As a violently on-the-nose piece about the horrors of industrialized meat production, this is very effective, but serious shock value is basically allAs a violently on-the-nose piece about the horrors of industrialized meat production, this is very effective, but serious shock value is basically all this novel has to offer, the rest is plot holes and stock characters. Bazterrica introduces us to a world where a deadly virus has befallen all animals, so they can't be eaten anymore. Yes, you got that right: The virus spreads among animals and is transferred from animals to people, but not from human to human (first WTF). The consumption of meat is of course a metaphor, standing for the human impulse to take life, to destroy and devour, so readers now arguing "well, the society shown here could eat other types of protein" have fully missed the point - still, it's implausible in the sense that even I as a person who thinks that human beings are by far the worst animals ever don't believe that industrialized cannibalism will ever be a thing. But okay, let's run with it: The state mandates slaughtering some citizens so the rest of the voters can have steak (and to fight overpopulation yada yada yada).
Our main character, Marcos, grew up the son of an entrepreneur running a slaughterhouse (for animals, mind you), but after the so-called transition, so the start of some people becoming part of the food supply chain, the father went crazy and is now in an institution for the elderly. And because Marcos wants to provide for his dad and has no other option in the whole wide world than being the right-hand man of a dude who runs a slaughterhouse for people, he now helps sell, breed and slaughter thousands of people - readers who believe that probably also think the defendants in the Nuremberg trials were basically innocent. Marcos, who is of course super-traumatized because he lost a child and tells himself he hates the system he actively helps running, is probably also forced to be friends with the guy who enjoys manually ending thousands of persons before they are cut up, he just has to have sex in a slaughterhouse, and somehow must rape a woman who can't consent - poor Marcos! (*facepalm*) Then Marcos is gifted a premium-meat woman (don't ask) he keeps as a pet, and gets himself into a mess. The plot twist at the end is no plot twist at all, it's the only logical conclusion in this set-up, so kudos for that.
Marcos is a classic extremist: He commits atrocities while telling himself he is a victim. When he goes to the abandoned zoo to enjoy nature, he is more or less Hitler petting Blondi while taking a break from mass murder. The relentlessness with which Bazterrica describes how humans are othered, how words and narratives are employed to declare them non-human, is well-done, and so is the violence: The first half of the book mostly consists of descriptions of how human meat is bred, sold, kept, slaughtered, used for hunting etc.pp., all of this in graphic and excessive detail, and the effect really is intense - but good literature this is not.
A lot of the text reads like a satire on the overall abhorrence of the human race, and fair enough, that's what Bazterrica wanted to do and did achieve. But that's really all. Why are humans like that? What are the emotions of the characters we are shown? What do we deduct from what we are told (which, to be clear, we all knew before reading the book)? The depiction of extreme violence for the sake of it is pointless - apart from the successful shock effect, which, in this starkness, is also an achievement -, there is nothing to gain here. It's not clever, it's just atrocious.
So if you're here for a relentless portrayal of human atrocity, this is your book. If you want a think piece or aesthetic tricks, go somewhere else....more
Now Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2024 This short Argentinian novel thrives when it comes to creating an intense and brooding atmosphNow Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2024 This short Argentinian novel thrives when it comes to creating an intense and brooding atmosphere, full of foreboding and mysterious threat. On the surface level, it's a story about two friends, Enero and El Negro, who take the teenage son of a deceased friend fishing at the Paraná River where his father died in a boating accident. There, they play out whatever comes to mind in the narrative catalogue of toxic masculinity, in this case particularly manifesting in shooting (!) a giant stingray and hanging it in tree, then discarding it in the water - much to the dismay of the (equally hard-drinking and misogynistic) male locals, who plot revenge...
What renders the story interesting is how Almada works with magic realism in the form of ghosts: Not only does the spectre of the deceased friend / father loom large over the fishing buddies, there are also the ghosts of two deceased girls roaming the text, and a fire metaphor illuminates violence and announces destruction. This supernatural element as well as the evocation of atmosphere are excellent...
...but: There is also a lot of smoke here for a rather under-complex message. The men perpetrating the violence are often no more than chiffres, and thus psychologically flat and ultimately boring. The victimized women have no interior lives either. And for the life of me, I couldn't find the political angle to neoliberalism the author claims to have included: In an interview, she connects the story to the Argentinian rendition of Thatcherism and the latest rise of right-wing politics in Argentina, especially the destructive force of La Libertad Avanza, and if that's a point she intended to make, the strategy is misguided. The dynamics between poverty and marginalization and the rise of far-right powers is not illustrated in any persuasive way here, which is a shame, because as someone who actively rallies against the German AfD, I would have loved to learn about the situation in Argentina.
Then again, you could absolutely argue that the author's intention is irrelevant for the strength of the result, that a novel stands on its own, and that's very valid - but then, the whole thing is too long for what it is. Be it as it may, "Not a River" does have many merits and I applaud the experimental angle.
English: Dinner César Aira brings the zombie apocalypse to Argentina - but the undead are not the only ones enjoying a strange dinner here. The novellaEnglish: Dinner César Aira brings the zombie apocalypse to Argentina - but the undead are not the only ones enjoying a strange dinner here. The novella, first published in 2006, is set in Aira's hometown of Coronel Pringles, and split in three parts: A dinner party, a zombie meltdown, and the aftermath. In the beginning, our narrator is a bankrupt sixty-year-old bachelor who lives with his mother. The pair dines with (as the protagonist believes) a wealthy friend who flexes his money, tells over-the-top stories, shows his strange toys and contraptions, and gossips with the mother about acquaintances and neighbours. The narrator, one the other hand, sees himself as colorless, he holds no interest in his surroundings, although, as the text says, in a place like Pringles, interest in your surroundings represents life itself: In a way, the broke bachelor is dead.
Back home, the protagonist channel surfs, and catches a live reporter who heads to the cemetery, where the dead rise from the graves to suck the endorphines from the living - suddenly, the voice changes from the first person to an omniscient narrator, which leaves readers unsure what (if anything at all) is real or not. Aira employs an improvisational, avantgarde writing style, he describes grotesque and bizarre scenes full of random twists and turns. The disturbing imagery is often hilarious while the plot starts to merge memory, dream, media, gossip, and realism.
The text is also fun because it is so self-referential: In the first chapter, the narrator accuses the mother and the friend of talking in a non-linear, illogical manner - which pretty much captures the whole novella. Then, an old man is referenced who enjoys walking to the cemetery because it sets free endorphines - only to the switch to zombies who eat those endorphines. And we get a lot of these little tidbits: The narrator ponders the thing and its representation as well as the meaning of names (zombie exegesis, anyone?); the theme of "craziness" is explored; nightmares feature; offers for interpretation are given.
The history of zombie tales is long and interesting: Society drains indviduals, which prompts the question who is alive and who/what comes back to haunt us. Aira adds an aesthetically interesting, particularly playful entry to the list, and it's well worth reading....more
Now Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2022 German: Elena weiß Bescheid (available since 2009) The Argentinian journalist and star author luNow Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2022 German: Elena weiß Bescheid (available since 2009) The Argentinian journalist and star author lures her readers in with the deceit of a crime novel starring a Miss Marple-like elderly mother-turned-investigator, only to then discuss the personal and societal implications of chronic illness and women's issues - excellent move, Claudia Piñeiro (fun fact: Piñeiro is the third most translated Argentinian author, after Jorge Luis Borges and Julio Cortázar). The title-giving Elena - who, like all of us, is under the impression that she has figured all kinds of things out, thus amassing lots of false convictions - is very ill with Parkinson, when her daughter and caregiver Rita is found hanging in the bell tower of the church. Elena is convinced that Rita, a devout Catholic who feared lightning, would never have gone to the tower in the rain to commit the sin of suicide.
So Elena starts to investigate, and her severe illness gives the text its innovative form: Her body can only function from one tablet of medication to the next, and in between, she has trouble looking up, staying concentrated, moving. We, as readers, experience the same restrictions while accompanying her on her trip to Isabel, an enigmatic women Rita and Elena met almost 20 years ago on a faithful day (and only at the very end will we learn what happened and how it relates to Rita's death). In between the (for the sick woman) exhausting journey, flashbacks illustrate how Elena has already tried to alert the people around her to her suspicion that Rita was murdered, and how Elena and Rita have experienced living with Parkinson (the caregiver is also suffering due to the illness of the person they take care of, of course).
The whole plot plays out over one day, and while the text is rather short, the first 2/3 are very slow (which is also an aesthetic decision, as described above), but then the ending packs a real punch. Piñeiro tackles some very uncomfortable questions, especially for a religious society and a society that relies on women conforming and being caregivers to children and the elderly without questioning their roles or getting enough help (the latter being, well, pretty much all societies).
A great pick by the Booker judges, although I am still rooting for Fosse as the winner (btw: A New Name: Septology VI-VII also reflects the perspective of an elderly person with their body starting to fail them).
You can listen to my interview with Frank Wynne, jury president of the International Booker 2022, here. ...more
This gritty, daring novel has a unique way to play with narrative conventions and I really enjoyed reading it, although in the end, it does not quite This gritty, daring novel has a unique way to play with narrative conventions and I really enjoyed reading it, although in the end, it does not quite come together. Mona is a young Peruvian writer of mixed heritage who resides in California. One morning, she wakes up bruised and without being able to recollect what happened to her the night before. A regular drinker and drug aficionada, she takes no time to find out: She boards a plane to Sweden to join an international literary convention that will culminate in awarding one participant a highly prestigious prize. Throughout the text, Mona tries to focus on this prize while hiding her bruises, but she is haunted by an event she can't recall...
This text is many things at once: A rumination about violence against women, a satire on the professionalized literary world and identity politics as a weapon to market people and books, a drug novel, and a multi-layered play with clichés (sometimes just perpetuating them, sometimes showing people ridiculing or instrumentalizing them - these opposing strategies have a confusing effect, and I believe it's intentional). Mona is a female woman of color, and in the context of her profession, her identity becomes a USP, an "identitarian fantasy" she both uses and despises -this protagonist has a keen eye for the implications for herself and the literary world around her, where "personal essays that report(ed) on their personal truth in the post-truth era" are in fashion (yes, this text can be very funny as well).
But ultimately, the descriptive style can sometimes become slightly grading, especially in those parts that revel in national clichés when portraying other writers (the enigmatic Icelandic poet, the composed, elegant Japanese poet etc.) - and the ending is just silly (I mean, I see what she does there, but pfff....come on). Still, Argentinian shooting star Pola Oloixarac is a highly interesting writer that aims to show new angles and package them in unusual narrative set-ups. I'm curious what she will come up with next....more
Now Longlisted for the International Booker Prize 2020 Split in short chapters set in different parts of the world, "Little Eyes" is a techno dystopiaNow Longlisted for the International Booker Prize 2020 Split in short chapters set in different parts of the world, "Little Eyes" is a techno dystopia just one step away from our current world of smart devices that are potentially spying on us (like Alexa and other electronic gadgets that record and process language and images). In Schweblin's text, the new craze is called kentukis, small electronic animals that look cute and are equipped with a camera and a long-distance control option so they can roll around and utter sounds. The crux: The owner of the physical kentuki, the "keeper", is monitored by and interacts with the person who owns the control option and steers the kentuki, the "dweller" - thus strangers are randomly connected, and the dweller learns about the most intimate habits of the keeper.
The novel plays out this scenario in different countries, illustrating different motivations and situations of keepers and dwellers, young and old, male and female. As readers, we witness (not unlike kentukis) scenes in Croatia, Ohio, Hong Kong, Senegal, Peru, Brazil, Oaxaca, Antigua, Norway, Germany, Tel Aviv, Vancouver - a panopticum of places we visit and re-visit, of plotlines that emerge, converge, diverge. As the kentukis become more and more popular all over the world, they are put to different uses, and business-savvy individuals start to sell customized connections where people can choose who they will be connected with - for better or worse, with or without the consent of the keeper. The themes of the book are apparent: Surveillance, the atomization of society, digital counterlives, all the things we are talking about today.
So the basic idea of "Little Eyes" is certainly good and I also enjoy disparate texts, but after the elaborate exposition, I expected a more exciting, more challenging story arc and more narrative drive. Schweblin takes us through rather predictable developments and constellations, and the outcome isn't bad, but it's also not particularly exciting. Compared to, let's say GRM: Brainfuck which also discusses the repercussions of surveillance and digital alienation, the novel remains tame.
All in all, a good book, but nothing groundbreaking....more
English edition: Hopscotch Julio Cortázar is, together with Jorge Luis Borges, probably the most revered author hailing from Argentina. Born in BelgiumEnglish edition: Hopscotch Julio Cortázar is, together with Jorge Luis Borges, probably the most revered author hailing from Argentina. Born in Belgium as the son of a member of the Argentinian diplomatic service, he lived through two world wars, and finally emigrated from Argentina to France to protest the regime of Perón. Three years before his death in 1984, he became a French citizen.
"Hopscotch", first published in 1963 in its original Spanish, is based on the author's specific poetic approach that he refers to as "the tunnel theory". As linguistics professor Gisle Selnes explains, the tunnel theory is a "(...) project which is both a violent and, at the same time, a creative act, insofar as the tunnel produces—precisely through its destructive work—new connections, new encounters, other directions."
"Hopscotch" is a stream-of-consciousness antinovel that establishes its own conventions: The text consists of a main storyline encompassing 56 chapters, plus 99 chapters designated as "expendable". And you guessed it: The reader can read the text chronologically or hopscotch through the chapters, either following the author's table of instructions of reading as they please - it's a hypertext before hypertext. And as Cortázar was a professor for French literature, it's also fair to count it as a nouveau roman, or to red it in the context of existentialism.
Argentinian protagonist Horacio Oliveira lives as a Bohemian in Paris, working odd jobs and getting money from his brother. Most of the time, he spends with his Uruguyan lover La Maga and their friends from the intellectual "club of the serpent" who live in equally precarious circumstances. After a tragedy, Horacio loses La Maga and is deported to his home country. Back in Buenos Aires, fact and fiction implode: Horacio meets a doppelgänger, joins a circus, ends up in an asylum. Or maybe not. Just hopscotch yourself a different story.
Hopscotch-motif can be interpreted from various angles as well, as the text hopscotches ....through the city of Paris, like The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge or Vernon Subutex 1-3 (as in the case of Malte, the theme of watching/beholding is central); later, Horacio hopscotches through Buenos Aires. ...through consciousness: The narrative technique can be seen as a rendition of the process of thinking. ...through life: Horacio searches for purpose and deems himself a failure.
Much like in the case of Infinite Jest, one could spend years ploughing through the references: Writers (among them the recurring, enigmatic writer named Morelli - watch out for this guy!), intellectuals, painters, musicians (particularly jazz musicians, hello American Beat generation).
An essential book for everybody interested in the history of literature, and much easier to access than all the other works I've mentioned in this review. You can learn more about the novel in our podcast special on South American literature here (in German). ...more
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