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jessicasamantha 's review for:
Divisadero
by Michael Ondaatje
So, I was going to (softly) tear this book to shreds. Once I realized (somewhat early on) that I was probably not going to have fun while reading this novel, I kept a list of the things that were bothering me about it. But then I read this article about Ondaatje in The New Yorker, where he is jokingly called “the enemy of the linear”, and there is a reference to a previous time where Ondaatje referred to his novels as “Cubist”. Immediately I felt validated in my frustration: so I’m not the only one who’s disoriented. Reading that, I decided that the most reasonable thing to do is to just declare this novel “not for me” and move on with my life…
…but if you’ll just indulge me for a bit…
What works:
1. The concept! A lot of the plot revolves around identity: losing it, willingly discarding it, hiding it, or discovering it. This is a good read if the idea of identity appeals to your interests.
2. The language! The language is beautiful, the imagery is beautiful. The feelings and the memories that the characters reflect on are precious, they feel so familiar, so safe. Since I could tell from the start that this would not end up being a favorite of mine, I stubbornly insisted that there was nothing in here, language-wise, worth celebrating, but I found myself highlighting beautiful phrases every other page, Ondaatje really knows how to pick the right words to create the perfect image.
3. I typically avoid first-person POV if I can help it, but surprisingly, the sweeter, more digestible writing came from Anna’s first-person POV.
That being said,
1. It is very clear that Ondaatje is a poet. Everything is constructed in the no-holds-barred, everything-goes, what-even-is-grammar way that makes poetry so beautiful. However, there’s a certain (*eyeroll*) expectation with novels, I suppose? I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised since I read The English Patient already, but at least that felt slightly more cohesive. It felt like various really long prose poems.
2. I felt like I really had to read into characters’ actions to understand how they felt about each other, and I often felt caught off-guard about how they behaved. In the chapter “Say Your Goodbyes”, Lucien Segura writes novels with a main character called Roman, who “never seemed to be fully understood by his author, and so no one could ever be sure of him, not even his accomplices.” I stiffly regarded this as Ondaatje's defense of his writing.
3. Not one of the characters felt (to me) sympathetic, or agreeable, or pleasant.
4. I’m personally not a fan of danger or edginess being introduced into a story through drug use? I’m over it. Perhaps this says more about me than it does about the book (it certainly says something about the books I choose to read), but it’s so boring.
5. Like I mentioned before, I was caught off-guard a lot, but by the pacing and the abrupt shifts in subject matter. I often found myself re-reading paragraphs, as though I had been distractedly walking only to suddenly find myself misstepping or tripping over something: I’d ask myself, how the hell did we get here, and who is this person I don’t remember you introducing? I kept trying to figure out what film the writing style reminded me of, and at first I thought that the confusing narrative reminded me of a Gaspar Noé movie, but then as I realized that the book is divided into three sections that go further into the past than the previous, I decided that the story reminded me a bit more of A Ghost Story by David Lowery, no cohesive structure, it just is. If you want to understand it, there’s nothing to understand other than what it makes you feel.
6. This is (arguably) a petty one, but I was amused at how the story attempted to convince the reader that these characters were hungrily obsessed (“addicted”) to each other. Again, maybe this reveals more about me than the story, but a lot of these moments felt too abrupt, and too telling-rather-than-showing. (I’d say this also follows up on my previous complaint that none of these characters were likable, and I—frankly—did not care what happened to them.)
I’m not trying to be cruel, but it’s a miracle I finished this book. We always assume, of course, that all stylistic choices are deliberate and on purpose, which often made me assume that I just wasn’t getting it, rather than Ondaatje being at fault for poor structure. In the third section of the story, Marie-Neige reads out loud to Lucien, who cannot see out of one of his eyes due to a recent accident, but he ignores her because he feels that it is patronizing. After a while, he decides he goes up to her and asks if she could clarify something he missed while she was reading. She says she doesn’t remember, but would he like her to go back and read it again? He says, “No, just go on. Not knowing something essential makes you more involved.” I guess.
A summary of what I'm really trying to say: Part Three is the best part of the entire book, should've been what the entire novel was about.
Other than all of this, Ondaatje is undeniably great, support your local Virgo author, y’all!
January 31st, 2018 edit: it’s been three days and I surprisingly really miss this book? I miss reading about Lucien Segura and Marie-Neige?
…but if you’ll just indulge me for a bit…
What works:
1. The concept! A lot of the plot revolves around identity: losing it, willingly discarding it, hiding it, or discovering it. This is a good read if the idea of identity appeals to your interests.
2. The language! The language is beautiful, the imagery is beautiful. The feelings and the memories that the characters reflect on are precious, they feel so familiar, so safe. Since I could tell from the start that this would not end up being a favorite of mine, I stubbornly insisted that there was nothing in here, language-wise, worth celebrating, but I found myself highlighting beautiful phrases every other page, Ondaatje really knows how to pick the right words to create the perfect image.
3. I typically avoid first-person POV if I can help it, but surprisingly, the sweeter, more digestible writing came from Anna’s first-person POV.
That being said,
1. It is very clear that Ondaatje is a poet. Everything is constructed in the no-holds-barred, everything-goes, what-even-is-grammar way that makes poetry so beautiful. However, there’s a certain (*eyeroll*) expectation with novels, I suppose? I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised since I read The English Patient already, but at least that felt slightly more cohesive. It felt like various really long prose poems.
2. I felt like I really had to read into characters’ actions to understand how they felt about each other, and I often felt caught off-guard about how they behaved. In the chapter “Say Your Goodbyes”, Lucien Segura writes novels with a main character called Roman, who “never seemed to be fully understood by his author, and so no one could ever be sure of him, not even his accomplices.” I stiffly regarded this as Ondaatje's defense of his writing.
3. Not one of the characters felt (to me) sympathetic, or agreeable, or pleasant.
4. I’m personally not a fan of danger or edginess being introduced into a story through drug use? I’m over it. Perhaps this says more about me than it does about the book (it certainly says something about the books I choose to read), but it’s so boring.
5. Like I mentioned before, I was caught off-guard a lot, but by the pacing and the abrupt shifts in subject matter. I often found myself re-reading paragraphs, as though I had been distractedly walking only to suddenly find myself misstepping or tripping over something: I’d ask myself, how the hell did we get here, and who is this person I don’t remember you introducing? I kept trying to figure out what film the writing style reminded me of, and at first I thought that the confusing narrative reminded me of a Gaspar Noé movie, but then as I realized that the book is divided into three sections that go further into the past than the previous, I decided that the story reminded me a bit more of A Ghost Story by David Lowery, no cohesive structure, it just is. If you want to understand it, there’s nothing to understand other than what it makes you feel.
6. This is (arguably) a petty one, but I was amused at how the story attempted to convince the reader that these characters were hungrily obsessed (“addicted”) to each other. Again, maybe this reveals more about me than the story, but a lot of these moments felt too abrupt, and too telling-rather-than-showing. (I’d say this also follows up on my previous complaint that none of these characters were likable, and I—frankly—did not care what happened to them.)
I’m not trying to be cruel, but it’s a miracle I finished this book. We always assume, of course, that all stylistic choices are deliberate and on purpose, which often made me assume that I just wasn’t getting it, rather than Ondaatje being at fault for poor structure. In the third section of the story, Marie-Neige reads out loud to Lucien, who cannot see out of one of his eyes due to a recent accident, but he ignores her because he feels that it is patronizing. After a while, he decides he goes up to her and asks if she could clarify something he missed while she was reading. She says she doesn’t remember, but would he like her to go back and read it again? He says, “No, just go on. Not knowing something essential makes you more involved.” I guess.
A summary of what I'm really trying to say: Part Three is the best part of the entire book, should've been what the entire novel was about.
Other than all of this, Ondaatje is undeniably great, support your local Virgo author, y’all!
January 31st, 2018 edit: it’s been three days and I surprisingly really miss this book? I miss reading about Lucien Segura and Marie-Neige?