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Book Review #16
Jun. 2nd, 2008 02:42 pmBook: The Last Novel by David Markson
Genre: Fiction
Length: 190 pp.
Grade: B
Amazon Summary: The latest engaging, indefinable work from Markson (Vanishing Point) proves to be something between a writer's commonplace book and La Rochefoucauld's satirically aphoristic Maxims. A set of absorbing factoids and musings—from and about a variety of literary and historical notables—comprise his narrator's last novel. With a delight in experimentation, Markson manages to insinuate a sober narrative voice between and among the words of the greats. After a quote from Eugene V. Debs (Nobody can be nobody) comes a telling moment of clarification about his own text's aim: Novelist's personal genre. For all its seeming fragmentation, nonetheless obstinately cross-referenced and of cryptic interconnectivity syntax. Indeed, the quotations, separated by a poetic amount of white space, read smoothly one after the other. Most are only a few lines long, and they range from bons mots by famous writers (Rousseau: The man who eats in idleness what he has not earned is a thief) to the writerly non sequitur (Napoleon was five feet six inches tall). Old age, defeat and death emerge as leitmotifs, underscored by statements of the places and dates of various authors' deaths, and, slowly, of the narrator's own poverty and loneliness. Markson's dark fragments are, paradoxically, a joy to sift and ponder.
My Thoughts: This book was... interesting. I wish there was another word I could use to describe this book, but "interesting" is the only one that really fit the contents. This book was not what I normally read, and I really only picked it up because the cover caught my eye and I was in rush to get out of the library (I had to go to the bathroom quite badly). In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that I was in a rush to get out of the library, I might not have picked it up, because it's only a mere 190 pages, and I tend to get books much thicker than that.
However, despite its size, I was amused. Even now I'm not even sure what the "theme" of the book was or what Markson set out to do exactly, but I enjoyed the little fragments a lot. The main character in the book (only referred to as the Novelist) was quite intriguing, even though I don't really know much about him other than the fact that's he's old, is writing his last novel (apparently about fragments of other peoples' notable accomplishments) and the fact that, at the end of the book, he ended up dying.
How I'm explaining this book isn't as good as it was, though—because even though it was short and fragmented, somehow it all fit together. I'm not sure how, but it didn't seem like the fragments were all jumbled together randomly. They made sense... except I can't explain how they did.
I know, I'm not explaining it as well as I could, but I think that I won't really be able to explain it—you'll just have to read it. But I'd recommend reading the back of the book or checking it out at your public library before buying it, because I know for a fact that some people might like this book, some might not, and some may be indifferent toward it. But if this type of book is what you enjoy reading, I'd recommend it. If not, read a few pages first.
Currently Reading: Armageddon's Children by Terry Brooks and If Democrats Had Any Brains, They'd Be Republicans by Ann Coulter (I know, offensive title for many, but Ann Coulter is my guilty pleasure—her books amuse me muchly.)
Genre: Fiction
Length: 190 pp.
Grade: B
Amazon Summary: The latest engaging, indefinable work from Markson (Vanishing Point) proves to be something between a writer's commonplace book and La Rochefoucauld's satirically aphoristic Maxims. A set of absorbing factoids and musings—from and about a variety of literary and historical notables—comprise his narrator's last novel. With a delight in experimentation, Markson manages to insinuate a sober narrative voice between and among the words of the greats. After a quote from Eugene V. Debs (Nobody can be nobody) comes a telling moment of clarification about his own text's aim: Novelist's personal genre. For all its seeming fragmentation, nonetheless obstinately cross-referenced and of cryptic interconnectivity syntax. Indeed, the quotations, separated by a poetic amount of white space, read smoothly one after the other. Most are only a few lines long, and they range from bons mots by famous writers (Rousseau: The man who eats in idleness what he has not earned is a thief) to the writerly non sequitur (Napoleon was five feet six inches tall). Old age, defeat and death emerge as leitmotifs, underscored by statements of the places and dates of various authors' deaths, and, slowly, of the narrator's own poverty and loneliness. Markson's dark fragments are, paradoxically, a joy to sift and ponder.
My Thoughts: This book was... interesting. I wish there was another word I could use to describe this book, but "interesting" is the only one that really fit the contents. This book was not what I normally read, and I really only picked it up because the cover caught my eye and I was in rush to get out of the library (I had to go to the bathroom quite badly). In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that I was in a rush to get out of the library, I might not have picked it up, because it's only a mere 190 pages, and I tend to get books much thicker than that.
However, despite its size, I was amused. Even now I'm not even sure what the "theme" of the book was or what Markson set out to do exactly, but I enjoyed the little fragments a lot. The main character in the book (only referred to as the Novelist) was quite intriguing, even though I don't really know much about him other than the fact that's he's old, is writing his last novel (apparently about fragments of other peoples' notable accomplishments) and the fact that, at the end of the book, he ended up dying.
How I'm explaining this book isn't as good as it was, though—because even though it was short and fragmented, somehow it all fit together. I'm not sure how, but it didn't seem like the fragments were all jumbled together randomly. They made sense... except I can't explain how they did.
I know, I'm not explaining it as well as I could, but I think that I won't really be able to explain it—you'll just have to read it. But I'd recommend reading the back of the book or checking it out at your public library before buying it, because I know for a fact that some people might like this book, some might not, and some may be indifferent toward it. But if this type of book is what you enjoy reading, I'd recommend it. If not, read a few pages first.
Currently Reading: Armageddon's Children by Terry Brooks and If Democrats Had Any Brains, They'd Be Republicans by Ann Coulter (I know, offensive title for many, but Ann Coulter is my guilty pleasure—her books amuse me muchly.)
