Per's complex character in Pontoppidan's Lucky Per

At the end of section 7 (of 8) in Henrik Pontoppidan's Lucky Per (1904) the eponymous Per brfeaks off his engagement with Jakobe. Primary reason? She's a "Jewess" and will not consider converting to Christianity. In fact, on his suggestion that she do so (he's been entirely anti-Church his whole life but he's suddenly had a turn of heart upon the death of his estranged mother - in large part because he's fallen under the sway of a liberal cleric and in greater part because he's fallen in love w/ the cleric's daughter, Inga - so much for Per's honesty and loyalty), Jakobe writes a letter that in my view is on the mark: Christianity is a religion of beautiful ideas and ideals but it has led to centuries of racism and oppression and she would not consider converting unless the religious leaders could admit this and atone. So, end of relationship - and he doesn't even know that she's pregnant w/ his child. J goes off to Germany to give birth to the child outside of the purview of her Copenhagen family and community, and Per returns to Copenhagen and, now that he's broken off relations w/ the wealthy Jewish family the Salomon's, he has to seek some other means of support - and hits many roadblocks. Interestingly, he's scaled back his ambitions and is focusing not on building a canal network but on perfecting his patented devices to generate power using currents and tides - an idea that is way ahead of its time! So he is an entirely odd literary "hero," in some ways sympathetic (his rising above his horrible childhood), in some ways heroic (a man w/ a plan), in some ways craven (his constant search for money, his indifference to the environment), in other ways ahead of his time (beginnings of a sense of environmentalism and energy conservation), attractive to many yet in other ways a cad and opportunistic in the extreme. In other words, he's a complex and fully rounded character who encompasses many contradictions and seemingly apposite ideas and ideals.

Is per a duplicitous character, in Pontoppidan's Lucky Per

Section 7 (of 8) of Henrik Pontoppidan's Lucky Per (1904) proves some pretty heavy going, as much of it involves sermon-like dialog (monologue mostly) as the country pastor tries to explain is more Christianity in (secret?) hopes of bring Per back to the church. The pastor's doctine is infused w/ a love of and unity w/ nature - some beautiful writing here, even if the passages go on far too long for real dialog - and this is in sympathy w/ Per's views (even though Per's love of nature is in direct conflict with his life's mission of building canals across Denmark) - se we see Per beginning to waver, to come back to the church that he had renounced after his strict, pious upbringing. It's a little surprising that Per devotes to much time to funeral and burying of his mother, from whom he'd been estranged - but all this tends to be bring Per back to family, youth, nature, church, and of course the inevitable consequence will be, it seems, his breaking off of the engagement of Jakobe, the "Jewess," as others call her. We can't help but feel that part of his attraction to J was to her great wealth, which could help finance his dream project. But now he might have another patron - the elderly baroness w/ whom he's staying on his visit to Jutland - and doesn't need J's money so much anymore. What does this say about the depth of his feelings for her? He may be "lucky," but he's seeming increasingly duplicitous and scheming and ready to throw off his fiances as soon as a better deal turns up. How much of this has to do w/ anti-Semitism is still an open questions, but it's clear that all of his "friends" believe J not a suitable match for Per and thy suspect he's attached himself to her for her money only. This section of the novel is ostensibly about his voyage to America; if that happens at all, I'm wondering how that will change his views about money and religion, for better or worse.

Novels of Education, 19th- and 20th-century, and Lucky Per's place in this spectrum

Trying to get a sense of the personality of the protagonist in Henrik Pontoppidan's Lucky Per and to see how he, and of course this novel, stands within the literary tradition. On one level, this novel is a perfect example of the "bildungsroman," that is, "novel of education," which traces the life of a young man (usually) as he moves from innocence to experience. Among the great works in this tradition up to the publication of Lucky Per are classics such as Tom Jones, Emma, Great Expectations, Candide, Red and Black, Sentimental Education - all great works. Things change in teh 20th century, however; among 20th-c novels in this genre the landmarks would be Portrait of the Artist, In Search of Lost Time, Magic Mountain, Invisible Man. You can see a shift in tone and style in the 20th century; these modern and contemporary "novels of education," unlike the earlier versions, are less heroic regarding the narrator (he or she is more deeply flawed and the conclusion is generally more ambiguous or upsetting than in the earlier versions), the novels are placed against a historical background (often wartime), and the style is more aggressively experimental and inventive rather than straightforward omniscient or first-person narration. Later in the 20th century, the mode of of the bildungsroman becomes even more ironic or comic, as in, say, Portnoy's Complaint, Augie March, the Rabbit quartet, to cite just a few American-male narratives - fill in the blanks w/ your own favorite novels of education. Note that Pontoppidan's Lucky Per, which began serialized publication in 1898 and reached its conclusion in 1904, straddles the 2 centuries - and I think it does so in style as well as in date of publication: Per is an "ironic" hero, much more uncertain of himself and troubled than some of his predecessors - and much will depend on how this novel (I've read about 2/3 of the book) will conclude, with Per's grand project to build a network of canals and his tempestuous love affair/marriage that crosses boundaries of class and religion, will evolve.

More on the question of anti-Semitism in Pontoppidan's Lucky Per

Henrik Pontoppidan's novel Lucky Per (1904), at the mid-point, culminates in the announcement of the engagement of Per and Jakobe, but not before Per indulges in some serious flirtation and a passionate kiss w/ J's beautiful sister, Nanny - boding ill for the planned marriage, to put it mildly. Per at this point has his back up; he's furious w/ all of the Copenhagen financiers who refused to back his enormous project to build canals across Denmark and in his head-strong manner he believes he can push ahead alone w/ his project. Of course his anger at the financiers touches on his anti-Semitic feelings, and perhaps on those of Pontoppidan as well; I've been reading this novel for about a week now and am still wrestling w/ the anti-Semitism: How much of it is just social realism, for which HP deserves credit for depicting? How much of it is HP's own biases and prejudice? HP describes, through Per's eyes, the enormous dinner party that the Salomon's give to welcome home Nanny and to announce the engagement of Jakobe. He describes the chaos, the multiple languages spoken, the many ongoing conversations about politics and art, the lavish spread, the heavy and expensive silverware on the table - and he describes this as very Jewish. Well, I can tell you, he's right - I can picture many of my own family gatherings over multiple generations, and that's pretty accurate, although I'm not sure it's exclusively Jewish, either (Italian-American families may have similar gatherings, for ex.). In some ways, this description is in praise of the Jewish families - but there's also, just beneath the surface, a contempt for the nouveau-riche display of wealth and for the boisterous, indecorous conversations. This mixture of admiration and contempt is something all Jews will recognize, and I'm just not sure what to make of HP's portrayal. I'm hoping that to get a better handle on his sensibility as the plot unfolds over the second half of this long novel.

The key themes in Pontoppidan's Lucky Per

At the midpoint in Nobel laureate Henrik Pontoppidan's 1904 novel, Lucky Per, the eponymous Per, summoned to a business meeting with leading Copenhagen financiers who are considering backing Per's monumental project to create a system of waterways throughout Denmark, gets his back up and refuses to mend a years'-long rift with a Danish journalist, leading the financiers to abruptly close the meeting and end hopes of backing Per's plan. Of course we know, as Per does not, that they're backing his plan mainly so as to block a rival development plan and have little intention of actually going through w/ Per's project. But no matter; Per can walk away from the meeting feeling proud and independent, as he boasts to his fiancee, Jakobe (whose brother put Per together with the business leaders and now feels crushed and betrayed by Per's stubbornness). Part of Per's outrage, though not all of it, comes from his ever-present anti-Semitism: the financiers are a Jewish group, which HP makes feel like almost a cabal (never mind that finance was pretty much the only way for Jewish business leaders to make money, as traditional banking and investments were closed to Jews - this goes back to Shylock and beyond). What we're seeing here is almost a prelude to Ayn Rand's right-wing tome The Fountainhead - man of genius risks all to go up against upholders of the status quo. The question is, throughout the second half of this long (600-page) novel, is this a novel of Per's heroism or of his prideful undoing? Will Per triumph in the fulfillment of his vision or will he be crushed by his own obstinate behavior, by his social climbing, and his tormented relationship with his mother and siblings who, now living in Copenhagen, are like a weight tied to his neck.

The issue of anti-Semitism in Lucky Per

The issue of anti-Semitism remains puzzling and troublesome throughout the first half of Henrik Pontoppidan's Lucky Per (1904). In one sense, this is a novel of social realism, and the inclusion of anti-Semitism in the minds and behavior of many of the main characters and some incidental ones is probably an accurate portrayal of this social issue in late 19th-century Copenhagen - and HP's direct approach and depiction of anti-Semitism as a social force is commendable; few other writers of his time recognized anti-Semitism in any form. The strongest and most well-rounded character in the first half of the novel, aside from the eponymous Per, is Per's Jewish fiancee, Jakobe Salomon; HP shows us some of the smarting, nasty comments she endures. Unlike her sister, she apparently is readily identifiable as Jewish - so people, men that is, frequently comment about he within her hearing, in a nasty, aggressive manner. She is a highly sympathetic character, and part of what we feel for her is sorrow for the slights and worse that she endures. But there's also an unsettling sense that HP crosses the line far too often. For one reason or another he describes most or maybe all of the male Jewish characters in direct accord w/ the stereotypes: small, homely, weak, shrewd, and obsessed with stature, with wealth in particular. There's not the slightest sense that as social outsiders with limited opportunities in conventional business they would gravitate toward finance and deal-making, and no sense that any of the men could be in any way physically or socially attractive (the women are another story - beautiful exotics). The Jewish men contrast directly w/ Per, who is strong and strikingly handsome. The question is, to what extent his HP portraying anti-Semitism, to what extent does he rise above it (as in his recognition of the intelligence and artistic achievement of many of the Jewish characters and families), and to what extent does he share in the biases of his age?

How Lucky Per foreshadowed modern thinking - the first ecology novel?

One of the emerging themes in Henrik Pontoppidan's Lucky Per (1904) is ecology and preservation - making this novel in some ways far ahead of its time. (In other ways, the work is almost a throwback, not at all a work of groundbreaking modernism - the style is traditional, 19th-century realism.) The main plot line follow the life course of the eponymous Per as he struggles to break free from his strict religious upbringing and to achieve fame and recognition in the world through his plan for a massive project to build a network of canals in Denmark that will make the country a leader in the 20th-century world economy. His plans, though attracting some followers or believers (particularly in the Jewish intellectual community of Copenhagen) has been largely scorned and ridiculed, which Per rightly sees as a prejudice against one of his class and social standing. At about the mid-point of the novel, however, Per has a kind of epiphany; he's traveling in Germany visiting some massive engineering projects to learn more about his field, and he is overcome by the beauty of nature -leading him to question the merit of his entire project. Is it worth tearing apart the countryside to build a system of transportation? This was an issue I think hardly touched - in literature and in life - up to this time, and HP's skepticism about the cost of progress foreshadows much of the thinking from the mid 20th century and into our age: the cost of progress, as measured in ruined communities, damage to natural beauty, irremediable destruction.

Ominous signs and a strange visit home for Lucky Per

In section 4 of Henrik Pontoppidan's Lucky Per (1904), the highlight seem to be Per's journey back to his hometown for a final meeting with his cold and domineering father, a minister who made life in the household pure misery for the young, ambitious Per. Oddly, HP does not include any final conversation between Per and his father - the father is too far gone by the time of Per's arrival, and this omission seems at first a missed narrative/dramatic opportunity - but then we get an even better scene. As Per is preparing to leave to return to his life and his ambitions, he mother, always an invalid and a cold and distant presence, presents to Per the pocket watch that had been the prized possession of his father, along w/ some words about his father's love for Per. Per then leaves to catch the train - leaving behind the watch on a table, quite clearly not an oversight but a deliberate FY to the whole family. How will things work out for Per? So far, as the title suggests, he has been lucky - and he seems to be making important connections during his (2-year!) sojourn in Germany, leaving behind his fiancee, Jakobe. Two years is a long time, and as we might expect Per begins to have a roving eye. He's quite taken w/ a beautiful and very wealthy 19-year-old, and actually thinks of breaking off his engagement to the not-quite-as-wealthy J and pursuing the more advantageous match. He even thinks J will understand and approve! Se we see that he is a guy out for himself, a careerist and an unstable man. His luck will turn - but it's a matter of how, when, and how many will be injured in the process.

How Lucky Per was ahead if its time

It looks as if the eponymous Lucky Per (in Henrik Pontoppidan's 2904 novel) is destined to marry the alluring though not beautiful older daughter in the Salomon household, Jakobe, and that their marriage seems unlikely to be anything but a disaster for them both. Toward the end of Section 3 (of 8), when Per proposes to her, she at first shuns him and cuts him off; then, later the same day, when they along w/ a group on carriage ride along the Denmark coast, Per rises to a challenge and proves that he can outrun the carriage across a 5-mile span, though he nearly dies in the process. J then changes her mind about Per's proposal and the two become engaged - but it's a strange engagement, they are of such different types and background. Per sees the marriage as in some sense a social elevation for him - it will lead to a great increase in his wealth - but he also feels like a bumpkin and an outsider alongside this Jewish-intellectual family and coterie. But he is also extremely ambitious, in his plan to build a canal system that would change the entire economic life of Denmark, and the Salomon money and connections can help him with this project - at what personal cost, we will see. One intriguing sidelight here: Per's proposal, met entirely w/ skepticism and scorn, seems to be about a century ahead of its time, as the canals would also include facilities to generate power through wind turbines and through underseas generators powered by the flow of the tides. Altogether, Lucky Per - by the long-forgotten and seldom translated writer who may be the most obscure Nobel laureate - remains  really good narrative and an insight into the consciousness of an ambitious young man, much like in a Stendahl novel, who is driven by feelings of inadequacy and persecution, much like in a Dostoyevsky novel - good company!

The central plot elements in Lucky Per

Moving into section 3 (of 8) in Henrik Pontoppidan's long-forgotten but now revived in Everyman edition novel Lucky Per (1904), a fine novel about the lifelong education of an ambitious young man who rises from a poor and strictly devout family in the rural Denmark to some kind of prominence - not sure yet what that will be - in Copenhagen society. One of the many fine passages, toward the end of section 2, has Per reflect on the coldness and misery of his upbringing, with no joy in the house and every evening ending in prayers and penance, with the lively, scintillating environment in Copenhagen, in particular the life in the prominent Jewish family, the Salomons. Everything about the Salomons seems glamorous and alluring to Per, in particular the daughters; initially drawn to the beautiful younger daughter he finds himself, to his surprise, in love with the older (much too old for him it seems) daughter Jakobe, with her razor-sharp intellect. She seems decidedly not his type, but she has her own burdens - angry and resentful about the anti-Semitism in Danish culture at the time (about the 1860s?) and looking for a way to get for her family members the recognition and respect she believes they have earned. The family, led by the sometimes loathsome brother Ivan, agree to support Per in his grand project to build a canal system that will unite the cities of Denmark and provide access to trade and travel across Europe. So far he's met nothing but criticism and even ridicule for his project - particularly painful was an interview w/ a journalist that led not to a page-one story but to a small item that mocked the grand plan with the headline "Millionaires Wanted." We suspect that Per will triumph over his adversaries, and with the help of the intelligent Jakobe, but at great cost. It's not so easy to leave your family of origin behind, as both may discover.

Anti-Semitism in 19th-centuiry fiction - Lucky Per and elsewhere

A developing issue in Henrik Pontoppidan's 1904 novel, Lucky Per, is the treatment and depiction of Jews and of anti-Semitism. Now in the middle of section 2, about 100 pp or so into the novel, which remains a terrific story about the "education" of the young man of the title, Per is smitten by the beauty of a young Jewish woman whom he encounters on the streets of Copenhagen. This encounter and plot development lead Pontoppidan to an extended description of the Jewish family, a depiction that puts forward all or at least many of the stereotypes: vulgar, socially awkward, driven by money, striving for social equality, shrewd at business, and, w/ the exception of a few alluring daughters, homely to an extreme. What to make of this? The strange thing is that Pontoppidan also seems alert to the prejudice against Jews, the shameful history of the treatment of Jews (yes, even in Denmark, in the 19th century), and the intelligence, pride, and temerity that led this and other Jewish families to great achievements despite social prejudice and ostracism. It's almost like Shakespeare's Merchant, in some ways - depicted as a despicable, greedy man yet with touches of humanity and (occasional) sympathy from Sh himself (If you prick him, will he not bleed? ... etc.). But this is a novel of realism, and, painful as it may be, HP depicts the Jewish family as a true social presence in 19th-century Copenhagen, though this is not quite enough to make this depiction palatable or entirely free from bias and hatred. Compare HP's depiction of Jewish culture w/ that of George Eliot (Daniel Deronda), which is largely free of racial stereotypes and is far more nuanced in is depiction and more profound in its empathy. The palatability of Lucky Per will depend in large part on how well HP can move beyond the stereotypes and "educaite" Per about bias and prejudice.

Why Henrik Pontoppidan is more than a literary punchline

Henrik Pontoppidan has sufferecd the fate of a literary punchline: Tolstoy didn't win a Nobel Prize, Proust didn't win a Nobel Prize, but they gave a Nobel Prize in Literature to the Danish writer Henrik Pontoppidan! The fact is, he's more than just a joke. The Everyman Library has issued a new edition of his major work, Lucky Per (1904), and it's gotten a little attention because of the publication of an excerpt of the fine intro by the American writer Risk Hallberg - and his praise for this mostly forgotten work is on the money. I've read the first of 8 sections of this 600-page novel (published serially in Denmark over about 5 years), and so far it looks to be an excellent "bildungsroman," a novel of education - the story of the eponymous Per (Danish v. of Peter), raised by a strict minister in an impoverished household of I think 11 children, from which he rebels in youth and can't wait to escape; he goes off as a teenager to a technical institute in Copenhagen, and has dreams of turning the fjords and channels of Denmark into a navigational thoroughfare. But he finds the tech-school life stultifying and he gets involved with a sketch social scene, in particular w/ a married woman somewhat older than he is. He feels both attraction and repulsion toward her (and other women), and comes to the conclusion that there is really no such thing as sin - it's a concept created by the repressive powers that be. In many ways this novel foreshadows Freudian theories, and there's no doubt that HP influenced Thomas Mann, who did win a Nobel and he commented favorably on this work - it's really a model for modern fiction in the naturalistic style: young many making his way in the world, learning from painful experience, breaking free of a repressive family, overcoming the hardships of his youth, dreaming about making a tremendous contribution as artist/scientist/military leader; while Lucky Per foreshadows other literary works, we can easily trace the lineage back to great fiction of teh 19th century, most notably Stendahl (Red and Black in particular) and Flaubert (Sentimental Education in particular) - pretty good ancestry there.

Breaking with past practice and stopping reading a book after one day

I'm going to break with past practice and stop reading a novel I started with after just one day's reading. I go through about 60 pp. (4 chapters, about 20 percent of the novel) in Domenic Smith's The Electric Hotel and can see that this novel is really good for the right reader but I'm not that reader. It's a work of pseudo-historical fiction - a detailed examination of the early days of film and through the silent era - focused on a (fictional) French director who began by working w/ the (real) Lumiere bros. and eventually did one great silent feature and then dropped from sight; the story picks up w/ a film grad student who discovers that this director is living in a sort of retirement hotel, once a grand place in the silent era (I think it's based on the Roosevelt Hotel) and begins interviewing him and encouraging him to preserve some of his works, all of which he has kept in canisters in his tiny apartment. Smith's writing is fine, rich w/ detail, perhaps overly so, but for me it's lacking in plot and in conflict and feels all too schematic. For many readers, that's just fine, and it reminds me in particular of the highly successful All the Light You Cannot See, but that was another book that I just couldn't finish. I found myself skimming for plot, and the plot wasn't there. If I were to want to learn about a historical era or a historical figure, hands down I would seek a good biography or a nonfiction history. So rather than belabor this point, I will move on to another novel, but not without recognizing the strength of this book for some, perhaps most?, readers.

Concluding thoughts on the excellence of Machado's Dom Casmurro

A few additional notes on J Machado's excellent novel Dom Casmurro (1900): The title (which is the nickname that the narrator sometimes uses among friends) doesn't seem terribly important to me, but as far as I can make out it could translate as Sir Stubborn, or something like that. This novel was published in English a few years ago as part of a projected Library of Latin America, an obvious attempt to create a series much like the great Library of America series; it never seems to have achieved lift-off, however. This edition is handsome, and the translation, by John Gledson, seems to be excellent as well - can't vouch for its fidelity, but it reads really well with only a few typos. Gledson also write a good intro (though I recommend reading it after reading the novel - it would be too hard to follow otherwise) and he translated the afterword by a scholar of Brazilian literature - don't bother reading that academic, impenetrable piece. The time and space would have been better used with a Machado timeline, alongside a timeline of Latin American and world literature and  Brazilian history. Gledson rightly emphasizes the significance of slavery in this novel - something most academic critics seem to have passed over lightly - and he points out the many similarities w/ Othello (which the narrator himself recognizes), something I should have pointed out in previous posts - a particularly poignant literary echo given Machado's black ancestry. He also notes the echos of Tristram Shandy - the narrator commenting throughout on his own writing, sometimes in hilarious asides - though who knows of Machado was familiar w/ that work. Most of all, it's both a funny and incredibly sad novel, and as with many great pieces of literary fiction we are in some ways more aware than the narrator himself: We can see around him, around the brave front that he puts on and recognize, as he doesn't or at least doesn't admit, that he has ruined his life.

Slavery, and the real significance of Machado's Dom Casmurro

J. Machado's novel Dom Casmurro (1900 - btw I'm not so sure about the translation of the title, the narrator's moniker, and I was wrong in earlier posts to call him a "writer" - his career was as a lawyer, but he's writing this novel as a personal memoir) is a terrific book start to finish - full of surprises that are credible and rather than forced and gratuitous, guided by a witty and largely self-aware narrator, and presented as a series of about 150 short chapters, each w/ a title; this unusual structure gives us plenty of "breathing room," places to pause easily and reflect on the developing plot, and makes it especially easy to follow the story line. The story line is, in essence, the life story of the narrator, Benhinto, who at the outset, the 1890s, is a successful Brazilian businessman, who tells us his life story - his struggle against his mother's vow that he would enter the seminary and become a priest, his love for his beautiful next-door neighbor, Capitu, and their attempt to build a life together. The story is exceptionally sad, though w/ moments of great humor, and in telling the story - stretching back to the 1850s, Machado presents the life of an entire family - much like, say Buddenbrooks or Confessions of Zeno or The Leopard, great company! - and informs us about a way of life - among the professional classes of Rio in the mid-19th century that, even by the end of Machado's life, seemed long gone. Recent news stories have reported that research has shown that Machado was in part of African descent. That's really significant, as one of the elements of the novel is the casual acceptance of slaves in the family (not outlawed in Brazil till the 1870s); at first, the slaves play just a minor role, doing various tasks for the household, but toward the end the narrator gets into a discussion about his family wealth, which they measure not only by property owned but by the # of slaves kept. That unremarked acceptance of slavery becomes even more strange in that it's part of a story line that is about freedom from parental bonds, about fidelity to oaths and promises, and, in particular toward the end, about lineage - so we can see why Machado was drawn to this theme yet he kept the issue of slavery in the background of the story, like an unrepented sin.

A fine story from playwright David Rabe in current New Yorker

David Rabe, best known for his work as a playwright, has a somewhat long story in the current (double-issue, supposedly) New Yorker, Uncle Jim Called, which begins with a bang: the narrator, living alone in his NYC (it seems) apartment as his wife and daughter are visiting family in California, spending the evening quietly drinking and watching TV, receives a call from his uncle - who is dead. This begins a series of events in which his two (dead) uncles call him several times, asking to speak w/ his (late) mother, and generally being nasty and accusatory, washing the narrator (Glenn) in guilt and fear. The uncles begin a more active pursuit, showing up at the doorway of the apartment building, following Glenn in the street. He seeks several remedies - considers seeing a psychiatrist but rejects all options, visits a private detective but walks out of the office before their meeting begins, as his life continues to spiral downward. I won't divulge the conclusion, but it's a harrowing moment that, for some readers, may topple expectations. The writing is clean and direct, as we'd expect from a top playwright (wonder if there could be a staged version of this story?), and it's always good to see an actual story and not an excerpt from a forthcoming novel in the NYer.

Machado's Dom Casmurro as a precursor to postmodern fiction

Aside from its other virtues, J. Machado de Assis's 1900 novel, Dom Casmurro, is avant-garde, and in an entirely unpretentious manner. It's a peek into the postmodern fiction, which would become a dominant mode in mid- to late-20th century writing, not only in the U.S. (Barth, Coover, Barthelme, Gass, et al.) but also in Latin America (Cortazar, to a degree Borges) - but who knew that it really began in Brazil, w/ the little-known (today) Machado? Throughout this novel, told in about 150 short segments, each with a title, Machado breaks through the 3rd wall and addresses the reader directly, opining on the progress he's making and on the decisions he makes about what to include or elide in this attempt to recollect some experiences of his youth. The novel is set, at least initially, ca 1858, as the author-narrator, the eponymous Dom C (it's a moniker or nickname) recounts his first love and the torments he (whose name is Benhito) and his beloved Capitu pledge to marry each other; they're each 15 years old, and Benhito is headed, against his will, to a enrollment in a seminary. The joke is that, from the get-go, he has no intention of becoming a priest - yet he's unable to put his foot town and refuse his mother's dictates and expectations; how strong will his will and resistance be? And how long will Capitu wait for him? The narrator gives us only the vaguest glimpse into his current, late 1890s life, though perhaps he has become a writer - this may become clarified later - but in the meantime his story gives us a glimpse into a time and place remote from all contemporary readers and is full of wry observations, some really funny dialogue - esp w/ Benhito pleading with family friend to state his case to his mother (it's obvious that this so-called friend, Jose Dias, is duplicitous and his only aim is to free B from the seminary so that he can take him on a 2-year, at least, tour of Europe). I'll look for some examples of the wry humor as I proceed into the 2nd half of the novel, but for the moment will just note that this seemingly daunting novel is quite accessible and, as an old man's reflection on his youth, feels surprisingly contemporary as well.

The theme of Dom Casmurro - and of many works in literature and film today

Dom Casmurro, the 1900 novel by Brazilian author J. Machado de Assis, is really about loyalty and fidelity in their many forms and manifestations. It's also very much of its time - specifically the mid-19th century in Brazil in a conservative and deeply religious family. The trouble begins when the narrator's mother pledges at his birth that the son will become a priest. The young man, Bentinho, never realy questions this pledge and obligation until suddenly, when he's 15, he finds that he's in love w/ his one-time childhood friend and next-door neighbor, Capitu (also 15). In any contemporary novel this might lead to conflict and argument w/ the parents but in no way would a young man feel obligated to join a seminary because of some pledge his mother had made 15 years back. But in this culture a pledge to God is binding and sacred, and the young couple frets and argues about how to resolve this issue. So, which is more important: obligation to parents (and to the church), or personal fulfillment and obligation to one another? Amazingly, the young man agrees to enter the seminary but supposedly for one year only - but who knows how this experience will change him and dissolve the bonds between him and Capitu? They had pledged to marry one another, but that may not hold up under pressure of life in the seminary. In a way of course this novel feels antiquated - as it should - but in another way these kinds of crises of obligation arise all the time, which is why literature and culture to this day are filled with narratives about rebellion against parental and societal strictures and expectations. It's the essential course and process of growing from childhood to maturity and finding one's own voice and way of life, a theme in just about every book and movie about childhood and adolescence. The precise parameters vary from generation to generation and culture to culture, but they're always present - and in a particularly stark and unvarnished manner in this Brazilian novel.

Machado's Dom Casmurro = contemporary or antiquated?

It's not a narrative method that would suit all subjects, but J. Machado de Assis makes great use of a narration in fragments in his 1900 novel, Dom Casmurro, in which a older narrator, probably closely modeled on Machado himself, who was about 60 when this was published, reflects on the key moments and turning points in his youth, in particular how he fell in love w/ the girl next door, which was a problem because he mother had pledged to God from her son's birth that he would become a priest. Our deep past often, I think, rises to us in fragments, so the fragmented narration - about 150 segments most of them 2 pages or shorter - works well, the memories arising to the narrator much as the past does for those who reflect on their early life. The family history is quite old-fashioned today, and was in 1900 (looking back to the 1830s or so, when Brazil was actually an empire - who knew?), as it's hard to fathom a life so constricted that a teenage boy would feel obligated to follow through on his mother's pledge and in which the teenager, who was like a playmate with the girl next door, wouldn't even think about them as a couple until all of a sudden he hears of neighborhood rumors that the 2 of them were in love - the idea hits him like a storm. He's extremely sheltered and naive. He enlists the aid of a family hanger-on to approach his mother and plead w/ her to let her son follow another course; he does so because he proposes that the young man go on an educational tour of Europe - something he'd really like to do, as the escort and guide, but in a way that misses the whole point - keeping the young man away from his beloved for a year or maybe much more. She seems attractive and spirited, but the family sees this as a bad match, as her father was a failure in his government service and seems to have a gambling problem as well. So in effect it's novel of customs that have been eclipsed for more than a century, but of passions and relationships that seem vivid and contemporary - more than a century after the original publication (in Portuguese) of the novel.

One of the greatest Brazilian novels, today little read: Dom Casmurro

The novel Dom Casmurro, by the Brazilian writer Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis (aka Machado) was at one time among the greatest novels of the 20th century - It was published in the year 1900! - but is now largely unknown outside of Brazil. Machado arose in the news recently as some literary historians looking into his background have determined that he was in part of African descent, making him one of the great African-American writers, a century or so after his death. I picked up a copy of Dom Casmurro (the title is the moniker of the narrator, a Brazilian writer living outside of Rio, and it means something like "Lazybones") and in the first going it seems to be a witty and formally inventive novel that obviously deserved and deserves a wider readership. The novel of about 200 pp is told in brief segments - about 150 of them - each of a page or so in length; the segments advance the narrative in the manner of traditional or conventional narration - introduction of the narrator, his family background, a key event in childhood, each told in a separate mini-chapter (maybe little like the novels Mr. and Mrs. Bridge) - but the mood is distinctly "Mediterranean," reminding me a lot of The Leopard and Confessions of Zeno, which is great company and which I hope the narration can sustain. The key dramatic element in the first sections is that narrator (who is now a recognized writer in late middle age) looks back on a turning point in his youth; his mother raised him with a pledge to God that he would become a priest; all seems OK except that his childhood friendship w/ the "girl next door" seems to be developing into a romance. Their play is youthful and innocent, but neighbors and others have begun talking - is this any way for a priest-to-be to behave. The mother gets word of this gossip and tells son - who's about 15 years old - that he's destined for the priesthood; this leads him to declare his love for the girl-next-door, and we'll see about the consequences. Thus far, though, Machado does a fine job in introducing the eccentric characters in this Rio family and setting up some dramatic tension.

The strange and ambiguous conclusion to Updike's Of the Farm

John Updike's Of the Farm (1965) concludes in a weird manner, as, first, we get a late night tete-a-tete in which the narrator's mother tells her son that his new wife, Peggy, is unintelligent (there is no evidence for this at all in her many conversations up to this point) and that he made a huge mistake in leaving his first wife for Peggy - and, amazingly, he agrees with her! So where does this leave things? He (Joey) gets in bed with Peggy, they kinda nuzzle, and get to sleep - no follow-up, no guilty - I'd kind of thought maybe she'd overheard the whole conversation, which would lead to some dramatics, but apparently not. The next morning they, Joey and his mother, go to church, where the sermon is about Eve and her subservience to Adam. Hm, everyone seems pleased with these observations (mother notes that the minister has a roving eye). On the way home for church, the mother has what appears to be a heart attack. Medical care differed tremendously 50 years ago, but even be standards of the era Joey seems to delay ridiculously in getting in touch w/ his mother's md. Eventually, she settles into bed, rebuffs Joey's offer to send Peggy and her son back to NYC while he would stay on to help at the farm, and the mother's parting words are that he should get as much $ as he can from developers when she dies and wills him her farm; ambiguously, he says he's always thought it was "their" farm - suggesting, to me, that he will never feel fully comfortable with Peggy and their life in NY. Overall, a fine, almost miniaturized novel and a demonstration, following two much more ambitious works, that Updike can work in a different key - as he continued to prove throughout his life.

Yes, Of the Farm is still worth reading

Unless something surprising and out of character occurs in final 1/4 (30 pp.), John Updike's 4th novel, Of the Farm (1965), is very much like a domestic drama and could well have been written as a play. It pretty closely adheres to the three unities (time, place, action) a principle: Just 4 characters (narrator Joey, a recently remarried dad; his mother, current owner of the old family farm in Pa.; Peggy, Joey's new/2nd wife; and her son, Richard, 11 but seems much older), all the events taking place over the course of a weekend, and all the events save the moments just before arrival, at the farm. There's a lot of talk, a lot of nuance, as the adult family members stick barbs in one another and vie for one another's affection; looming behind it all is the decision as to whether to keep the farm - no longer used for farming - or sell it off to developers. Sentiment says keep it, but realistically it's too much for the mother to manage, and Joey, an active businessman in NYC with plenty of dependents (3 kids from first marriage) is unable to offer much help. Of course the beauty of this novel lies not in the limited action and interactions but in Updike's beautiful prose: terrific evocation of certain moments, places, and memories throughout plus, of course, some over-the-top passages as well, especially the sex scenes and the many affirmations of the beauty of Peggy's body. All told, this novel feels quaint and deliberately minor - as if JU wanted to show he could work in a different key, after the magnitude of Rabbit, Run and the esoterica of The Centaur (which I haven't read). Most of all, this novel is foundational to the many novels and stories and memoir-essays that Updike would writer later in his career about this same farm, where he spent most of his youth.

Would Updike's 4th novel have been published today?

I'm reading, for the first time, surprisingly, John Updike's 4th novel, Of the Farm (1965), which has just been reissued as one of 4 novels in the 1st vol. of the Library of America Updike series. (That volume not yet available in my local library, but they did have Of the Farm in single volume; as it happens, so did I.) The question puzzling me is: Would this novel be published today? Compared w/ most contemporary fiction, literary fiction specifically, OTF seems slow, almost minute in its pace and attention to detail, and the narrative - at least so far (about half-way) - is devoid of drama and trauma. I can easily imagine a string of polite rejection letters (albeit, this was published after Rabbit, Run and the award0-winning Centaur, so there's that). The story, in brief, centered on an Updike-like man, a professional man (we don't know his profession) from NYC recently remarried after tough divorce (days after, in fact) takes his wife and 11-year-old stepson (ridiculously precocious - Updike never write too well about children unless the children were early versions of himself) to visit his domineering and cutting mother on the family farm in Pa., with the question looming of should they sell the hard-to-maintain farm? A series of small disputes and discomforts, as the 4 of them shift about, ensures; in a novel today, something exciting or traumatic would/will happen: There are many ominous comments about plowing the field w/ an old tractor and the injury or death that could ensue, but, at least so far, the only ones endangered some nesting quail. All this said, the writing as always is astonishingly observant and insightful and at times beautiful - here's where I'm glad I'm reading my own pb volume, as I'm marking up all of the margins with check-marks noting passages of unusual beauty or originality. Yes, this is why we still read Updike - and if he'd been staring out today he'd be a different writer, or else an unpublished one, "far behind his rightful time."

The so-called conclusion of Bolano's Spirit of Science Fiction

Roberto Bolano's posthumously published novel, The Spirit of Science Fiction (2016), doesn't really come to any conclusion, just sputters to a stop. Yesterday I posted on a beautiful chapter toward the end of this novel, which shows us how great Bolano could be at his best and makes us sad that he died, too young, in 2005. He's been much more famous and widely read posthumously than when he was a struggling writer, and it's obvious that he left a lot of work unpublished at his death. I in no way blame his family for trying to publish as much of his work as possible, both for his literary legacy and to draw some income from his estate. But it's also clear that it's wrong to put forward a manuscript like this as a completed novel. It's not; it's obviously something that RB either left unfinished at his death or purposely abandoned, for whatever reason. In the final chapters, as it stands, we learn that the young man who almost never leaves the attic apartment and spends his time writing letters to famous scifi writers is "Robert Bolano" (we would have expected that the narrator, Remo, is the stand-in for Bolano), but I'm not sure this matters except to show us how far RB progressed from those reclusive, formative days (and nights). Then, for the final 20 pp or so, we get what the book labels the Mexican Manifesto, which consists of Remo's account of his visit, with his girlfriend, Laura, to many squalid and sleazy throughout Mexico City; this section is mildly pornographic and just plain distasteful and adds nothing to the novel and, as far as I can see, bears no relationship to any sort of manifesto (which one would expect would set for the literary principles and aspirations of these aspiring writers). This chapter should not have been included, and in fact the publisher should make it clear that this novel itself is an unfinished fragment. It's still worth reading, especially for those who already know RB's work, but not a good introduction for those who don't.

A chapter in The Spirit of Science Fiction that's a great intro to Bolano's work

A chapter about 3/4 through Roberto Bolano's novel The Spirit of Science Fiction (2006, published posthumously - don't let the title put you off, this is not science fiction nor is it about scifi) shows all that's right w/ RB's style and sensibility and is worth reading all by itself - and would be a good entry point for those curious about RB's many novels and stories. The narrator (Remo) and his friend (Jose) are wheeling J's broken-down Honda motorcycle along the near-deserted post-midnight back streets of Mexico City; rain threatens them, and J suggests the stop by at the tiny dwelling of his friend who lives in Spartan squalor in his motorcycle-repair garage. The place is tiny, and the friend El M (something) he goes by, admits that he's not too good as a mechanic and in essence runs a front for purchase and sale of stolen cycles. The guys settle in for a night of drinking Nescafe (the dwelling has nothing approaching a kitchen) and inevitably discussion of poetry - El M reads a few of his pieces (not included in the text). Then he suggests selling one of his stolen cycles to the narrator; they set up  some simple terms of repayment - it's clear that El M does not expect to see these payments; El M offers to sand off the name and markings on the cycle so that it will not be so easy to ID it as stolen. Remo not only doesn't have a license (too young!) but he has no idea how to drive a cycle. Nevertheless, terrified, he takes off alongside the more skillful J and they head into the night, or predawn actually, of Mexico City, carrying on a conversation at time, stopping once so that Remo can call (at about 4 am!) his new girlfriend, Lauren (?) and declare his love for her, and eventually at daybreak Remo is home. All told it's a beautiful, brief account of the city at night, or the daring and risky behavior of youth, of the lives of aspiring artists and intellectuals, of the impulsive optimism of youth when everything is new and exciting and impossible, and of the hint of the dangerous underground, somewhat illicit commerce and barter that's the lifeblood of the economy of the young.

The beauty of Bolono's work, even in the puzzling Spirit of Science Fiction

As noted yesterday, Roberto Bolano's novel The Spirit of Science Fiction (2016, posthumous publication) doesn't break new ground for him - it's revisit to his familiar theme of young writers trying to get a foothold in the literary world while living in Bohemian style in Mexico City ca 1990 - there's a French phrase for this, I think "nostalgie de la moue" or something like that meaning nostalgia for the mud, or more precisely looking back with fondness on days of young poverty and squalor. RB really gives us the sense of young artists/writers who give their all to their work while still find the time and strength to be up all night drinking and smoking and exchanging ideas. There's a shred of a romantic story here, w/ the narrator's passion for a beautiful young writer, Laura, and the dangerous rivalry w/ her ex, but plot isn't what draws us to Bolano's strange fiction: It's really all about the mood - long walks in the rain through the sleeping city, taking turns w/ his friend, Jose (might have had his name wrong in yesterday's post) pushing his always-disabled motorcycle, the night-long party int he attic loft punctuated by visits to a nearby coffee shop to bring back sustenance. The shred of the plot concerns the narrator's belief that there are more literary magazines in Mexico City than anywhere else on the planet; he and Jose track down the source of this rumor, an elderly Mexican writer who did some kind of literary census, and they interview him, though he dashes their hopes that MC is the world capital of literature; he says most of the so-called magazines are just self-published, mimeographed, stapled together, left for pickup at supermarkets. Tant pis. But the young writers aren't dissuaded by this, and they're right: A culture that produces hundreds of self-published journals is a culture that values writing and aspires to literary greatness. There's much to keep you going in this relatively short novel, though it's probably not the best place to start w/ Bolano - I'd recommend starting w/ his early works, published during his lifetime. As to this posthumous novel, as noted yesterday I wish the publisher (Penguin) had included some info about its provenance: Did Bolano complete this piece, or is it an abandoned fragment?

A posthumous Bolano novel that touches on many of his lifelong themes

Readers of the late Roberto Bolano will find a lot of familiar ground in his new-in-English 200-page novel The Spirit of Science Fiction (first published in Spanish in 2016). Essentially, RB gives is three narratives running side-by-side in alternating chapters: A young author of experimental fiction who has just won a prestigious prize submits to an interview with a woman reporter - OK, but keep in short, she says - joke! - as the interview covers the whole span of the novel - in which for the most part he tells her the plot of his award-winning novel; a young man (Remo) and his best friend (Jan) leave their native Chile and settle into an attic apartment in Mexico City, the cultural center of Spanish-language writing at that time, and for the most part we follow Remo's narration as he links up with a several writers' circles and publications, forms a friendship with a charismatic poet and motorcyclist, Juan, and meets several women writers with various consequences; and Jan, a bit of an agoraphobe, pretty much stays in the attic apartment and writes letters to well-known scifi writers, seeking advice and support. To me the best segments by far are about the literary scene in Mexico City - these are brimming w/ life and observation and really give us the sense, as do many of RB's other works, of what it's like for a young writer trying to break in and find his voice and his readership, however minute, and to get by living on fumes and minute payments for brief essays and reviews - most of them in magazines that nobody reads (supermarket handouts) and that must keep above water through donations of a sponsor or angel. It's a culture in some ways unique to its time and place (late 20th C.), but in other ways familiar to all who are or were aspiring young writers with a dream (and no $). I don't expect any great resolution in this novel - as RB continued to work the same material over and over in his short lifetime, but scene b scene there are some fine moments, in particular walking the streets of Mexico City at night seeking an open cafe, drinking and talking till dawn in the attic loft. I have to give a thumb-down to Penguin Press, the publisher, for giving us no information at all about this provenance of this novel; it's well known that RB, who died about 10 years ago, left behind many manuscripts, presumably including this one. Why was it never published in his lifetime? Did he complete it, or abandon it? When did he compose it? At the very least, this edition should have a preface answering those questions and providing some context.

His heart is in the right place, but can't get into Powers's The Overstory

The answer to yesterday's question is: No. I have stopped reading Richard Powers's The Overstory, at about 1/4 in (+100 pp.). I'm sure there's a lot more I could learn about trees were I to finish reading this novel, but I'd rather spend some time among trees or read a nature handbook - and when I'm reading a novel please let it be a novel, replete with fully developed characters who interact w/ one another in intriguing and sometimes surprising ways. The first 100 pp introduce us to the 9 (!) protagonists by giving us a summary of their lives, sometimes over generations in their family, and it all just feels scripted and contrived, especially the tragic events in many of the lives. I recognize that in fact these characters will interact as the novel progresses, but this long opening section did little or nothing to advance my curiosity and interest. I have, since dropping this novel, looked up a few reviews online, and as one might expect they're all over the place, with some rave reviews (notably one by a well-known author that gave me the sense of not wanting to offend and author of equal statute) and a few outright pans, notably in the British press (they can be tougher, esp on American authors) - the gist of the criticism being lack of character development, inconsistent structure, and too much polemics. RP's heart is surely in the right place - who's gonna argue against trees, for God's sake? - and his mind is as acute and copious as ever, but, as I think one critic also suggested, I wish he'd written a pamphlet or a tract; this book just did not click for me as fiction.

Should I continue reading The Overstory?

About 100 pp (20%) in to Richard Powers's The Overstory (2018,) and what keeps me going is the promise from others that the 9 or so characters, each introduced in his/her own opening section, will come together and provide the novel w/ some semblance of a plot. Otherwise, I'm confused and disappointed. No question that Powers is a writer of extraordinary intelligence - writing w/ great facility and seemingly boundless knowledge about topics rarely confronted in contemporary fiction, e.g., computer programming, botany, in fact science in all of its manifestations - but at some points it seems he's just showing off his knowledge. Who are these 9 characters? Each of them suffers from some kind of severe personal or family trauma (suicide, accidental death, grievous injury); we do know from a brief hint that at least one becomes a radical advocate for preservation of trees, camping out at the peak of a redwood slated for destruction. But, honestly, let's get on with this story; the introductory passages are taking way too long and providing too little.

Still trying to get my bearings in Powers's The Overstory

I really need to spend more time w/ Richard Powers's The Overstory (2018), as I'm now about +15% into the novel - but it's  +500-page novel! - and I'm not sure what it's about, and not sure whether it's worth that big an investment in time. So far, the novel consists of several short (10 pp or so) sections, each about a family that for one reason or another plants a tree or stand of trees to you might say accompany them on life's journey, sometimes over the course of several generations. Of the 5 (I think) I've read so far, the first 4 families (and their trees) end in tragedy (e.g., a stand of elms succumbs after several generations to dutch-elm disease, as the families is largely eradicated through a CO asphyxiation; another section ends in suicide, another focuses on the violence of a father, particularly toward his eccentric, possibly "on the spectrum," son). I'd feel more engaged and propelled to read on if these segments were more nuanced and vital, but each reads like a summary of a life, a sketch or outline for a novel, without the emotional richness of a short story. Yet I know that Powers has his sites set on something higher, perhaps something like the relationships between humans and nature, perhaps later sections to be told from the POV of the trees, with their multi-generation life spans? I do know that another 450 pp of stories/sections/segments in the same vein will be tedious going. Powers is among our most thoughtful and original novelists; I haven't read a lot of his works, but what I have read shows a writer with a wide range of knowledge (and a facility for research) whose books (about AI, for ex.) don't fit in well with any school or camp or style. I've also read that he composes by dictation into a voice-recognition device, which seems to me amazing (Stendahl and, I think, Dostoyevsky did the same in a 19th-century version, which partially explains the headlong rush of their plots - we don't see the quite same thing with Powers, although it may explain the abundance of plot lines and characters, none, so far, developed w/ much nuance). Further thoughts to are to come.

Richard Powers

I like trees just as much as the next guy maybe more, depending on the next guy, but till now I've steered off from Richard Powers's novel about?, related by? trees - The Overstory, despite its many accolades (Pulitzer most recently) and my respect for Powers's work and intelligence - he's always thinking and pushing the borderlines of fiction. But this was one approach that I'd have thought could never work - but did start reading it last night and am keeping an open mind. Judging from first 1.5 chapters, this looks to be a series of short to mid-length pieces each about the relationship between a family (over generations) and a stand of trees or specific tree; the first about a pioneer settlement family that moves from Brooklyn to iowa in the early 19th c and plants a stand of chestnut trees. The trees are nearly all wiped out in the blight, which becomes a parallel story to the life and death of the family and its farm over generations (replete w a melodramatic conclusion). The idea to give us the sense that trees have lives full of biological incident but at a paces and on a breadth not of a human life but of a multiple-generation human life. Lots of info about the science of trees - like most of RP's work as I know it, much info well incorporated into the plot line - research worn lightly not as a deadweight yoke as in the weaker of many other historical novelists.

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