You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.66 AVERAGE
3.66 AVERAGE
The last twenty pages are dazzling, and there are intermittent bursts of bracingly intense brilliance multiple times before that, but this felt more uneven to me than the Outline trilogy, which seemed to me extraordinary in the fluency of its transitions, the way one scene or set piece ebbed into the next.
Possibly one reason for this is the stronger presence of the narrator both within the action—she mostly is frustrated in her attempts to make things happen, but she asserts herself in a way that Faye did not—and within the narration itself. I think this is deliberate—M, the narrator, is not supposed to be as natural a writer as Faye, and is far less comfortable in her body, more violent in her expressions about both art and femininity—but it is disruptive in a way that may not have been the intended result.
In fact, much of the novel is driven by the fact that M is not a "creator" at all but is instead a "devourer," although this is not necessarily meant as a lesser status or function:
There is a parallel passage about a third of the way into the novel which similarly both disclaims any artistry for M while affirming the significance of a different role:
One of the problems that the novel sets itself is that of what role there can be for the non-creator woman within art: that is, a woman who is not a critic or curator, not someone who has a well-defined role within the art world or the republic of letters or what have you, but rather the woman who is solely a viewer or reader, a consumer (or "devourer"), a receiver of what art communicates. Cusk presumes that men have, based on the general authority bestowed on them, a more or less unproblematic place within art whether they are a creator or devourer. Perhaps, I think she even seems to say, it may not truly matter for men. Men are not questioned on whether or not they have "an ability to attend to and understand the works of the creators"—their opinions, their responses are validated by other men and by women regardless.
One traditional role that women have taken that qualifies very strongly as that "strange proximity to the process of creation when one sees the principles of art—or of a particular artist—mirrored in the texture of living" is that of the muse, and the three women in the novel at different times try to be muses or models. There's a certain acceptance of this as a continuing possibility, but not a wholly satisfactory one.
Unsatisfactory though it may be, Cusk does not really offer another option. I think this is because she cannot quite cut herself off from—or cannot convince us that she has cut herself off from—the "creator" within her. The challenge of writing a character who is so intimately adjacent to art/literature but who is not herself an artist is a curious one—I am not sure that it is not self-defeating and I am not sure what it is supposed to prove or to represent. This is, I think, the root of what I find to be the novel's unevenness: it is an experiment that, even if successful, would not have show something clearly or unambiguously valuable.
Possibly one reason for this is the stronger presence of the narrator both within the action—she mostly is frustrated in her attempts to make things happen, but she asserts herself in a way that Faye did not—and within the narration itself. I think this is deliberate—M, the narrator, is not supposed to be as natural a writer as Faye, and is far less comfortable in her body, more violent in her expressions about both art and femininity—but it is disruptive in a way that may not have been the intended result.
In fact, much of the novel is driven by the fact that M is not a "creator" at all but is instead a "devourer," although this is not necessarily meant as a lesser status or function:
it struck me, Jeffers, how the human capacity for receptivity is a kind of birthright, an asset by which we are intended to regulate the currency of our souls. Unless we give back to life as much as we take from it, this faculty will fail us sooner or later. My difficulty, I saw then, had always lain in finding a way to give back all the impressions I had received, to render an account to a god who had never come and never come, despite my desire to surrender everything that was stored inside me. Yet even so my receptive faculty had not, for some reason, failed me: I had remained a devourer while yearning to become a creator... (169-170)
There is a parallel passage about a third of the way into the novel which similarly both disclaims any artistry for M while affirming the significance of a different role:
It's important to me that I only tell you about what I can personally verify, despite the temptation to enlist other kinds of proof, or to invent or enhance things in the hope of giving you a better picture of them, or worst of all making you identify with my feelings and the way I saw it. There's an art to that, and I have known enough artists to understand that I'm not one of them! Nonetheless I believe there is also a more common ability to read the surface of life, and the forms that it takes, that either grows from or becomes an ability to attend to and understand the works of the creators. One can feel, in other words, a strange proximity to the process of creation when one sees the principles of art—or of a particular artist—mirrored in the texture of living. This might go to explain some of the compulsion I felt toward L: when I looked at the marsh, for instance, which seemed to obey so many of his rules of light and perception that it often resembled a painted work by him, I was in a sense looking at works by L that he had not created, and was, therefore—I suppose—creating them myself. I'm unsure of the moral status of these half-creations, which I can only hazard is akin to the moral status of influence, and therefore a powerful force for both good and evil in human affairs. (54-55)
One of the problems that the novel sets itself is that of what role there can be for the non-creator woman within art: that is, a woman who is not a critic or curator, not someone who has a well-defined role within the art world or the republic of letters or what have you, but rather the woman who is solely a viewer or reader, a consumer (or "devourer"), a receiver of what art communicates. Cusk presumes that men have, based on the general authority bestowed on them, a more or less unproblematic place within art whether they are a creator or devourer. Perhaps, I think she even seems to say, it may not truly matter for men. Men are not questioned on whether or not they have "an ability to attend to and understand the works of the creators"—their opinions, their responses are validated by other men and by women regardless.
One traditional role that women have taken that qualifies very strongly as that "strange proximity to the process of creation when one sees the principles of art—or of a particular artist—mirrored in the texture of living" is that of the muse, and the three women in the novel at different times try to be muses or models. There's a certain acceptance of this as a continuing possibility, but not a wholly satisfactory one.
Unsatisfactory though it may be, Cusk does not really offer another option. I think this is because she cannot quite cut herself off from—or cannot convince us that she has cut herself off from—the "creator" within her. The challenge of writing a character who is so intimately adjacent to art/literature but who is not herself an artist is a curious one—I am not sure that it is not self-defeating and I am not sure what it is supposed to prove or to represent. This is, I think, the root of what I find to be the novel's unevenness: it is an experiment that, even if successful, would not have show something clearly or unambiguously valuable.
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I love that her author's photo is literally just a candid of her in a cab even though she is a celebrated author and Guggenheim fellow. Strange concept, very unique way of writing but I read it in one day.
I definitely need to read some reviews about this to really grasp it, because I feel like the meaning of some aspects evaded me. Her description of the Devil was very Master and the Margartia-esque.
I definitely need to read some reviews about this to really grasp it, because I feel like the meaning of some aspects evaded me. Her description of the Devil was very Master and the Margartia-esque.
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Great writing, observations, and characterisation, but I hated all the characters and most of what they did! (Which is probably the point, but it didn’t make for a terribly pleasurable read)
emotional
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes