In this novel, everybody is a ghost, a shadow, a dreamed-up contraption, and life unfolds in strange loops, enigmatic encounters, and unsettling atmosIn this novel, everybody is a ghost, a shadow, a dreamed-up contraption, and life unfolds in strange loops, enigmatic encounters, and unsettling atmospheric disturbances; so in a way, it's a twisted realist novel! :-) Bae Suah throws her readers into a maelstrom of shifting timelines and perspectives, thus creating a puzzling depiction of the title-giving night and day in which multiple existences cumulate at one point in time: "Ayami was her future self or her past self. And she was both, existing at the same time. (...) That was the secret of night and day existing simultaneously."
While this narrative concept is certainly philosophically complex, the story is easy to follow and not only deep, but also captivating: 27-year-old Ayami just lost her job at a small audio theatre in Seoul because the establishment is being closed down. A former actress, she is unsure what to do next, and we accompany her through one night and one day (which is more of an declared than an actual time span), in which, among other things, she spends time with her former boss and, after being asked by a severely ill friend of both of them, picks up a German writer from the airport. These activities might seem mundane, but it's the intriguing dialogue, the dynamics between the characters and, above all, the surreal narrative estrangement effects that turn the outcome into a haunting and disturbing experience.
The most obvious narrative strategy is the use of repetition - again and again, we encounter the exact same phrases and descriptions in different contexts, like the skirt that flutters "like an old dishcloth", the feeling as if "someone were hammering a nail into the crown of (one's) head", "capillaries webbing the whites of (someone's) eyes", a dead body "in the space between ceiling and the roof of (someone's) house", and many, many more. People do the same things or the same features are ascribed to them, sometimes only slightly varied. The disorienting effect turns the characters into ghosts and Seoul into am almost liquid space, ever quivering and oscillating. The whole novel can also be read as a pastiche of The Blind Owl, the main work of Iranian writer and early modernist Sadegh Hedayat, a book that is mentioned in various different contexts in Bae Suah's novel. Hedayat's text about a pen case painter confessing his nightmares and obsession with death to a shadow shaped as an owl is also non-linear, surreal, dream-like and relies heavily on repetition while challenging (in this case Iranian) literary traditions; at one point, Ayami even sees "her own huge shadow wavering on the wall".
Art and artists play a vital role in Bae Suah's text as well: There is the protagonist who is an actress (or is she actually a poet?), the audio theatre, a performance film, a photography exhibition ("every photograph is a unique proof of identity, firmly declaring that human beings are ghosts"), an aspiring poet named Buha who sees "no contradiction whatsoever in the gulf between dreams and reality" and sells blue pills (hello, The Matrix), an old poet named Kim Cheol-sseok (yes, with two "s"), the severely ill German teacher Yeoni who lets her pupils read books, the German poet called Wolfi, which is usually short for Wolfgang, and many other references. There are multiple connections to Germany in the text - Bae Suah shares her time between South Korea and Germany. Another major motif in the text are the senses or lack thereof: While they usually help to grasp our surroundings, Bae Suah's characters are again and again deprived of sensual information (the audio theatre, reading lips, the blackout restaurant, Ayami's bad eyesight etc.), or if they aren't, the sensual information seems to further disorientate them (see the strange loops contained in the repetitions). Btw: Ayami means "beautiful color" in Japanese, and yes, you remember that correctly, she worked at an audio theatre. :-)
All in all, I was deeply impressed and also highly entertained by this unusual text, which reminded me of one of my favorite experimental writers, Jesse Ball (he would probably love the idea of a pickpocket who, instead of stealing, drops messages into people's pockets, and a protagonist stating "it occurred to me that I'm no more than an imaginary woman in your dream"). I'm glad that with the rise of Han Kang, Western readers found a new interest in South Korean literature, so I hope we will soon see more translations of exciting authors hailing from Korea.
I can see why Sally Rooney is endorsing this! Debut novelist Naoise Dolan tells the story of 22-year-old Ava who just moved from Ireland to Hongkong, I can see why Sally Rooney is endorsing this! Debut novelist Naoise Dolan tells the story of 22-year-old Ava who just moved from Ireland to Hongkong, trying to figure out what to do with her life. She holds a poorly paid job as an English teacher and befriends Julian, a rich English banker six years her senior. Lonely and broke, Ava moves in with him, Julian pays for pretty much everything and they start having sex. But when Julian is sent to work in London for a few months, Ava falls for Edith, a young lawyer...
It's questionable whether Dolan really writes about a "love triangle" as the blurb states: The dynamic is more complex, with Ava first obsessing over Julian, although he makes it very clear that he doesn't love her, and later entering a relationship with 22-year-old Edith (full name: Edith Zhang Mei Ling) in which they both love each other. Dolan mainly explores ambiguous emotional states and that's what makes the novel so intriguing. While none of the characters are particularly likeable, all of them are interesting and somehow relatable. It is masterful how Dolan plays with the reader's perceptions by using flashbacks that shed a new light on the invidual characters' behaviors and decisions, thus questioning the fairness of the judgement one might initially pass. On top of that, it gradually becomes clear that Ava is an unreliable narrator, and that her descriptions might be accurate from her point of view, but that others strongly disagree.
Dolan adds more layers by contrasting aspects of culture and class: Ava ponders her own Irish identity, Julian's Englishness and the situation in Hongkong (where Edith was born), often referring to political issues like same-sex-marriage, abortion, colonialism, money, and attitudes towards class. All characters interact with expats from all over the world, drawing in even more cultural perspectives. As Ava teaches English, language itself and what is says about the speaker's education, class, and nationality plus what kind of associations it evokes also plays an important role in the text.
As Ava, Julian and Edith try to navigate the impositions life has in store for them, all of them actively tackle some challenges and (willingly) remain adrift in other fields- the variety of options open to those characters are satirized in Ava's penchant for thoughts and descriptions in multiple choice, presenting the reader with possibility a), b), and sometimes even c). These characters are messy and faulty, and especially the relationship between Ava and Julian is rather toxic (Julian to Ava: "To be clear Ava: we're both dead behind the eyes, at least I can pay rent?"; Ava about Julian: "He doesn't want anyone to like him just for him (...) He wouldn't know what to do with the information."), but not free of real affection.
The novel works with many ironic, laconic, deadpan remarks ("We agreed it was an exciting time to be alive") - in this, Dolan resembles German writer Heinz Strunk who also knows how to say one thing while at the same time conveying something completely different. Many of Ava's sentences might be clever, but there is often a sadness to them, rooted in the impulse to hide a feeling of emptiness or disorientation. I really enjoyed the recognizable, edgy tone of the text. The highly undercomplex politics are sometimes a little annoying though and every German will find the mention of Martin Schulz hilarious, although it's most likely not intended to be funny.
This novel already caused a stir way before its publication when it was the hot item in a seven-way bidding war (you can read about it in the Independent or The Bookseller, e.g.). My guess is that there will be a lot of comparisons to Sally Rooney's work, and they do make sense: There is a millennial sensibility to it, and some readers will find that annoying, just as in the case of Rooney. But these two Dubliners won't mind, as their books will sell copies and scoop up awards.
You can listen to my interview with Naoise here, and you can listen to our podcast review here. ...more
It's not that Foer's main message wasn't important and correct - of course we should save the planet - but this book is just a simplistic, self-centerIt's not that Foer's main message wasn't important and correct - of course we should save the planet - but this book is just a simplistic, self-centered pamphlet full of platitudes and absurd analogies, badly structured and repetitive. It reads like the great JSF spent about three weeks working on this - but before I write myself into a full-fledged rant, let me try to make some points:
JSF tells us again and again and again that we have to fight climate change - and I mean he literally states it, over and over and over and over again. We know, dude, tell us your ideas how to do that, damn it! It's not that climate deniers will pick up the book and change their minds anyways, because the whole thing is short on facts, but loooooong on emotions and anecdotes. Yes, we get lots of little stories about all kinds of things that are not really related to climate change, but Foer makes emotional connections and compares human behavior in different contexts.
Which brings us to my next issue: Climate change is not like the holocaust. It's not. Really: It's not. Those analogies and comparisons are absurd, and before you now say: But the author is Jewish and lost family members in the holocaust, yes, I know that, but climate change is still not like the holocaust, because absolutely nothing is like the holocaust. I know that these things are discussed differently abroad (hello, Lost Children Archive), but let me re-assure you that not only me, but large parts of the German press were shaking their heads about the passages comparing the Nazis to climate change ("Die Zeit" called it "ridiculous, pompous, tasteless", e.g.) - needless to say, it also works against a stringent and complex analysis.
And while Foer's argument that all of us have to contribute to the fight against climate change, that we all have to give up bad habits and make sacrifices, is crucial for saving the planet, I would have wished that this author, who has always argued against the atomization of society and radical self-centeredness, would also talk about communal efforts, about ways to organize and change policies - this book reads like Foer has given up on politics entirely, but to generate results, we have to use the democratic process and build up pressure. Public opinion changes slowly, but it does change if activists keep at it - together.
So all in all, this book tells me too much about the author's personal sensitivities and moral challenges, but instead of being relatable, it comes across as vain, rather shallow and apolitical. 2 stars because I support his goals and he isn't wrong about his aims, but seriously, JSF, you could have written a much better book about such an important topic....more
Yup, that’s the radio drama that drove people into a frenzy because they assumed that they were listening to live reporting about an invasion from MarYup, that’s the radio drama that drove people into a frenzy because they assumed that they were listening to live reporting about an invasion from Mars – well, allegedly. Much like in the case of L'Arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat, a film that is often deemed to have frightened audiences in 1896 as the title-giving train is driving almost directly towards the camera, it is now contested whether people really didn’t grasp the mediality/fictionality of these presentations. Be it as it may, „The War of the Worlds“ is still highly entertaining today – especially Orson Welles‘ dry commentary at the end is fantastic.
The adaptation by Koch/Welles is of course based on H.G. Wells novel of the same name, first published in 1898. In it, the Martians invade planet earth riding three-legged fighting-machines. The text plays with all kinds of themes like colonization, invasion, chemical warfare, social darwinism, and imperialism – when Wells wrote the book, the British Empire was the predominat colonial power, and the author satirizes more or less what would happen if another people (the Martians) would do to the Brits what they did to the nations they subjected. Also, there was apparently a turn-of-the-century fear he played with, a phenomenon which is also well-known to contemporary audiences (do you guys remember the millennium madness, when all global computer systems collapsed and the financial markets crashed? That’s the spirit).
For the radio adaptation, the Martian invasion was taken to the States, and the drama mimicks a real newscast in which updates about the invasion are interspersed with music and technical difficulties until the last part breaks up this form and presents monologue and dialogue, concluded by an explanation by Welles. It is remarkable how well the production has aged – the (for today’s standards) shaky sound quality gives the radio drama an appealing nostalgic air, and themes like human hybris are never outdated.
I’m glad I found this gem on Spotify, it’s well worth listening to....more
Deliverance through beauty: Cathedrals, Music, Art Read for my thesis on H(A)PPYDeliverance through beauty: Cathedrals, Music, Art Read for my thesis on H(A)PPY...more
Chapters on the analysis of typography and power read for my thesis on H(A)PPY. Chapters on the analysis of typography and power read for my thesis on H(A)PPY. ...more
Now Winner of the Dylan Thomas Prize 2021 Raven Leilani's debut novel is a spectacular examination of loneliness and the wish to belong. 23-year-old EdNow Winner of the Dylan Thomas Prize 2021 Raven Leilani's debut novel is a spectacular examination of loneliness and the wish to belong. 23-year-old Edie is adrift: After making some inappropriate sexual choices, she loses her admin job in the publishing industry and finds herself with nowhere to go - until the wife of her married lover takes her in. Edie now witnesses their unhappy marriage first-hand, and she slowly becomes the only confidante of their adoptive daughter Akila who, until then, hardly knew any other black people.
The awkward, surreal scenario brings out the alienation of each character: There is volatile Eric, the husband and digital archivist, who is twice as old as Edie, drowns his unhappiness and insecurity in alcohol and takes her to an amusement park for their first date; there is Rebecca, the wife, who works in a hospital morgue where she archives the stories of dead bodies and who tries to approach her problems logically, but can hardly suppress her rage; there is aptly named Akila (which means "intelligent"), the black teenager who has been passed from family to family and who has already registered way too much for her age ("both hypervisible and invisible: black and alone"); and then of course we have Edie, an orphan haunted by intergenerational trauma who tries to archive and make sense of her life through art: She is an aspiring painter trying to capture her impressions on the canvas and in photographs, but there is no one who encourages her to seriously pursue her talent. For Edie, art is an archive of herself: "I've made my own hunger into a practice, made everyone who passes through my life subject to a close and inappropriate reading that occasionally finds its way, often insufficently, into paint." (And, apparently, also into this novel.)
What makes this book so special is Edie's narrative voice: Leilani lets us experience everything through her main character's eyes, and Edie's perceptions are witty and often hilarious, but the heaviness brought about by experiences of racism, sexism, and loneliness always shines through. Both Eric and Rebecca frequently treat her cruelly, turning her into weapon to hurt each other, thus objectifying her and exploiting her trauma.
There is a constant sadness about Edie, and her willingness to oblige others is born out of a lack of self-love, of an exhaustion that grinds her down - Edie is depressed and tired of the constant fight to survive: "(...) there will always be a part of me that is ready to die." But there is also a part of Edie that is willing resist: She loves Artemisia Gentileschi's painting "Judith Slaying Holofernes", in which the 17-year-old-artist painted herself killing her mentor after he had raped her. The way Edie clings to "her" Captain Planet mug in the family house is indicative for her search to find something she can call her own.
It is masterful how Leilani spins a web between these characters and develops dynamics and interactions that always point back to their profound lack of attachment. The scenes she depicts are mostly realistic, sometimes absurd and always disturbing. In numerous narrative vignettes, we learn about Edie's backstory, and sometimes, the people she encounters open a window into their past by sharing some very telling details with her. I was glued to this fascinating, hypnotizing text, its particular tone and unusual vibe.
Raven Leilani (who is also a painter) is a daring author with a very recognizable style, and I hope this novel will get nominated for some awards, because she deserves attention. Oh: And extra points for the scene depicting a job interview at a clown school which reads like a nod to Jesse Ball's Census....more
When it comes to dark, twisted writing, Laura van den Berg is clearly a master: This book is disturbing and funny, surreal and all-too-real, fearless When it comes to dark, twisted writing, Laura van den Berg is clearly a master: This book is disturbing and funny, surreal and all-too-real, fearless and terrifying. In eleven short stories, the author illuminates the female experience, highlighting certain aspects and phenomena by giving the texts a surreal edge. While the storylines are often slightly meandering (hello, The Third Hotel), the texts are not build in a traditional manner; rather, they are structured around pivotal incidents and observations that make up the core of the individual stories, and everything else that is happening is grouped around this core. Many themes and motifs appear again and again throughout the whole collection, like doppelgängers, running away/fleeing, killers and their victims, death and loss, toxic masculinity, overpowering natural forces (earthquake, volcano etc.), animals, and family, especially siblings.
The book opens with the sentence: "I want to tell you about the night I got hit by a train and died" - and such well-placed, gripping sentences are an important element of van den Berg's narrative strategy. In the stories, we meet (among others) a woman who, after an earthquake, runs into her beloved brother's ex-wife and learns to accept that he was a perpetrator of domestic violence; there's a young actress who starts a business by offering to impersonate deceased wives for their widowers; a wife is secretly drugged by her husband; a female illustrator paints a surreal ballet troupe comprised of animals behind her furniture (you just have to love this idea!); and a couple confronts the losses of the past while watching their daughter die.
Van den Berg takes her readers to all kinds of places, from Florida to Sicily, Spain, Mexico City, as well as - two of my favorite places in the world that generally do not feature enough in literature - to Minneapolis and Reykjavik. But unlike in Lauren Groff's Florida, for example, the sense of place is not defining for the scenes depicted; rather, the characters are caught up in themselves and roam (often foreign) places, drifting through spaces and psychological states, trying to balance inside and outside world.
I have great admiration for van den Berg's daring poetic concept and her sensibilities for all things strange and weird: She never relies on pure effects (unlike The Dominant Animal: Stories, which is marketed similarly and can't compete at all), there is always subtlety and more than one smart thought buried behind under unsettling ideas. Still, I have to admit that I tend to struggle with meandering textual structures and prefer more stringent compositions - but this is not what van den Berg is intending to do here, and I won't hold my personal taste against her. Maybe it would also have been better to not read the whole thing in two days - the stories need more room to breathe, but I am not one to ration books over longer periods of time.
Van den Berg is one of the most interesting writers around, and while I'm probably not her ideal reader, I absolutely recommend checking out her texts....more
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