Author name: eugene

In Sicily by Elio Vittorini

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a beautiful and opaque book… both more and less than it impresses to be… more, because it *is* a fugue–vittorini actually thought of it more as an opera, but in any case: a beautiful music of characters and basic desires and hopes. less, because its mystery is partly the result of some functional opacity–to hide from fascist censors–so its mystery is somewhat generated by utility rather than an inherent and natural profound ineffable-ness. the result may look the same so it’s eye of the beholder stuff whether that makes a diff to you. …except for the fact that the allegory has no clear signified, a very beautiful allegorical novel.

consume. 

Simply Separate People by Lynn Crawford

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i absolutely loved this one… the sentences seem thought thinking in this one, clever but not ostentatious. character is created by language rather than by event. though, that said, there might, if not for events and circumstance, be only one character. but i loved that character. she was smart and curious and acknowledging of pain and conscious of privledge. an unexpected sincere pleasure.

consume via amazon.

Veronica by Mary Gaitskill

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best new fiction i’ve read in a loooong time. hidden within its seemingly conventional narrative, is a sprawling style of heartache barely held together by the integrity and personality of the writing. honest and dark.

Island People by Coleman Dowell

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a strung together series of short stories a novel makes, this time. the best book ever. in death-defying sentences and in a tremendous organic and complex structure, this book is an autobiography of the best kind, made completely of true lies, which rewards you with basic insights into the human condish, a now deceased nyc artworld, and one spectacular case-history of schizophrenia.

The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro

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i’d tried years ago and couldn’t get through it. but this time, with my wife’s help, did. a beautifully sustained dreamworld slash alternative reality your choice. a massive accomplishment. i read it after NEVER LET ME GO, which i thought was a similar project, but the latter lost steam i thought as it tried to explain itself after the first third. ishiguro’s always in control though, which is admirable. in this book he lets the dream be its own explanation, which is a purer effort though probably more likely to frustrate. in this one he has some beautiful ruminations on the nature of art and celebrity from the voice and POV of the narrator, a famous pianist.

The Possibility of an Island by Michel Houellebecq

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I understand the desire to dismiss this book and this author–but he’s too good a novelist for it. Theo Tait has a great take on him in the London Review of Books here, which also has some juicy biography bits:
http://www.lrb.co.uk/v28/n03/tait01_.html
He isn’t always as honest as he purports himself to be, is probably the worst thing you can say about him. His vileness is just there, condemnable, what else to say about it other than maybe it’s simultaneously repulsive and titillating. But the weight, development, momentum he can put into a book is very impressive.

The Street of Crocodiles By Bruno Schulz

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from what i can tell from the intro–though i might be reading this wrong–it’s a collection of love letters. by that: a collection of stories sent to a beloved. with that in mind, there something a little circumscribed about where the stories will go, as if it doesn’t want to reveal too much darkness or allow for bitter feelings–for why advertise *that* to a potential lover?

different from what i expected, which i guess was some kind of collection of kafkaesque stories. instead a very concentrated poetic language. a portrait of a father as dreamer and house-prisoner. nothing happens, more so than kafka, and the proust comparison on the cover is maybe more apt. the description of seasons and his varieties of sunlight are very beautiful.

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