two times the amour fou! …a writing of passion and extremes not dissimilar to marguerite duras and georges bataille, karapanou’s RIEN NE VA PLUS tells a break-up story twice, completely shifting not only perspective but wholly changing event and characterization. the effect is more subtle than simply the apprehension of relative truth à la a he-said-she-said story—but rather something is revealed about our own ability (and desire) to be both brutalizer and willing submissive.
there’s something about this type of passion tale that’s inviolable, so evidently pure that it appears impossible to fake. it respects something, keeps something holy so that, despite itself, it maintains its integrity. and yet karapanou’s novel is also entirely about the deceptions and lens of narrative, about the malleability of truth. it’s the congress of a pure erotic truth meeting with skilled and pointed artifice then that gives the book it’s force.
also its immaculate style (beautifully translated from the greek by Karen emmerich), e.g.
–I love you more than anything, Alkiviadis told me, eyeing the boys around him the café, who returned his gaze.
–Alkis, are you only attracted to boys?
–Yes, but it’s you I love.
My cup of coffee spilled on the lap of the blond boy at the table next to outs. He was wearing green corduroy pants.
–It’s nothing, he said, catching Alkis’s eye.
was an appreciated kablooey in an otherwise reading dry spell.
having hit a little of a dry spell in reading revelations, stumbling onto it in a bookstore, margarita karapanou’s RIEN NE VA PLUS has been the best
Karapanou’s RIEN NE VA PLUS there’s something about passion that makes it rare, inviolable, and so evidently pure that it seems impossible to fake. It respects something, keeps something holy so that, despite itself, it maintains its integrity. karapanou
two times the amour fou! …a writing of passion and extremes not dissimilar to marguerite duras and georges bataille, karapanou’s RIEN NE VA PLUS tells a break-up story twice, completely shifting not only perspective but wholly changing event and characterization. the effect is more subtle than simply the apprehension of relative truth à la a he-said-she-said story — but rather something is revealed about our own ability (and desire) to be both brutalizer and willing submissive.
there’s something about this type of passion tale that’s inviolable, so evidently pure that it appears impossible to fake. it respects something, keeps something holy so that, despite itself, it maintains its integrity ….and yet karapanou’s novel is also entirely about the deceptions and lens of narrative, about the malleability of truth. it’s the congress of erotic truth with skilled and pointed artifice then that arguably gives this superb book its force.
also its immaculate style (beautifully translated from the greek by karen emmerich), e.g.
–I love you more than anything, Alkiviadis told me, eyeing the boys around him in the café, who returned his gaze.
–Alkis, are you only attracted to boys?
–Yes, but it’s you I love.
My cup of coffee spilled on the lap of the blond boy at the table next to ours. He was wearing green corduroy pants.
–It’s nothing, he said, catching Alkis’s eye.
pick it up from clockroot books or your local library.
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an essay on karapanou, who died in 2008: http://www.criticalflame.org/fiction/0110_fragopoulos.htm