Melancholia

January 22, 2013 § Leave a comment

Finished: The Fifty Year Sword, by Mark Z. Danielewski.

Reading now: 20 Lines a Day, by Harry Mathews; Vertigo, by W. G. Sebald.

I find myself with shockingly little to say about T50YS.  Lovely, and I enjoyed it, but I found it rather more gimmicky and full of design-for-design’s-sake than the two “novels.”  I look forward to another book-length work from Danielewski.  (All the same, though, I’m still giddy that my parents got me the signed limited edition that comes in the five-latched box.  Nice to have a pretty, menacing object on the shelves.)

Mostly, I’m full of *FEELINGS* thanks to Sebald and Mathews.  Sebald I expected this from.  The possibility of bawling and/or hysterically laugh-sobbing comes with every page, and the second section of Vertigo, “All’estero,” is filling me with equal parts the quintessentially Sebaldian sense of uncanny melancholy, delighted wonder, and the weird pressure you get behind your eyeballs from too much emotion trying to spill out.  Here, he’s moved from Freud’s Vienna to Mann’s Venice to Pisanello’s Verona, where he encounters incredibly bad omens.  A pizzeria with the proprietors listed as “Cadavero Carlo e Patierno Vittorio.”  Cadavero?!

The man’s words seem to make me a mess for reasons as yet unclear.

Mathews, on the other hand, I also dearly love, but I didn’t expect such emotional investment in a book of writing exercises and journal entries, ostensibly written as starters to heavier labor of working on his novel-in-progress in the early 1980s.  The book opens with a few very lovely and very sad entries, from St. Bart’s of all places, preoccupied with the recent death of Georges Perec.  One, in which the wind is treated as a kind of didactic metaphor, or literal “plot” device, or neither, or both, is a kind of masterpiece of very short memoir or prose poetry.  He then moves on to his time teaching in New York, and a series of entries featuring “Billy Bodega” as an alter ego for Mathews himself are troubling, touching, and somewhat tricksy in their confessional tone.  Nevertheless, they kind of make me want to curl up in a ball, too.

I have a new theory that January and February are the months in which a person changes the most, precisely because they are the months when little is happening in day-to-day life.  I may have made a mistake, reading these books in January.  I’m loving them both but didn’t expect such a strong reaction to them.  Here’s hoping for plenty of sunshine this week.

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