One of the best works of creative non-fiction that I have read, to date. Doctorow’s narrator is Homer Collyer, the youngest of the great Collyer family. Born and raised on New York’s 5th Avenue – Homer was privileged in wealth, looks, education, and love (platonic and otherwise). Things started going downhill fast. Homer’s brother Langley goes off to war, only to return a changed, cynical, and atheistic man. While Langley is away, the brothers’ parents die, and the trusted servants are not soon to follow – either in death or leave. Soon, it is just the two brothers, one of whom -our narrator – goes blind and (later) deaf. The other becomes strangely eccentric, picking up vagrants and offering them sanctuary, allowing nearly-assassinated gangsters to live and operate out of their quickly deteriorating manse, and collecting piles and piles of newspapers (among other things) for his one true, be-all-end-all newspaper of humanity. The most interesting aspects of the novel are 1) narration from the point of view of a blind and deaf man and 2) the relationship between the brothers, both of whom are defective in some way, but whom rely on each other to the point of hermitage from the world. The ending is truly beautiful and sad – and the brief inclusions of historical happenings, such as the many wars, the counter-culture and drug craze, and the advancement of technology, are particularly curious when told through the narrative eye of a sightless recluse. That the brothers live in such neglected poverty when they obviously have the means not to (they eventually pay off a mansion mortgage in full, when avoiding the bill simply becomes to bothersome) is also intriguing. It’s as if the brothers simply wished to be left alone, and felt themselves to be above all typicalities of everyday American life and citizenship. There is also an element of odd patriotism and familial pride, though neither brother wants much to do with family or their country. All-in-all, an interesting, unique read. Recommended, especially for those readers interested in American and/or New York cultural history.
While I’m not sure I can say that I “enjoyed” this novel in any traditional sense, I can say that Pedro Paramo was stunning in many ways. I agree with the many comparisons of this work to surrealist art – especially Salvador Dali
. Time and space exists in a strange, two-dimensional and three-dimensional mixture, as if Rulfo was capable of taking the two vast, spacial concepts and manipulating them into a narrative stew or goulash. The narration, too, is jumbled. The story is told interchangeably by multiple characters, most of whom are already long dead, but think, speak, and act as though they are among the living. The original narrator, a traveler searching for his father, is soon lost to this spirit-filled town and, by the end, the reader is uncertain about how and where the “main character” has fared. The style is, admittedly, brilliant, but perhaps something is lost in the translation (I read the English version) because much of the story did not make sense; although, from a surrealist point-of-view, perhaps that isn’t the intention because, though the plot and story are difficult to follow (characters taking over the narration without introduction or notice, slipping from one time period to the next, allowing a narrator to lead us to believe one thing, only to later find out that all of what happened, happened yesterday, a year ago, or a decade ago and is being redescribed or re-enacted by the ghosts of those involved) the intent itself seems pure and moving. I believe I will be haunted by this story for a long time, and will likely pick it up again someday in hopes of cracking at least one or some of its codes.
>For the first time, since years ago, when I first picked up a Dennis Cooper novel (one of the early George Miles cycle books) I was actually surprised by the subject matter of a Cooper work. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy or appreciate Dennis Cooper’s work; in fact, I’m an avid fan – having now read all but one of his novels. Still, Cooper tends to be predictable in subject matter, theme, and plot. This time, however, Cooper has done something completely new. The plot is innovative, creative, and haunting. The story itself is still Cooper-esque, disturbing and a bit sick, and it is still an examination of death. Except, this time, rather than death as a scientific experiment – in body function, sensory reaction, sexuality, etc., Cooper is explaining death through grief and love – the loss of a child and how his already troubled father tries to cope. Truly brilliant – I read it in one sitting, in a matter of 90 minutes.
Gustav von Aschenbach is an aging writer, feeling the pangs of literary pressure and exhaustion. He has devoted his life to cultivating an image of utmost propriety and literary superiority but now seeks a respite from the anxiety of others’ (and his own) expectations. Thus, he travels to (where else) Venice, Italy – where he can relax on the scenic shores of the Mediterranean. Aschenbach discovers a young boy, the epitome of youthful beauty, who first peaks the artistic sympathies of the writer, but soon enraptures him completely. Aschenbach, whose health (along with the boy, Tadzio’s, and the city of Venice’s) steadily declines, sees in Tadzio something lost and something sought after. The writer realizes that he has spent so much time with literary perfection –with research and analysis – that he has lost the true meaning of the art form: a pursuit of pure beauty. He finds this in Tadzio and therefore becomes enthralled. Mann’s purpose does not seem to be subversive; instead, he is pointing out an element of the human condition which is constant in both its presence and its denial – the unrequited love and lust for the aging toward the youthful. The motive is not at all pedophilic, as some might suggest. Instead, it seems that Mann is simply pointing out the terrors of aging, and the almost deified, nostalgic respect we have for the youthful. The reader sees Aschenbach struggle with his appreciation for and jealousy of Tadzio’s youth and beauty. Aschenbach tries to recover some of his own lost youth by dying his hair and pampering his face – hiding his wrinkles; but, the absurdity of the “cover-up” is amplified by Aschenbach’s demise. That Tadzio remains beautiful despite his own illness seems almost a coy taunt towards age, whose ability to defeat and/or recover from illness is far less than the youthful’s. Tadzio has no fear of playing in the water or wrestling with his friends, even amongst an outbreak of cholera; in contrast, the adults eagerly avoid the subject – and one another- in hopes of containing the disease and saving themselves from it. While there are homosexual elements to the story (Tadzio and Aschenbach obviously have a certain understanding of one another – if not equally in lust with one another, certainly understanding of the others’ appreciation), the major theme is the artistic beauty of youth and vitality, which overpowers even the most strict and acetic of personalities. That Aschenbach is willing to give himself up to the spreading epidemic simply to be in Tadzio’s presence (it is pointed out that, had the Polish family left, Aschenbach too would have gone away) reminds us that Aschenbach is greatly affected by the boy’s perfection. It is almost as if Aschenbach has discovered his own Dorian Gray and, like Basil Hallward, Aschenbach soon loses himself to his own creation. Really, a beautiful read – one which speaks to the self-conscious, envious elements in each of us.
>Period is the last of the George Miles cycle and, personally, I believe it is his best. Of all Dennis Cooper’s work, this is probably my favorite, or a very close second to “God, Jr.
” The plot-line is sometimes hard to follow, as it moves back and forth between dimensions of reality and names are interchangeable (the story is narrated through the eyes of a chrystal meth addict, so what else would we expect?) but that makes the brilliance of what Cooper accomplishes even more beautiful. If you followed the George Miles novels from the beginning, you will not be disapponited with this concluding chapter. Cooper’s honesty is not just gut-wrenching (or gut-turning, depending on your exposure and sensitivity to Cooper’s style) but also heart-moving. The author’s personal pain and conflict over his relationship/feelings for “George” – as well as the loss of that friend are, for the first time, clearly expressed. The prose is inventive and powerful, the characters are believable and sad. All-in-all, Period is a stellar acheivement by a master writer of psychologically deviant, subersive-transgressive literature.