الشوق) and Sugar Street (1957: السكرية), Children of the Alley (1959: اولاد حارتنا), Adrift on the Nile (1966: ثرثرة فوق النيل), Karnak Café (1974: الكرنك), Akhenaten, Dweller in Truth (1985: العائش فى الحقيقة), and The Day the Leader was Killed (1985: يوم مقتل الزعيم). Naguib Mahfouz died in Cairo, Egypt, in August 2006. 

Towards the mid-1940s World War II has been raging for years already, but air raids, blackouts and penuries of everyday goods have hardly changed Midaq Alley. It is an old stone-paved street in the Azhar quarter of Cairo, too isolated and too short to buzz with life like the rest of the big city:
“One of its sides consisted of a shop, a cafe, and a bakery, the other of another shop and an office. It ends abruptly, just as its ancient glory did, with two adjoining houses, each of three stories.” 
The men of Midaq Alley like to gather in Kirsha’s café which is the perfect place to learn and spread news. In addition, also its hashish-addicted owner often gives reason for gossip because he is known to be attracted to boys to the point of making a fool of himself to the vexation of his wife. His son Hussain dispises the petty life in the poor neighbourhood and gladly seized the opportunity to get a well-paid job in a British Army camp which allows him to enjoy a more western-style life away from the alley and the café. The barber Abbas, who is Hussain’s best friend since childhood, feels completely different about it, though:
“… Abbas had a lazy dislike for change, dreaded anything new, hated traveling, and if he were left to himself he would make no choice other than the alley. If he spent the rest of his life there, he would be quite happy. The truth was, he loved it.” 
But Abbas also is up to the ears in love with beautiful Hamida from one of the residences at the end of the street and he dreams of marrying her. Unfortunately, his little barber shop only earns him a bare living and he knows that Hamida yearns for a better life just like his friend. So in the end he makes up his mind to follow Hussain’s advice and to work for the British Army too for a while in order to save money and then start a family with his beloved. Hamida’s adoptive mother accepts Abbas’s proposal of marriage and thus officially engaged as well as convinced that nothing can now prevent their happiness, he leaves his little shop and the alley. However, not only Abbas is charmed by Hamida’s beauty. Also middle-aged and married Salim Alwan, the owner of the perfume company in the alley, is infatuated with her. And then there’s slick Ibrahim Faraj who waylays her in the streets and opens a world of beautiful clothes and jewellery to her…

According to eye witnesses and historians, everyday life as portrayed in Midaq Alley is characteristic of Cairo’s lower-class neighbourhoods in the 1940s. As shows the novel, the war had a great impact on Egyptian society, especially in the big cities, because it forced people to neglect formerly strict barriers of class, age, and sex in the figurative as well as the literal sense offering them at the same time unprecedented and most welcome opportunities of social rise... and creating strong desires. The third-person narrative from the point of view of an uninvolved observer focuses on daily life in Midaq Alley painting a colourful picture of surroundings and routines, but also of people. All characters of the novel are depicted true to life, thus multidimensional in their behaviour, convictions, dreams, virtues and vices. Desire is the author’s central theme which he skilfully shows in all its forms ranging from the simple wish for material gain and social rise to sexual desire. Most surprisingly for a novel from the 1940s and written in Arabic it also touches highly controversial topics like homosexuality and prostitution although from the biased perspective of a Muslim man it seems to me. While the café owner Kirsha appears as a hashish-addicted imbecile running after boys who just deserves being laughed at, Hamida is condemned as a “whore by instinct”. I must say that Hamida’s behaviour and reasonings were those that least convinced me because they felt unusually superficial to me. Maybe this is because the author is a man with a naturally male point of view. Maybe this is because Muslim values and traditions are too far from my own reality. Language and style are difficult, if not impossible for me to judge because I don't speak Arabic and have to rely on the translation. In any case it was a read that I enjoyed.

All things considered, Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz has been a very interesting novel which allowed me a glimpse into the Egytian soul and a deeply Muslim society. Although the book first appeared almost seventy years ago, the values and ways of life it conveys may not have changed as much as might be expected. What better reason to recommend it for reading in times like ours?

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

30 April 2015

The Good Terrorist by Doris Lessing

 Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

In the European Union we are living an era of relative peace and security which makes us easily forget that ever again in human history conservative as well as revolutionary powers (be they stately, religious or ideological) tried to eradicate “dangerous” ideas and ways of life by force and with childish obstinacy. Irony of fate has it that they all disappeared sooner or later leaving little more than ugly spots on collective memory and consciousness. Nonetheless also those who believe terror a proper means of politics are human beings and The Good Terrorist by Doris Lessing, which I’m reviewing today, shows what might go on in the mind of one who wants to force the perfect world of her own dreams on society because others don’t seem to have the courage to fight for it.

Doris Lessing was born Doris May Taylor in Kermanshah, Persia (today: Iran), in October 1919. In 1925 the family moved to a farm in Southern Rhodesia (today: Zimbabwe) where she attended a convent school until she started working as a nursemaid at the age of fifteen. Encouraged to continue studying on her own by her employer she soon turned to writing and her first stories were published in magazines. Her true career as a writer, however, started only after two failed marriages and having moved to London, U.K., in 1949. She brought out her first novel The Grass is Singing in 1950, but her literary breakthrough didn’t come before 1962 when The Golden Notebook appeared. For her life-work consisting of more than two dozen novels – like for instance Briefing for a Descent into Hell (1971), Memoirs of a Survivor (1974), The Good Terrorist (1985), The Cleft (2007), and the two series known as The Children of Violence (1952-1969) and The Canopus in Argos (1979-1983) –, almost as many short story collections, some autobiographical texts, essays, plays, and poems the author was rewarded with the Nobel Prize in Literature 2007. Doris Lessing died in London, U.K., in November 2013.
It’s in the early 1980s and The Good Terrorist starts as a rather ordinary Communist squatter who joins a commune of comrades already living in a derelict house in London. Her name is Alice and she is a woman of thirty-six with a degree in Politics and Economics, but to her parents’ great annoyance she never even tried to get a job after graduation. For over fifteen years she has been moving from squat to squat with her likewise jobless friend Jasper in tow although they aren’t really a couple. Alice loves Jasper, he only depends on her, though, and can’t even bear her touch because he is homosexual and loathes women. When Alice and Jasper arrive at the spacious house in 43 Old Mill Road, it is little more than a smelling rubbish heap that serves as a temporary shelter. Only Alice sees in it a beautiful place that she can turn into a comfortable home. So while the others go to demonstrations and pickets, Alice does everything in her power to save the house from impending demolition and to restore it to some of its former splendour which requires not only a lot of cunning on her side, but also much more money than she gets from Social Security. Since friends and parents refuse to help out – knowing that most of the money would inevitably end in the hands of Jasper –, she resorts to stealing it from her father against whom she has a grudge. Politically Alice and her comrades of the Communist Centre Union want to increase their political impact and offer their services first to the IRA and then to the KGB. Neither wants them. They attract, however, the attention of the squatters from the neighbouring house and before soon they are really involved in activities of IRA and KGB... but they are annoyed because they are no longer willing to take orders. They set out to fight against fascist imperialism all on their own building a car bomb…

At the time of its release The Good Terrorist has been a highly controversial novel. The plot of the third-person narrative from the protagonist's point of view is simple and doesn’t offer many ups and downs because it is centred on daily life in the commune or rather on Alice’s constant struggle to keep it going. Alice is an ambiguous character largely driven by rage against her parents and society which she equals with fascist imperialism without really thinking about it. She refuses their middle-class values, and yet, she lives them when she adopts the role of a mother who spares neither pains nor expenses to take care of her house and her family, i.e. the squatters. In other respects her behaviour often makes think of a “sweet girl” in her adolescence. This becomes most obvious in her relationship to Jasper that doesn’t force her to grow up emotionally and sexually for the simple reason that he is homosexual, while adult desires and practices scare and disgust her as show the scenes in comrade Andrew’s room. At the same time it is obvious that she is also a spoilt child who believes that her parents and the world should be the way she wants them to be. Altogether Alice may seem depicted in a rather superficial way, but then she isn’t a particularly deep person – nor are the other squatters. Doris Lessing’s language and style match the atmosphere in the commune which certainly can’t be called warm and intellectual. Words flow in a matter-of-fact tone and make the story easy to follow.

At first I wasn’t quite sure if I should review The Good Terrorist by Doris Lessing because it might evoke unpleasant memories of recent terrorist attacks in Paris, Copenhagen and now Tunis. On the other hand, I think that it’s a good idea to slip into the skin of a terrorist for as long as it takes to read the novel. There may be much truth in what the author had to say about her group of terrorists, but it’s the work of a fiction writer, not of a psychologist or a profiler. And the novel's terrorists live in the 1980s, thus in a pre-digital age. However, it’s an excellent book and therefore worth reading.

In memoriam of the innocent victims of the terrorist attacks in Paris (January), Copenhagen (February) and Tunis (March) 2015.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

31 March 2015

The Master of Go by Yasunari Kawabata

Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

In 1968 Yasunari Kawabata (1899-1972) was the first Japanese author to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. His most famous novels Snow Country (雪国: 1935-1947), Thousand Cranes (千羽鶴: 1949-1952), and The Old Capital (古都: 1962) were especially mentioned by the Nobel committee. The work that the author himself considered his best, however, is of a very different kind, namely the chronicle-novel The Master of Go (名人). It’s partly reportage, partly fiction and was first published in instalments between 1951 and 1954. 

The Master of Go recounts a major championship Go match that took place in fourteen sessions from 26 June to 4 December 1938. The adversaries were Shūsai, the twenty-first Master of Go in the Honnimbō succession and until then undefeated, and much younger Kitani Minora, called Otaké in the novel. Yasunari Kawabata himself was present during the match as a reporter for the newspaper Mainichi and also as the first-person-narrator of the novel he appears in this role, though hiding behind the fictitious name Uragami. Knowing nothing about Go and the rules of the game, it is virtually impossible to make head or tail of the moves of black and white stones described and depicted in the included charts, but in the end it isn’t important what the players do on the Go board because the emphasis is on the opposing characters of Shūsai – who gets completely absorbed in the game or any game actually – and Otaké – who merely plays Go according to the rules. The aristocratic tradition incorporated by Shūsai, that was the backbone of Japanese society and at the heart of arts until 1945, is challenged by modern liberalism represented by Otaké. So the Go match can be seen as a symbol for the eternal controversy between old and new or between the Japanese and the Euro-American approach to things, especially in the course of World War II. The game almost immediately turns into nerve-racking tug-of-war that takes its toll on both players as the author shows in a very precise and at the same time poetic language. Hardly two months after the first session sixty-four-year-old Shūshai falls seriously ill. He is hospitalised with a chronic heart condition aggravated by the tension of the match. After a recess of three months the weakened Master of Go can finally return to the Go board and loses his final game as well as his aura of invincibility. Little more than a year later, Shūsai dies and with this event the wheel of the novel comes full circle. 

If you liked this book notice or if you are curious to know what I have to say about another work by the same author, please click here to read my review of The Old Capital by Yasunari Kawabata here on Read the Nobels.

28 February 2015

The Celtic Twilight by William Butler Yeats

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18148112-the-celtic-twilightReviewed by Edith LaGraziana

Today William Butler Yeats is known above all as one of Ireland’s greatest poets who was awarded the 1923 Nobel Prize in Literature “for his always inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation”. But he didn’t only write much admired and often recited poems. He also collected folk tales and legends which already in his time were at risk of getting lost in a modern Ireland that was under British rule during all his lifetime and remained under it until several years after his death at the age of seventy-four in January 1939.

With its strong reminiscences of heathen, thus Celtic times the mythological heritage of first Catholicised and then Anglicised Ireland is surprising, impressive and quite unique in the world. I'm sure that W. B. Yeats has been aware of it when he set out
“to create a little world out of the beautiful, pleasant, and significant things of this marred and clumsy world, and to show in a vision something of the face of Ireland to any of my own people who would look where I bid them.”
Under the title The Celtic Twilight he brought together a varied selection of stories and tales from Old Eire which first appeared as a book in 1893. Some more stories passed on to the author were added to the revised edition of 1902 which I’m reviewing here and which keeps being in print until this day. Therefore it deserves a closer look.

The book offers a mixture of what W. B. Yeats heard and saw of the legendary worlds of dhouls and faeries, but he also commented the stories like almost every other writer of his time and his background would have done. He didn’t degrade and dismiss the beliefs of the peasantry as superstition and mirages produced by uneducated minds, though, as might have done a less open-minded person or more fundamentalist Catholic in his place. On the contrary, he perceived Ireland as a magical land and even reported some strange incidents that he experienced himself. For the rest he translated the stories told to him into modern language and wrote them down as “accurately and candidly” as he could.

The people who appear in the stories as their protagonists, as their witnesses or just as their passers-on are the men and women of Ireland who live in unison with a world of magic surrounding them. But they don’t just cling stubbornly to their heritage of a pagan past that has been virtually wiped out everywhere else. They accept to be part of a universe where much more is possible than science can explain and they take things as they come, sometimes with an impish wink of the eye. This gives them and their whole country the natural and charming aura that keeps impressing us.

Reading The Celtic Twilight by W. B. Yeats allows a glimpse into a magic world that is closed to most of us ever since we left childhood behind. Isn't this a good enough reason to abandon yourself to the skilled storyteller for a while?

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

31 January 2015

The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0141186313/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=0141186313&linkCode=as2&tag=editsmisc00-21&linkId=NKGMUL3YTPF43TM4Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

After my Christmas digression into light Irish literature, I return to my usual set of deep and thought-provoking reads already with this week’s review. More precisely I picked a Nobel read for My WINTER Books Special, the only one that I could find, namely The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck. The members of the committee of the Swedish Academy mentioned especially this last novel of the American author when they awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature to him in 1962. It’s the story of a good and honest man who finds his morals corrupted by the requirements and habits of post-war America where virtually everything seems permitted to achieve financial wealth and social status.

John Steinbeck was born in Salinas, California, USA, in February 1902. He grew up in the rural atmosphere of his birth town at the sea surrounded by many migrants, an environment that later often appeared in his literary work. After high school he studied English Literature at Stanford University until 1925, but his mind was already set on becoming a great American writer and he never earned a degree. In 1929 he brought out his first novel titled Cup of Gold, but success didn’t come before Tortilla Flat was published in 1935. The California novels followed, among them In Dubious Battle (1936), Of Mice and Men (1937) and The Grapes of Wrath (1939). Others of his most notable novels are Cannery Row (1945), The Pearl (1947), East of Eden (1952), and The Winter of Our Discontent (1961). He also wrote the script to Elia Kazan’s famous film Viva Zapata! (1952). In 1962 the author was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. John Steinbeck died in New York City, New York, USA, in December 1968.

Ethan Allen Hawley is a descendant both of the Pilgrim Fathers and of whalers, maybe even pirates, and thinks of his life as The Winter of Our Discontent. For generations his family belonged to the honourable and rich of fictitious New Baytown on Long Island, but when the whaling industry went down, also their decline began. Upon Ethan’s return from World War II, his father was dead and all that was left of the former wealth were the old Hawley house and the town’s grocery shop. Harvard-bred only in letters and trained for war, not business, Ethan soon was forced not just to sell the shop, but also to stay on as the clerk of the new owner, an Italian immigrant called Alfio Marullo. In April 1960 Ethan still works as grocery clerk keeping the shop that he once owned. He hates his job that barely suffices to cover the expenses of his family consisting of his wife Mary, fourteen-year-old son Allen and thirteen-year-old daughter Ellen. On Good Friday morning on his way to work he meets the bank teller Joey Morphy who shares with Ethan his thoughts about how to rob a bank without getting caught. Later Mr. Baker, president of the bank, drops in on Ethan to convince him to invest his wife’s six-thousand dollars and to restore his family to wealth, power and prestige, but Ethan refuses because it’s Mary’s money and security. Coming by to check on the shop, Marullo points out to Ethan that a good businessman needs always to “look out for number one”, ie for money because it is at the heart of success and nothing else matters. As an honest man to the backbone Ethan won’t listen to him, though. So when a travelling salesman, previously announced by Mary’s attractive and men-hunting friend Margie Young-Hunt, offers him money behind Marullo’s back in return for placing orders with his company, Ethan refuses because he won’t betray his boss. Probably none of this would trouble Ethan, if the same day his wife and his teenage children didn’t make it clear to him that they too crave for money and the prestige it implies. Since he wants the best for them, he begins to question his attitude and convinces himself that it’ll do no harm to put aside his moral scruples at least temporarily – like he did as a soldier. He acts accordingly and the expected results materialise on Independence Day weekend 1960, but Ethan is full of remorse.

The Winter of Our Discontent is the author’s lament over moral decline in post-war America which manifested in a huge number of scandals making the headlines at the time of its writing and before. Through his choice of title John Steinbeck also alluded to Richard III by William Shakespeare of which Ethan quotes the respective passage at the end of part one. In the novel’s world – like in the world in which we are living today – money isn’t just the driving force of economy and personal progress, but its cult is at least on an equal level with religion. Baker’s bank house is described as a “red brick basilica” and in one scene the bank teller compares the opening of the safe in the morning with a lodge meeting of the freemasons where “Father Baker genuflects and opens the safe and we all bow down to the Great God Currency.” Nobody except Ethan seems to see any harm in bribery, chicanery and treachery. The novel centres on his inner conflicts confronted with the need to give up his high moral standards for the sake of his family’s happiness. Consequently, most of the story is told from Ethan’s point of view, thus in first person, and only the introducing two chapters of each of the two parts are third-person narrative. The Swedish Academy praised John Steinbeck “for his realistic and imaginative writings, combining as they do sympathetic humour and keen social perception”. All of it can be found in this last novel of his, too, and in addition I noticed a bitter undertone of the kind that seems to be characteristic of advancing age. Already some time ago I realised that every parent or grandparent generation laments over moral decline – in fact I catch myself at it occasionally.

All in all, The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck has been an absorbing and worthwhile read although in my opinion it doesn’t stand comparison with Of Mice and Men and The Pearl, the author’s other two works that I could finish so far. Considering today's economic situation and the often reckless behaviour of businessmen, the novel has lost none of its importance.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

31 December 2014

None to Accompany Me by Nadine Gordimer

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&field-keywords=978-1250007711&linkCode=ur2&tag=editsmisc00-21&url=search-alias%3Daps&linkId=JKP6AHT4ATN5RNPI Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

For a long time South Africa was a place where a white minority saw itself in the right to exclude the vast coloured majority from power and even to determine the lives of its members in a way that nobody with working brains was likely to endure willingly, but in the end segregation and institutionalised discrimination couldn’t last even there. Thanks to the influence of Nelson Mandela and other moderate political activists the country saw a peaceful transition from the Apartheid regime to a democratic system based on equal rights for all her citizens. None to Accompany Me by Nadine Gordimer, the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature 1991, shows some of the dramatic changes during this difficult period and their influence on the daily lives of South Africans.

Nadine Gorimer was born in Springs, Transvaal, Union of South Africa, in November 1923. Having been mainly home-taught and thus rather isolated during her childhood, she turned to writing early. Already at the age of 15 years her first short story for children appeared in a newspaper and as a sixteen-year-old she made her literary debut in adult fiction. The author’s first novel, The Lying Days, came out in 1953. For the moral and racial issues that the author dealt with critically in her work, the Apartheid regime banned novels like A World of Strangers (1958), The Late Bourgeois World (1966), Burger's Daughter (1979), and July's People (1981). Others of her important works published before she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1991 are Occasion for Loving (1963), A Guest of Honour (1970), and The Conservationist (1974). None to Accompany Me (1994), The House Gun (1998), The Pickup (2001), and Get a Life (2005) count among the most notable novels of her late years. In addition to her novels the author brought out a great number of short story collections and essays. Nadine Gordimer died in Johannesburg, South Africa, in July 2014.

The scene of None to Accompany Me is Johannesburg in South Africa where Vera and Bennet “Ben” Stark live in an old house that had been part of the divorce agreement with her first husband. When the latter had returned from World War II, she had already had a lover, Ben, whom she married immediately after the divorce… and betrayed with her ex-husband once never knowing if her son Ivan was her first husband’s or Ben’s really. When Nelson Mandela is released from prison in 1990 and the Apartheid regime falls, Vera and Ben have been married for over forty years, happily married although Ben built his life around Vera sacrificing even his dream of being a sculptor and although in her forties Vera had an affair with a man fifteen or more years her junior. The couple has a son, Ivan, and a daughter, Annie. Ever since Vera resumed work after maternity leave, she has been a lawyer with the Legal Foundation and fighting for the rights of coloured clients although discriminating laws hampered her efforts a lot. The end of Apartheid brings new challenges with black communities claiming back the lands of their ancestors from white farmers like Tertius Odendaal who aren’t even willing to talk to them. By and by long-time political exiles like Sibongile “Sally” and Didymus “Didy” Maqoma, who used to be friends with the Starks, return to South Africa to seize the opportunity to create a just South Africa. In the climate of political uncertainty violence spreads across the country. On a deserted road on the way back from a fieldtrip, Vera Stark and her assistant are assaulted and robbed. She is wounded in the leg by a bullet and he is shot into the chest, but survives at first and dies later from unexpected complications. On the political field Sally Maqoma becomes a rising star, while her husband who had been the real activist of the couple is reduced to a role in the background. At the same time Vera Stark gets a chance to work on the new constitution and becomes even more absorbed into her work leaving her husband to himself with his failed business. Slowly her former client, Zeph Rapulana, who was a squatter-camp leader and belongs now to the new black middle-class, is taking the place of her best friend, confident and adviser.

Like real life None to Accompany Me interweaves the personal fates of its characters with events and atmosphere surrounding them. The setting is South Africa in the early 1990s. As is (or should be) generally known, the period is one of dramatic change on the political level, but also the lives of the Starks, the Maqomas and people like them are taking a new direction. There’s nothing extraordinary about the characters portrayed in the novel, not about anything they do, nor about anything that happens to them. They are average people coping best they can with the new situation. Vera Stark as the female protagonist of the third-person narrative also finds herself re-evaluating her marriage and discovering how shadows of the past like her first husband and her lover Otto Abarbanel fit in. She realises that the ultimate intimacy with a man that she yearns for is impossible and that being the beloved centre and only purpose of another person is a burden that she doesn’t want to carry any longer. She wants to be alone and on her own with none to accompany her – thus the title. The author tells the story of her protagonists representing South African people with such great narrative skill that it absorbs the reader right away. Characters, moods and events feel entirely drawn from real life although they are fiction embedded in historical facts. The language of Nadine Gordimer is rich in powerful images and easy to read although she uses several idiomatic expressions from her country (at least I believe that it’s for this reason that I didn’t know them). Also her clear and critical mind, which made that several of her books were banned by the Apartheid regime for a time, is obvious in every line.

Overall I enjoyed reading None to Accompany Me by Nadine Gordimer very much. It surely isn’t the novel for which the author is best known, but it makes see despite all that the Nobel Prize in Literature of 1991 didn’t go into the wrong direction. In any case it’s another excellent book to which I gladly dedicated a post and which I recommend warmly.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany:

30 November 2014

One, No One and One Hundred Thousand by Luigi Pirandello

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0941419746/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=0941419746&linkCode=as2&tag=editsmisc00-21&linkId=TZV2V6OXPZUV5YSD Reviewed by Edith LaGraziana

Who are we? Are we really who we believe we are? Or are we someone completely different than we think? Do others see us the way we see ourselves? These are questions that occupied and still occupy the minds of many ordinary people and of scores of philosophers worldwide. While philosophers necessarily take a scientific point of view on matters of identity, writers can deal with it more freely, and in fact, they do so rather often – to their own as well as to their readers’ delight. Often the philosophical aspects of a novel almost disappear under the surface of an intricate plot, but One, No One and One Hundred Thousand by Luigi Pirandello offers a direct approach. The work of the Nobel laureate 1934 centres on the narrating protagonist’s search for his only true identity which disturbs him to the point of madness and confuses his surroundings.

Luigi Pirandello was born in a country house on the outskirts of Agrigento, Sicily, Italy, in June 1867 and grew up in a well-to-do family. After having finished high school in Palermo, he began to study law and letters at the local university, but only continued his philological studies in Rome and finished them in Bonn, Germany, in 1891. Although he had been making poems already as a teenager, he dedicated himself to writing more seriously only after his return to Italy, above all after the family business was ruined by natural disaster in 1903. During his life the prolific author produced some volumes of poetry, several novels, hundreds of short stories, and about forty plays. It was above all his innovative dramatic work which earned him international fame and the Nobel Prize in Literature 1934, but also his novels and short stories were celebrated. The most notable among them are The Late Mattia Pascal (Il fu Mattia Pascal: 1904), Her Husband (Suo marito: 1911), The Old and the Young (I vecchi e i giovani: 1913), and One, No One and One Hundred Thousand (Uno, nessuno e centomila: 1926) along with his short stories and novellas republished in a 15-volume edition titled Short Stories for a Year (Novelle per un anno: 1922-37). Luigi Pirandello died in Rome, Italy, in December 1936.

The narrator and central figure of One, No One and One Hundred Thousand is twenty-eight-year-old Vitangelo Moscarda, called Gengè by his wife Dida. Thanks to his share in the bank that his father left him at his death and that is now run by his father’s partners and friends (fatherly director Sebastiano Quantorzo and brotherly legal consultant Stefano Firbo), he enjoys a good life without work in the invented Italian town Richieri. He is sure of himself until his wife jokingly tells him that his nose leans slightly to the right, when she finds him contemplating in front of the mirror one morning. He never noticed the tiny defect and the unexpected revelation pushes him into a state of self-doubt. For the first time he realises that his picture of himself differs considerably from the picture that others have of him and he becomes obsessed with the idea of laying bare his true, universal self. His task proves much more difficult than he thought. He becomes aware of the great number of people he is due to the mere fact that every person has a different opinion of him and that not one coincides with another or at least his own. He tries to shake off his idea of himself to be able to see himself in the mirror as a stranger would, but if he succeeds it’s only for split seconds. Then he includes the aspect of situation and communication into his considerations which confuses him even more because it proves that the one and only identity that he seeks doesn’t exist, can’t exist because everybody lives in a world of his/her own separated from all others. At this point he begins to put his findings to test, ie to shock his surroundings behaving in a different way than he normally would. People begin to think him crazy, but he isn’t willing to back down and resume old habits as well as roles… not even for his beloved wife.

The quality of One, No One and One Hundred Thousand as a philosophical novel through and through is striking from the first page to the last. Although it’s not a scientific treatise it requires an open as well as a very focused mind to be able to fully enjoy it. The sharp logic of the protagonist’s reasoning can make spin the head and it certainly lingers on in the mind long after having finished the book. It makes think about how we usually perceive our environment, including people, as stable and consistent with our own idea of the world although we know well enough that there use to be more sides to everything. The fact that the narrator directly addresses the reader ever again may add to the novel’s great power. Since the concept of identity proper is so complex, the plot is reduced to the necessary minimum. There isn’t much happening although the author has included several unexpected turns to show the protagonist’s growing confusion or madness. As requires the task, the main focus is on the protagonist himself and his considerations, while all other characters of the story, including his wife Dida whom he loves, remain rather flat and colourless: their true self is out of his reach. Since I read the Italian original, I can say little about the language except that it didn’t give me too much trouble to understand what the author wished to say although 88 years after the first release of the novel some of the vocabulary or at least the spelling seem to be a bit outdated.

Reading One, No One and One Hundred Thousand was quite a special experience for me, namely slightly disturbing and enjoyable at the same time. However, as regular readers of my blog know, I have a bit of a bent for the philosophical and therefore delighted in the read. Someone who is convinced that everybody sees the world through the same – objective – eyes (and I know people who do!), might not enjoy at all reading this great novel… and the more warmly I recommend it to every such person. It’s not an easy read, but marvellously thought-provoking.

Original post on Edith's Miscellany: