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A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

The Book of Laughter and Forgetting: Variations on a Form

July 11, 2012 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

book of laughter and forgetting - milan kunderaMilan Kundera discusses variations in The Book of Laughter and Forgetting: “Variation form is the form in which concentration is brought to its maximum; it enables the composer to speak only of essentials, to go straight to the core of the matter.” He goes on to write, “This book is a novel in the form of variations. The various parts follow each other like the various stages of a voyage leading into the interior of a theme, the interior of a thought.” The form he chooses to use for this book, the form of variations, provides the majority of the structure for the novel.

Without acknowledging this structure, the sections of the book are only loosely related through theme or geography. Mirek is a Czech writer who in visiting a former lover leaves his political writings and letters at home exposed and vulnerable to seizure by the secret police. Marketa and Karel are being visited by their lover, Eva, and Karel’s forgetful mother, Mama. Mama helps Karel remember a childhood attraction to his mother’s friend, a woman who reminds him of Eva, and this one clear memory reconciles him with his mother. Two American girls discover the power of laughter in a small French town. The narrator recounts a story of clandestinely writing a column and his musings on circles (having stepped outside and being unable to rejoin). Then there is Tamina, who is by Kundera’s admission, the focus of the novel. She fled Prague with her husband who died tragically soon after. She longs to have the letters and journals she left behind to relive their life together. She allows Hugo to have sex with her, but he never retrieves the letters. Kristyna is an older woman from a small town who has an unconsummated affair with a student poet. Tamina is spirited away by a man who asks her to “forget your forgetting” and then she travels over water to a place where children molest her and she cannot swim home. Jan goes to a beach house where everyone has sex with everyone.

Themes emerge, laughter and forgetting of course, but also litost, dangerous papers, meaningless sex. The characters sometimes show up again, but never outside of their original context. Their lives never physically overlap with anyone from other sections. What do recur are variations on themes. Papers are lost and it turns out the value wasn’t contained in the papers themselves, but in the writer’s memory. Characters grow close through their connections and shared experiences, not through sex. Sex is itself meaningless or sometimes a violation. Some steps, whether leaving your country or giving up on life, cannot be retraced (the circle cannot be re-entered).

To be honest, the book was a bit over my head, and I struggled to see the connections between the sections. I did enjoy, though, the way it made me look at the themes more closely. Because the characters were not related to each other and did not recur outside of their own contexts, my attention was directed to the elements that recurred and I started to make meaning from those connections. I don’t think I would go this far in my own work, I am still married to a more traditional narrative, but I can see how Kundera allowed me as a reader to use the natural human tendency to seek meaning to engage me in this work. I am interested in seeing whether themes can take on the same importance without removing as much of the connection between the characters and the reader as Kundera has.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of The Book of Laughter and Forgetting from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Filed Under: Books, Eastern Europe Tagged With: Czech Literature, fractured narrative, Repetition, Variations

The Story of Steffie Cvek’s Patchwork Life in Lend Me Your Character

June 10, 2012 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

I picked up Dubravka Ugrešić’s Lend Me Your Character to work my way through the lingering jet lag from our trip to Croatia and to soak up a little more information about the human side of the Bosnian War, but sometimes you get what you need not what you ask for. Because most of the stories in the book dated from the 1980s, I got to read about pre-war Yugoslavia—something I had been craving when reading Saša Stanišić and Ismet Prcic. Though constrained by the Iron Curtain, Steffie’s life is remarkably and enjoyably ordinary.

Ugrešić has always challenged my expectations as a reader. In The Ministry of Pain, she shocked my sensibilities and created a direct pipeline to what it must feel like to be without a country and a language. In The Museum of Unconditional Surrender, she pieced unrelated fragments together to convey the experience of a fractured life. The initial novella in Lend Me Your Character is similar in construction to The Museum of Unconditional Surrender, but the tone is delightfully different.

Ugrešić calls “Steffie Cvek in the Jaws of Life” a patchwork, and that’s just what it is, figuratively and literally. Using fragments from Madame Bovary, advice from women’s magazines, and sewing instructions, Ugrešić creates the story of Steffie’s misadventures in love and life. Though Steffie is depressed, the narrative is playful enough that I was optimistic for Steffie. But it isn’t just the tone that I loved. Ugrešić manages to make feel like a collaborator not just a reader. As we stitch together the narrative, she tells me about the choices she is faced with, how she makes them, and the options she discards (including an entire section on what she could have written for one of Steffie’s love affairs). The casual, inside view of a story could feel haphazard if it wasn’t so masterfully handled.

I don’t know what’s next in this book, but I am looking forward to seeing how Ugrešić will challenge me. I do know that I have a lot to learn from her about successfully fracturing a narrative—something I look forward to using in my next book.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Lend Me Your Character from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Filed Under: Books, Eastern Europe Tagged With: book review, Croatian literature, Dubravka Ugrešić, fractured narrative, ismet prcic, Lend Me Your Character, Saša Stanišić, Steffie Cvek in the Jaws of Life, The Ministry of Pain, The Museum of Unconditional Surrender

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Polska, 1994

Polska 1994

Clear Out the Static in Your Attic

Clear Out the Static in Your Attic_cover

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What I’m Reading

Isla's bookshelf: currently-reading

Birds of America
Birds of America
by Lorrie Moore
The Ecstasy of Influence: Nonfictions, Etc.
The Ecstasy of Influence: Nonfictions, Etc.
by Jonathan Lethem
The Souls of Black Folk
The Souls of Black Folk
by W.E.B. Du Bois
Bomb: The Author Interviews
Bomb: The Author Interviews
by BOMB Magazine
On Writing
On Writing
by Jorge Luis Borges

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