Given the mostly glowing reviews of this from many people on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ and various review outlets, I found myself a bit disappointed reading it myselfGiven the mostly glowing reviews of this from many people on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ and various review outlets, I found myself a bit disappointed reading it myself. The set up of the story is a potentially interesting one, albeit a territory well trod by Akbar's poetry - an alcoholic Iranian-American man. His mother died in an airplane "accident" (shot down by American military), following this he and his father moved to America where his father worked long hours tending chickens at an industrial farm in Indiana. His mother's brother served in the Iran-Iraq war, where he dressed as the angel Gabriel, and rode around the battlefield to give the fallen soldiers a bit of belief in the meanings of their deaths.
Cyrus is a poet, and also works as a sort of actor for training medical students who are practicing breaking news to loved ones and patients. The organizing idea of the novel is death and its potential to be meaningful, in relation to the seeming meaningless events of life. Throughout the novel we come closer to the paradox of meaning in death with its actual cessation of meaning. Only in living can we humans process and form meaning from the random events of our environment. While the idea of martyrdom is to create meaning within the world after our death, the only meaning it can give the martyr is the devotion which they give that idea while they are still alive. Throughout the novel, we see the many people who care about Cyrus, who do actually give his life meaning but which he rarely notices or gives much stock to.
Cyrus is working on a book about historical martyrs, mostly in the form of poetry (is it this very book?), and he hears about and becomes obsessed with Orkideh, an Iranian artist living (and in fact dying) in New York, who has devoted her death to an art installation called Death-Speak. The second half of the novel organizes itself around his visits and conversations with her.
While there were a number of interesting themes (foreignness, death, meaning in life, family), the way they are handled seems often a bit heavy handed. The characters often occupy a political zone of the claustrophobic far left, and as a result much of what it has to say about politics seems to assume the reader's allegiance rather than elaborate its arguments through fiction. Without spoiling, the plot also starts to fold in upon itself in a likewise claustrophobic way that reminded me a bit of Dickens. Despite concerning itself with addiction, death, depression, the emotional remove of the main character made it difficult to inhabit this dark zone, to the novel's detriment. For a book less than 400 pages, it frequently felt like a slog by the end, and I was happy to be done with it despite its occasional merits. ...more
I was pleasantly surprised by how readable and fluid Libra was. DeLillo masterfully renders a compelling and convincing counter history to the assassiI was pleasantly surprised by how readable and fluid Libra was. DeLillo masterfully renders a compelling and convincing counter history to the assassination of JFK. In many ways this reminded me of the better of Mario Vargas Llosa's creative histories of Central America - imbuing real and imagined figures with consciousness, while operating within the frame of historical "truth."
The story of Lee H. Oswald was interesting, but the machinations of the (imagined?) disgruntled operatives was the strong point of this novel for me. Though there has been much discourse about the subjectivity of History since the time this book was published, it still manages poignancy. What distance stands between History and "truth" - to the extent that anything is universally true? And importantly who determines what serves as the historical basis for truth? Are the many seemingly random events that define history actually part of some secret and subversive plot(s)? If you ask DeLillo (or Pynchon, or many other paranoia-post-modern writers) the answer elusively is that it may be.
For any individual - what difference is there between objectivity of events, and their subjective interpretations of them? If reality is only "real" through the filter of interpretation, then the body of what someone believes is their reality, until and unless it experiences exterior friction or counter-evidence. If there was a time that people took the word of History as gospel, that time is certainly past. You could certainly imagine a similarly counter-factual ("alternate factual") history akin to Libra for many contemporary events - from QAnon and Pizzagate to the January 6th insurrection - and you could probably read them somewhere on Reddit or some other dark and damp corner of the internet (albeit rendered more haplessly than in this book).
Surveying the History of America, there is much evidence of interested and subversive parties within the government really and actually affecting the contours of our present reality, so is the theory expounded in this novel much of a departure from what may actually have happened? Maybe someone knows, but the rest of us can only speculate. Reading Libra I found myself believing more and more in such a possibility, and many more possibilities.
I would happily recommend this book for its many merits. In all major facets of the Novel, this book marks very highly. Characterization, plot, dialogue - all are highs. For the questions it poses about history, politics, and reality, it is both a compulsively readable but also very thoughtful expedition, without the divisive hijinks typical to "post-modern" sprawls. ...more
I love Hitchcock's Vertigo, it is one of my favorite films. And I have always been a particular admirer of Kim Novak's brilliant and improbable heroinI love Hitchcock's Vertigo, it is one of my favorite films. And I have always been a particular admirer of Kim Novak's brilliant and improbable heroine-villain. The demands of Novak's acting to portray two complex roles: co-conspirator Judy-as-haunted-Madeleine and Judy-as-determinedly-not-Madeleine-while-being-turned-into-Madeliene. Imagine being the true character of Judy in both of these roles she is forced to play by choice and by fate. So I was intrigued to discover this book, going into it, having given the same premise some deliberate thought.
I confess I was a bit disappointed. I think the failure of this book lives in the author's passion for giving Judy redemption. The entire book brooks no criticism of Judy's choices - she is totally naive and improbably oblivions to the dark machinations which she is so obviously a participant. Periods of the novel require significant suspension of belief - even for noir.
Before I deter too many from this book by cataloguing my critiques - if you enjoy the movie Vertigo, I think this is a well-written (though not quite impressively written) re-visitation and interpolation of the events of the movie, and if that interests you, then do check this book out - I made it to the end.
Also, spoilers below.
So now, here's some of what I think this novel's crimes are...
Judy Barton is an interesting and complex (if not very modern) female character. What this novel robs her of is her very interest. In devoting itself to Judy's total redemption, she scrubs her of what makes her (and the story of Vertigo) so interesting. What makes Judy so interesting is that she is simultaneously villain and victim, murderer and martyr. To diagnose her situation as oblivion deprives her female agency.
In the film, Novak's performance as the haunted Madeleine is eerily true feeling, even knowing that it is an act. In the novel this is explained a bit forcibly by taking a method acting class, and feeling sorry for a rich man? The motivation felt so hollow and unbelievable. It seems to me that Judy's character is looking for a savior. The world as it is, with men like Gavin Elster at the helm, creates a world victims, drowning - the American bootstrap myth which monopolizes power and apportions themselves the lion's share of freedoms. Particularly for a single woman in that world, life could be like drowning. The backstory which described the bars of Judy's particular prison to find herself seeking Elster (then Scottie) as her savior is one which I think is deserving of exploration. A woman so passionately in need of a savior (or in obsessive love) she would kill a woman, she would so embody the lie devised with Elster. While I believe it entirely likely Judy began he life in a conventional middle class upbringing in Salinas, there are certainly darker and more complex realities of Judy's life than alotted her in Powers's novel.
The novel's pacing felt very uneven, especially taking its billing from a multi-peak art thriller. The majority of the effort of this novel is a sort of Freudian history of Judy's upbringing. Her close relationship with her Father, her envy-competitive relationship with her Sister, her first love and first love lost. Coming from Vertigo, this reads like a conventional coming of age story, with a sort of bizarre caper tacked on a bit slapdash for a conclusion. By the time Judy arrives in San Francisco, the novel feels to have already lost steam, and by the time Judy and Scottie are reunited, Powers seems impatient for it to be over.
The entirety of the film occurs in the last ~70 pages, and reads as summary of the movie, largely. For me the events of the film (and perhaps the year of Scottie's remission, which is skipped on the screen), feel so ripe for exploration via the unique strengths of the novel. While the question "What brought Judy to this arrangement in life?" is of course one that should be answered, it feels like the author couldn't quite image a true backstory of so complex and villain-heroine, and opted out via an "amnesia"-adjacent deus ex machina.
From a genre perspective, it felt a disservice to lean away from the noir genre of the film. This novel reads more like watered down realism, rather than a work of much imagination. Judy is an iconic noir femme-fatale, of the most interesting sub-typing. Noir is a grim wonderland, it is a lens of the world that constructs complexity from nakedly archetypal characters. Hitchcock subverted the simplicity of noir archetypes in his creations of Scottie and Judy, but more faithfully pursues the character of Scottie, frequently dropping hints about his fears of heights and intimacy, his past relationship, his relative wealth, power, reputation. Judy is a mystery, which I think can be read as a flatter character. While this book redeems her morality, it does not redeem her complexity....more
It was hard to say what the purpose of this novel is, why it was written, besides "what if depression was externalized as a blaHm this book was rough.
It was hard to say what the purpose of this novel is, why it was written, besides "what if depression was externalized as a black hole - isn't that a neat idea?". Besides that it was a lot of dull, two-dimensional horrible characters, sort of doing little inconsequential things.
I read this largely because it was about working in tech in San Francisco while being sort of miserable and/or disenchanted with life/tech/etc. I lived this for six years and I thought maybe this would be an enjoyable if slight read. Alas, I found this book to be repulsively boring.
I am baffled that there appear to be many five star reviews of this book. I'm trying to understand the target audience for this, and more than that what qualities would make that audience give it a 4/5 star review. I think are undeniably more deft handlings of depression in fiction - ones that make artful observations about depression, and even have a compelling story - even though it left me a little cold, My Year of Rest and Relaxation is undeniably more interesting and more successful. It doesn't even have the benefit of being very salacious.
The stylistic flourishes in this novel, for example the definitions in different chapters, felt pretty gimmicky and didn't add much - while it might make sense as an organizing principle, its hard to say how it adds to the novel, besides maybe being perceived as cleverness? yikes. The level of writing is worse than you'd find in the New Yorker, as is the handling of ideas - of which there are not many.
Compared to California noir greats like Chandler, Hammett, Cain, I¡¯m afraid that reading this one felt a bit like reading magazine copy. The story is Compared to California noir greats like Chandler, Hammett, Cain, I¡¯m afraid that reading this one felt a bit like reading magazine copy. The story is very simple, and aside from dealing with the muck of society, there isn¡¯t really much crime or noir here.
The gist of the story is Harry, a war veteran bumming in San Francisco, painting and dropping out of his previous life (wife, etc), meets Helen, an runway rich girl with a serious drinking problem. He falls for her, and she spends all her time and all his money (and the kindness of sailors) on booze. Until one day they make a suicide pact, which only partially comes off.
I¡¯m frankly surprised to see such high reviews for this. Perhaps if you¡¯re diehard for pulpy 40¡¯s and 50¡¯s noir then this might scratch your itch. I just felt that this didn¡¯t really go all-out in the ways that make noir such a pleasure to read. Even without a hard boiled anti-hero of a detective to deliver some sharp and dark one-liners, the overall violence and immediacy of noir is missing here. What you do get is a lingering sense of malaise, a world weariness and nihilism. But without a more skilled hand at prose writing this all feels a bit empty and grim. And frankly a bit boring.
I endeavored on because many had mentioned a twist at the end that subverted the whole novel and elevated it above the pulp. But unfortunately the twist felt sort of knowingly clever without adding very much to the novel. (In terms of reframing some of the novels event it succeeds, but it does not redeem the novel¡¯s major shortcomings).
Sad to say that this one did not give me the grand cinema or muscular poetry of Noir Greats, and I won¡¯t be adding any more of Willeford to my to-read list. ...more
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