xiaoxiaoo

This spirited novel gets off to a questionable start. I believe it is intended that way, until you fall into its rhythm. At about page 60 I was hooked. By that time, I really grokked the narrator's flow and the prose became so natural that it was like I was living the story. The low-star reviewers did not get it. This was not "zany" or "40's style" or vacuous. The narration is intentionally tongue-in-cheek and subversive. And yet...and yet. The Woody Allen movie, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, had a similar style of narrator. It winks at you and yet it rings true. It is agile and poised and yet disarming. James Collins' story is like a painting or a beautiful photograph. Do you know how a painting or photograph, although depicting something real, can seem fantastical because of the play of light and shadow and mood and atmosphere? Do you know how a painting can be something unearthly, unreal, but because of the emotional rendering and quality can seem more genuine than a realistic interpretation? That is how this novel unfolds. It reveals itself through the crevices of the seemingly obvious story. It is like this big paradox. From the (wink wink) outer story the aperture widens, or even narrows simultaneously. You are holding a camera and you focus it on a field and in this field is an array of images. If you choose to look at it shallowly, then you will only see genus and species. But if you are sympathetic to your surroundings, there is a whole palette of beautiful colors and tones and textures to capture and captivate. This is a page-turning love story. The characters are not meant to mimic "real" life. It is a romantic tale that hovers above reality but is an equipoise between absurd and exquisite. It is very human with spare but striking prose. His "big words," as some reviewers complain about, (they need to get back to their James Patterson, I guess) are not pretentious or overblown. The author has an elegant, clean, and precise but artistic flow of metaphors and imagery. I do not see one false note in this story. Yes, the characters are almost bigger than life in its broad strokes. But it is the small and eloquent strokes that give it its invigorating originality and artistic merit. There is a skeptical and farcical outer shell harboring a thumping big red heart. This is a classic bildungsroman. It is also refreshing, clear as glass, never canned. There is moral ambiguity and well-wrought characterizations, a noirish tale of bright and beaming sunlight. The whole unfolding is done in the colors of paradox. I actually felt slapped by the bad reviews because they were so far off the mark. They read like bully reviews. It reminded me of people criticizing Picasso's art by saying, "It is just a bunch of squares." It is OK to dislike and criticize a work of art--each to his own--but when something that ignorant is said about a work of art that the viewer does not even understand, then it reflects more on the reviewer. The beauty of this novel is that it is sublime but direct, sly but open-hearted, insouciant but mindful, irreverent but reverent, layered but simple. It does have a similar tone to a British comedy of manners but it is so much warmer and more generous.

2023-06-04 01:46