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3.8 AVERAGE
3.8 AVERAGE
I feel it best to read Cesar Aira slowly, deliberately, occassionally passing back over a passage as if practicing a new song on an old, familiar instrument.
Historical fiction that plays with the very notion of historical fiction.
What does it mean to see, to perceive, to sketch, to recreate, and to reconstruct? There is a moment in the story when Krause is not at all sure whether he is seeing or remembering. "He marvel[s] at the faculty of sight, its prodigious, ultra-physiognomic capacities, the dilation of the pupil, the brain's interpretations..."
What does it mean, and what does it mean for art? For the artist?
"There is an analogy that, although far from perfect, may shed some light on this process of reconstruction. Imagine a brilliant police detective summarizing his investigations for the husband of the victim, the widower. Thanks to his subtle deductions he has been able to "reconstruct" how the murder was committed; he does not know the identity of the murderer, but he has managed to work out everything else with an almost magical precision,, as if he had seen it happen. And his interlocutor, the widower, who is, in fact, the murderer, has to admit that the detective is a genius, because it really did happen exactly as he says; yet at the same time, although of course he actually saw it happen and is the only living eyewitness as well as the culprit, he cannot match what happened with what the policeman is telling him, not because there are errors, large or small, in the account, or details out of place, but because the match is inconceivable, there is such an abyss between one story and the other, or between a story and the lack of a story, between the lived experience and the reconstruction...that the widower simply cannot see a relation between them; which leads him to conclude that he his innocent, that he did not kill his wife."
Aira's Episode is brief, direct, forthcoming, confounding. An elaborately simple meta-commentary, if you will.
What does it mean to see, to perceive, to sketch, to recreate, and to reconstruct? There is a moment in the story when Krause is not at all sure whether he is seeing or remembering. "He marvel[s] at the faculty of sight, its prodigious, ultra-physiognomic capacities, the dilation of the pupil, the brain's interpretations..."
What does it mean, and what does it mean for art? For the artist?
"There is an analogy that, although far from perfect, may shed some light on this process of reconstruction. Imagine a brilliant police detective summarizing his investigations for the husband of the victim, the widower. Thanks to his subtle deductions he has been able to "reconstruct" how the murder was committed; he does not know the identity of the murderer, but he has managed to work out everything else with an almost magical precision,, as if he had seen it happen. And his interlocutor, the widower, who is, in fact, the murderer, has to admit that the detective is a genius, because it really did happen exactly as he says; yet at the same time, although of course he actually saw it happen and is the only living eyewitness as well as the culprit, he cannot match what happened with what the policeman is telling him, not because there are errors, large or small, in the account, or details out of place, but because the match is inconceivable, there is such an abyss between one story and the other, or between a story and the lack of a story, between the lived experience and the reconstruction...that the widower simply cannot see a relation between them; which leads him to conclude that he his innocent, that he did not kill his wife."
Aira's Episode is brief, direct, forthcoming, confounding. An elaborately simple meta-commentary, if you will.
Part fiction, part non-fiction, part poetic description, part philosophy. Aira examines the depths of history, the meaning of repetition, reproductions and its role in art, compensation, and much more, and in the context of a very specific, relatable person and his predicaments. Often zooming into an idea or description with intense precision, then moving on, this book is able to contain big ideas without sounding pretentious, or bloated. In fact, the entire book is less than 90 pages, though it tells a story that could be told in 500 pages. It's really some of the best writing I've read. Also, I had no idea it wasn't a completely true story, because it was told as if it was pieced together from accounts and letters. But there were points where he could not have been so intimately in the character's head. Only after I read it did I find out that this is a perfect combination of history and novelistic invention. Some excerpts:
Peaks of mica kept watch over their long marches. How could these panoramas be rendered credible? There were too many sides; the cube had extra faces. The company of volcanos gave the sky interiors. Dawn and dusk were vast optical explosions, drawn out by the silence. Slingshots and gunshots of sunlight rebounded into every recess. Grey expanses hung out to dry forever in colossal silence; airshafts voluminous as oceans.
p. 14
A drove of mules the size of ants appeared in silhouette on a ridge-top path, moving at a star's pace. The mules were driven by human intelligence and commercial interests, expertise in breeding and blood-lines. Everything was human; the farthest wilderness was steeped with sociability, and the sketches they had made, in so far as they had any value, stood as records of this permeation. The infinite orography of the Cordillera was a laboratory of forms and colors.
p. 16
Peaks of mica kept watch over their long marches. How could these panoramas be rendered credible? There were too many sides; the cube had extra faces. The company of volcanos gave the sky interiors. Dawn and dusk were vast optical explosions, drawn out by the silence. Slingshots and gunshots of sunlight rebounded into every recess. Grey expanses hung out to dry forever in colossal silence; airshafts voluminous as oceans.
p. 14
A drove of mules the size of ants appeared in silhouette on a ridge-top path, moving at a star's pace. The mules were driven by human intelligence and commercial interests, expertise in breeding and blood-lines. Everything was human; the farthest wilderness was steeped with sociability, and the sketches they had made, in so far as they had any value, stood as records of this permeation. The infinite orography of the Cordillera was a laboratory of forms and colors.
p. 16
it would be so cool to just travel the Alps and paint and then be transformed into an inhuman monster
It has been a long time since I've read a story this good. Aira writes an adventure story, stays in 3 person past perspective, and yet, despite never entering the inner psychology of his characters, nor dwelling on philosophical concepts, manages to write a profound analysis of art and its relationship to life in a historical setting so brilliant it evokes a strange purity of form, nearly allegorical, while staying grounded into reality.
I'm going to be reading this one again but I highly HIGHLY recommend this. It's a novella with more to say than novels four times its length.
I'm going to be reading this one again but I highly HIGHLY recommend this. It's a novella with more to say than novels four times its length.
This may be a perfect little book. 88 pages and I don’t think there’s a single misplaced word in here. Aira’s written a wonderful novella, an exploration of places and the impossibility of rendering experience. Really is a must read, and you can finish it in less than an afternoon.
inspiring
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
So far my favorite Aira. Crackling and hilarious.
Nicely written. A very short novella with a simple story*, some lovely passages of description, and occasional philosophical diversions. However, it sometimes was a struggle to pay attention. The story was so light, while the thoughts were so deep, I often found my mind wandering though thoughts inspired by the text as my eyes continued to roll along the words, my brain not really registering. I don't know if that's a credit to the author or not.
*Two German landscape artists travel though the wilds of Argentina. One of them is struck by lightning (twice!) but survives and the two continue on their way, the one looking after the significantly-damaged other.
*Two German landscape artists travel though the wilds of Argentina. One of them is struck by lightning (twice!) but survives and the two continue on their way, the one looking after the significantly-damaged other.
Bold, magical, unreal. Very very highly and enthusiastically recommended.