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A review by hux
Auto Da Fé by Elias Canetti
5.0
One of the most peculiar books I have ever read. And one which, despite its length, I couldn't put down. Each chapter pulled me further and further into this bizarre world and its abnormal characters.
There is a man named Peter Kien, a great academic, a sinologist, a man utterly obsessed with books. Never have you encountered a man more devoted to his books, never in literature have you met someone more fixated, to the point of lunacy, on his private library. They are more important than people, more important than life.
Peter is anti-social, perhaps autistic, to the extent that he isn't always fully present or cognizant of his surroundings; he is eternally living in his mind and cannot always grasp the nuance of life or those around him -- the real world is beyond him. He has a housemaid who has, unnoticed, served him for eight years but who, one day, ushers away a child that Peter had promised could see the library; this leads him to view her somewhat differently, perhaps as a kindred spirit. She is someone serious, someone who will look after his books and protect them as much as he does. What follows is a rash marriage and a spiral of events which lead to mental decline and uncertainty. She is a witch! She takes over his house, his books, she kicks him out! He is left to roam the streets, living in a hotel, manipulated and taken advantage of by almost everyone he meets. None more so than a dwarf named Fischerle who has ambitions of being a chess champion. Deeper and deeper goes Peter Kien, his mind collapsing about him, his capacity for control and sanity out of reach. His precious books escaping him. The world is a cold, nasty place occupied by vile, greedy insects!
I honestly can't remember reading anything quit like this; on the one hand, dark and depraved, a world of deformed characters and ignoble motivations, but on the other, comical and ludicrous, almost perverse in its unnatural behaviours and cynicism. The book was like a combination of 'The Man Without Qualities,' 'A Confederacy of Dunces,' and 'Don Quixote' all at once. Maybe even an element of the ghoulish yet heartwarming 'Geek Love' can be thrown in too. How a man under 30 could write this in 1935 is beyond me. It is a masterpiece of the human condition, and yet it is also a small story concerning trivial human frailties. I will lovingly place the book on my shelf and occasionally contemplate the life of Peter Kien; as well as the cost of loving books a little too much.
Give the man a Nobel prize. Oh wait, he already has one.
There is a man named Peter Kien, a great academic, a sinologist, a man utterly obsessed with books. Never have you encountered a man more devoted to his books, never in literature have you met someone more fixated, to the point of lunacy, on his private library. They are more important than people, more important than life.
Peter is anti-social, perhaps autistic, to the extent that he isn't always fully present or cognizant of his surroundings; he is eternally living in his mind and cannot always grasp the nuance of life or those around him -- the real world is beyond him. He has a housemaid who has, unnoticed, served him for eight years but who, one day, ushers away a child that Peter had promised could see the library; this leads him to view her somewhat differently, perhaps as a kindred spirit. She is someone serious, someone who will look after his books and protect them as much as he does. What follows is a rash marriage and a spiral of events which lead to mental decline and uncertainty. She is a witch! She takes over his house, his books, she kicks him out! He is left to roam the streets, living in a hotel, manipulated and taken advantage of by almost everyone he meets. None more so than a dwarf named Fischerle who has ambitions of being a chess champion. Deeper and deeper goes Peter Kien, his mind collapsing about him, his capacity for control and sanity out of reach. His precious books escaping him. The world is a cold, nasty place occupied by vile, greedy insects!
I honestly can't remember reading anything quit like this; on the one hand, dark and depraved, a world of deformed characters and ignoble motivations, but on the other, comical and ludicrous, almost perverse in its unnatural behaviours and cynicism. The book was like a combination of 'The Man Without Qualities,' 'A Confederacy of Dunces,' and 'Don Quixote' all at once. Maybe even an element of the ghoulish yet heartwarming 'Geek Love' can be thrown in too. How a man under 30 could write this in 1935 is beyond me. It is a masterpiece of the human condition, and yet it is also a small story concerning trivial human frailties. I will lovingly place the book on my shelf and occasionally contemplate the life of Peter Kien; as well as the cost of loving books a little too much.
Give the man a Nobel prize. Oh wait, he already has one.