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The Curfew
William and Molly lead a life of small pleasures, riddles at the kitchen table, and games of string and orange peels. All around them a city rages with war. When the uprising began, William’s wife was taken, leaving him alone with their young daughter. They keep their heads down and try to remain unnoticed as police patrol the streets, enforcing a curfew and arresting citizens. But when an old friend seeks William out, claiming to know what happened to his wife, William must risk everything. He ventures out after dark, and young Molly is left to play, reconstructing his dangerous voyage, his past, and their future. An astounding portrait of fierce love within a world of random violence, The Curfew is a mesmerizing feat of literary imagination.
210 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2011
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2328 people want to read
About the author
Jesse Ball
32 books916 followersJesse Ball (1978-) Born in New York. The author of fourteen books, most recently, the novel How To Set a Fire and Why. His prizewinning works of absurdity have been published to acclaim in many parts of the world and translated into more than a dozen languages. The recipient of the Paris Review's Plimpton Prize, as well as fellowships from the NEA, the Heinz foundation, and others, he is on the faculty at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 268 reviews
October 1, 2019
There will be no magic, whatsoever. Magic is either a poverty-stricken necessity or a wealthy fantasy. We are in neither of those straits, and what cannot be explained will be left unknown.
My 7th Jesse Ball novel, and yet another wonderful book.
The Curfew opens with William Drysdale, twenty-nine, once-violinist, at present, epitaphorist, and his daughter, Molly, eight, schoolchild.
William's current job is to write the epitaphs for grave stones, in consultation with the bereaved (and sometimes with the not-yet-deceased), although his aim is to achieve a desired effect rather than pure fidelity to their life story. William was a former violinist (more later on why former) and when asked how we came across this role replies:
"I was always good with puzzles, and I have memorized the complete works of five poets which I can recite on command. Four years ago, when I could no longer do the work that I did before, I saw an advertisement in the paper. It read, Position requiring: ingenuity, restraint, quiet manner, odd hours, impeccable judgment, and eloquence. Unworthy candidates unwelcome. I was the only one to apply."
William's musical career was ended four years earlier by the authoritarian government that now rules and who, overnight, banned music, a regime which also arrested his wife, daughter of a previously prominent politician, and William and Molly have had no word of her since:
An ordinary nation, full of ordinary citizens, their concerns, difficulties, cruelties, injustices, had gone to sleep one night and woken the next morning to find in the place of the old government an invisible state, with its own concerns, difficulties, cruelties, injustices. Everything was strictly controlled and maintained, so much so that it was possible, within certain bounds, to pretend that nothing had changed at all.
Who had overthrown it? Why? Such things weren't clear at all, just as it wasn't entirely clear that anything had been overthrown. It was as if a curtain had been drawn and one could see to that curtain but not beyond. One remembered that the world had been different, and not long ago. But how? This was the question that nagged at those who could not avoid asking questions.
But increasingly those with the nagging doubts are starting to actively resist the regime:
But recently, only recently, those who could not bear to be governed in this way had taken steps. It was impossible to say exactly what had altered, but clashes between the two sides were now common, and the people of the city had grown used to the finding of bodies without explanation.
Such explanations, of course, may only be offered later, when one side has won.
In the novel, William is trying to live his life as quietly as possible, for Molly's sake, when an encounter with an old friend, claiming to have news of his wife, incentivises him to break the, unproclaimed but very strictly enforced, curfew and join a meeting of those who 'had taken steps.' Meanwhile he leaves the (mute) Molly with his neighbours, and the husband, a former master puppeteer (a form of entertainment also now banned) works with Molly to produce a puppet show that acts out her history, her present fears, and perhaps her future.
Ball's novels, if dystopian, aren't noted for their detailed world building and this is no exception, the narrator telling us up front:
I shall introduce this city and its occupants as a series of objects whose relationship cannot be told with any certainty. Though violence may connect them, though pity, compassion, hope may marry one thing to another, still all that is in process cannot be judged, and that which has passed has gone beyond judgment, which leaves us again, with lives and belongings, places, shuttling here and there, hapless, benighted, discordant.
Although from interviews at the time of his 2018 novel Census, Ball seems to have been frustrated with the reception of The Curfew, and others of his books, as experimental rather than political:
My 7th Jesse Ball novel, and yet another wonderful book.
The Curfew opens with William Drysdale, twenty-nine, once-violinist, at present, epitaphorist, and his daughter, Molly, eight, schoolchild.
William's current job is to write the epitaphs for grave stones, in consultation with the bereaved (and sometimes with the not-yet-deceased), although his aim is to achieve a desired effect rather than pure fidelity to their life story. William was a former violinist (more later on why former) and when asked how we came across this role replies:
"I was always good with puzzles, and I have memorized the complete works of five poets which I can recite on command. Four years ago, when I could no longer do the work that I did before, I saw an advertisement in the paper. It read, Position requiring: ingenuity, restraint, quiet manner, odd hours, impeccable judgment, and eloquence. Unworthy candidates unwelcome. I was the only one to apply."
William's musical career was ended four years earlier by the authoritarian government that now rules and who, overnight, banned music, a regime which also arrested his wife, daughter of a previously prominent politician, and William and Molly have had no word of her since:
An ordinary nation, full of ordinary citizens, their concerns, difficulties, cruelties, injustices, had gone to sleep one night and woken the next morning to find in the place of the old government an invisible state, with its own concerns, difficulties, cruelties, injustices. Everything was strictly controlled and maintained, so much so that it was possible, within certain bounds, to pretend that nothing had changed at all.
Who had overthrown it? Why? Such things weren't clear at all, just as it wasn't entirely clear that anything had been overthrown. It was as if a curtain had been drawn and one could see to that curtain but not beyond. One remembered that the world had been different, and not long ago. But how? This was the question that nagged at those who could not avoid asking questions.
But increasingly those with the nagging doubts are starting to actively resist the regime:
But recently, only recently, those who could not bear to be governed in this way had taken steps. It was impossible to say exactly what had altered, but clashes between the two sides were now common, and the people of the city had grown used to the finding of bodies without explanation.
Such explanations, of course, may only be offered later, when one side has won.
In the novel, William is trying to live his life as quietly as possible, for Molly's sake, when an encounter with an old friend, claiming to have news of his wife, incentivises him to break the, unproclaimed but very strictly enforced, curfew and join a meeting of those who 'had taken steps.' Meanwhile he leaves the (mute) Molly with his neighbours, and the husband, a former master puppeteer (a form of entertainment also now banned) works with Molly to produce a puppet show that acts out her history, her present fears, and perhaps her future.
Ball's novels, if dystopian, aren't noted for their detailed world building and this is no exception, the narrator telling us up front:
I shall introduce this city and its occupants as a series of objects whose relationship cannot be told with any certainty. Though violence may connect them, though pity, compassion, hope may marry one thing to another, still all that is in process cannot be judged, and that which has passed has gone beyond judgment, which leaves us again, with lives and belongings, places, shuttling here and there, hapless, benighted, discordant.
Although from interviews at the time of his 2018 novel Census, Ball seems to have been frustrated with the reception of The Curfew, and others of his books, as experimental rather than political:
I found that the limitations of the reading public, to confidently assert choices as they read, makes it difficult for people to see that my work in general is really an extended social critique of the moral choices that have been made by the Western world. But instead the books are just thought of as being experimental literature. It’s a terrible sandwich board to wear as you try to scuttle along the street. The Curfew did very well in Argentina, where they have a direct application of a similar totalitarian regime, and people being disappeared, and so they could read The Curfew and immediately know exactly what I was talking about, and like it and enjoy it, but here in the U.S., it just seems to be a book about puppets or something.
http://www.piersgelly.com/wp-content/...
January 7, 2020
I am working my way through Jesse Ball’s novels. Having started with his more recent work, going back to the start, with a perspective on where it is all heading, is fascinating. He is rapidly rising up my list of favourite authors.
Ball writes in a minimalist style. Short sentences and paragraphs, lots of white space. That’s on the page. Off the page, he leaves a lot for the reader to imagine and connect. By nature, he is a poet and artist and this is clear in his choice of words and his deliberate choices to leave things unsaid.
The Curfew starts by introducing us to William and Molly. William used to be a musician but is now an “epitaphorist” i.e. he helps people write epitaphs. Molly is his mute daughter. Reading this first part of the book, I was reminded of a book Ball wrote far more recently, Census, because both involve a man visiting people in their homes and finding a way to write down some kind of summary of a life. Here, there is both pathos and humour as William talks with people about how to summarise the life of a loved one or, in some cases, their own life as they make preparations.
As we read on, it becomes clear that William and Molly live under some kind of totalitarian regime. Details are, as you would expect in a Jesse Ball novel, vague, but we learn that William’s wife (Molly’s mother) disappeared some time ago. When William learns of an opportunity to find out more about this, he takes the decision to break the curfew and make a trip after dark. Molly is left with a neighbouring elderly couple, one of whom used to be a puppeteer and he and Molly prepare and put on a puppet show. As, again, you would expect from Ball, this is no ordinary puppet show.
This felt to me like a change from Ball’s first two novels. Samedi The Deafness and The Way Through Doors seemed to take delight in invention, in twists and turns that feel spontaneous but are clearly very deliberate. This third novel seems far more restrained. For me, it felt far more emotional. I really enjoyed the tricks and turns of the first two novels. I was moved by the more intimate nature of this third novel.
A review at npr.org concludes:
The Curfew demands to be puzzled over. It's compelling and sly, and it says much with its silences. Ball plays with the idea of what would happen if certain things, like knowledge or music or people, were inexplicably removed, and how those who remained would compensate for those gaps. As an aside, a character muses, "There is a theory that the sun is made up of thousands of suns arranged in a war each against the others. It is a discredited theory, but it has never been disproven." Truth becomes flimsy when facts are being withheld, whether it's the truth about a person's life or basic science.
Ball writes in a minimalist style. Short sentences and paragraphs, lots of white space. That’s on the page. Off the page, he leaves a lot for the reader to imagine and connect. By nature, he is a poet and artist and this is clear in his choice of words and his deliberate choices to leave things unsaid.
The Curfew starts by introducing us to William and Molly. William used to be a musician but is now an “epitaphorist” i.e. he helps people write epitaphs. Molly is his mute daughter. Reading this first part of the book, I was reminded of a book Ball wrote far more recently, Census, because both involve a man visiting people in their homes and finding a way to write down some kind of summary of a life. Here, there is both pathos and humour as William talks with people about how to summarise the life of a loved one or, in some cases, their own life as they make preparations.
As we read on, it becomes clear that William and Molly live under some kind of totalitarian regime. Details are, as you would expect in a Jesse Ball novel, vague, but we learn that William’s wife (Molly’s mother) disappeared some time ago. When William learns of an opportunity to find out more about this, he takes the decision to break the curfew and make a trip after dark. Molly is left with a neighbouring elderly couple, one of whom used to be a puppeteer and he and Molly prepare and put on a puppet show. As, again, you would expect from Ball, this is no ordinary puppet show.
This felt to me like a change from Ball’s first two novels. Samedi The Deafness and The Way Through Doors seemed to take delight in invention, in twists and turns that feel spontaneous but are clearly very deliberate. This third novel seems far more restrained. For me, it felt far more emotional. I really enjoyed the tricks and turns of the first two novels. I was moved by the more intimate nature of this third novel.
A review at npr.org concludes:
The Curfew demands to be puzzled over. It's compelling and sly, and it says much with its silences. Ball plays with the idea of what would happen if certain things, like knowledge or music or people, were inexplicably removed, and how those who remained would compensate for those gaps. As an aside, a character muses, "There is a theory that the sun is made up of thousands of suns arranged in a war each against the others. It is a discredited theory, but it has never been disproven." Truth becomes flimsy when facts are being withheld, whether it's the truth about a person's life or basic science.
October 20, 2019
Leído para mi clase de literatura inglesa, y me resultó una grata sorpresa (la rima no fue intencionada). Honestamente no sabía qué esperar de esta novela ya que no la conocía ni de nombre, pero terminé más que emocionada y tocada con ella. Es una lectura desgarradora, quizá por eso mi sorpresa. No sé, su final me dejó un poco sensible. La disfruté de principio a fin, realmente la recomiendo.
December 11, 2019
Jesse Ball’s third novel (really more of a novella) and a marked change in tone from his first two novels (“The Way Through Doors” and “Samedi the Deafness”). Those prioritised experimentation and an exploration of storytelling (and absurdity, lying, fantasy, dreaming) over politics; with their (my phrase) non-sequitur similes rather than fable or analogy.
This book is much more in keeping with “The Diver’s Game” – with a clear political analogy, in this case to totalitarian regimes – although still with much of Ball’s absurdity and exploration of storytelling.
There is fun and absurdity in the opening section as we follow William on some of his epitaph appointments – particularly the widow who ends up agreeing with William to have her 80+ husband’s graveyard written as though he died as a child (so that visitor’s are more likely to tarry by the grave and share her sense of loss). I think also that William’s job fits with a society which itself is grieving for its own loss (of freedom and of fun)
While the last section, with a puppet show which starts by telling a story and ends up being the story was reminiscent of the intertwining of multi-layer narrative in “The Way Through Doors” as well as effectively functioning something like a lucid dream (one of Ball’s favorite topics).
I also enjoyed some of the reflection on living under the regime – how it affects and is commented on by different generations, how living through it compares to past eras:
Another enjoyable novel from this author – ultimately an explanation of how a family can survive in testing times
This book is much more in keeping with “The Diver’s Game” – with a clear political analogy, in this case to totalitarian regimes – although still with much of Ball’s absurdity and exploration of storytelling.
There is fun and absurdity in the opening section as we follow William on some of his epitaph appointments – particularly the widow who ends up agreeing with William to have her 80+ husband’s graveyard written as though he died as a child (so that visitor’s are more likely to tarry by the grave and share her sense of loss). I think also that William’s job fits with a society which itself is grieving for its own loss (of freedom and of fun)
An ordinary nation, full of ordinary citizens, their concerns, difficulties, cruelties, injustices, had gone to sleep one night and woken the next morning to find in the place of the old government an invisible state, with its own concerns, difficulties, cruelties, injustices. Everything was strictly controlled and maintained, so much so that it was possible, within certain bounds, to pretend that nothing had changed at all.
While the last section, with a puppet show which starts by telling a story and ends up being the story was reminiscent of the intertwining of multi-layer narrative in “The Way Through Doors” as well as effectively functioning something like a lucid dream (one of Ball’s favorite topics).
I also enjoyed some of the reflection on living under the regime – how it affects and is commented on by different generations, how living through it compares to past eras:
The nothing that had changed at all was really beyond beating. Houses and buildings were full of desperate people who deeply misunderstood their desperation. This was due to an artful explanation on the part of the government. It is impossible to tell, many said out of the corners of their mouths, if the ministry is thinking well of us – if they are acting on our behalf. Yet still there were acorns falling from trees, fish breaking the surfaces of ponds etc.. In a long life, said many an old man, this but one more thing. Yet there were others who were young and knew nothing about the helplessness of life’s condition. Did they glow with light? They did, but of course, it could not be seen. And all the while, the grinding of bones like machinery, and the light step of tightrope walkers out beyond the windows.
One things of the age when people died in winter, often for now reason – or when children simply passed away without explanation or grief. But is it true? Were they so hard who placed these small bodies into the earth? It is disputed – and though one may say, all is the same and relative, yet still clearly, there are some who are followed in the street by vengeful anger, a clothing they may never remove. I said – life begins for some when it ends for others and in another century, I might have died an infant. What sort of riddle is it to suppose the grief my death would have entailed. Is it not on the ground over that very grave that my life proceeds.
Another enjoyable novel from this author – ultimately an explanation of how a family can survive in testing times
July 22, 2018
3.5/5
Toque de queda es una novela distópica, pero distinta. Sí es cierto que toma muchos elementos clásicos del género (más que nada, el tema del gobierno totalitario, que controla todo pero los ciudadanos no saben quiénes son los policías y quiénes no; todo es confuso), pero lo interesante del trabajo de Jesse Ball es la manera en que logra plasmar esa historia en la novela.
La trama gira en torno a la vida de William y su hija Molly. William es violinista, pero ha tenido que dejar de tocar porque en C. (la ciudad en la que viven), la música está prohibida. Es, a su vez, escritor de epitafios. Molly tiene ocho años, es muda y muy inteligente. La novela, entonces, muestra el día a día de los dos. No es una historia plagada de acción, sino que creo que lo mejor de Toque de queda está en los detalles. No solo argumentales, sino también gráficos. Por un lado, la relación entre padre e hija, los diálogos, las reuniones de William con sus clientes, la figura de Louisa (esposa de William y madre de Molly, asesinada por el gobierno), y demás cuestiones que hacen de esta novela una más profunda, más completa. Por otro lado, Toque de queda se convierte en una historia poética no solo por los temas que toca y, más que nada, la forma en que lo hace, sino por el trabajo que realiza el autor en la parte visual del libro. La novela tiene poco más de 200 páginas, pero en realidad podríamos considerarla una nouvelle. La cantidad de hojas que contiene aumenta porque Ball juega con la ubicación de las palabras, el tamaño de la fuente y los capítulos cortos, además de que hay espacios bastante grandes entre los saltos de párrafos. En ese sentido también Toque de queda es un libro distinto.
La primera parte, en mi opinión, es la mejor. La segunda mantiene más o menos el nivel, y en la tercera decae un poco. La idea de esta última parte me pareció interesante (mezclar la realidad con la obra de títeres), pero quizás no la encontré realizada de la mejor manera. Aunque es probable que esa haya sido la intención del autor, por momentos se vuelve bastante confusa, y difícil de seguir. No por la prosa del autor, que de hecho es clara y precisa (y tiene algunas frases muy lindas), pero sí por cómo va desarrollando esta tercera parte, en ese ir y venir entre la realidad (que en realidad es ficción) dentro de la ficción (la obra de títeres). Algo así como una ficción dentro de otra.
Toque de queda es un libro interesante, que parte de una premisa poco original, que está en la mayoría de las distopías no solo clásicas sino también contemporáneas. Sin embargo, el autor le concede un estilo personal en la medida en que decide trabajar sobre la parte visual y la relación entre los dos protagonistas.
Toque de queda es una novela distópica, pero distinta. Sí es cierto que toma muchos elementos clásicos del género (más que nada, el tema del gobierno totalitario, que controla todo pero los ciudadanos no saben quiénes son los policías y quiénes no; todo es confuso), pero lo interesante del trabajo de Jesse Ball es la manera en que logra plasmar esa historia en la novela.
La trama gira en torno a la vida de William y su hija Molly. William es violinista, pero ha tenido que dejar de tocar porque en C. (la ciudad en la que viven), la música está prohibida. Es, a su vez, escritor de epitafios. Molly tiene ocho años, es muda y muy inteligente. La novela, entonces, muestra el día a día de los dos. No es una historia plagada de acción, sino que creo que lo mejor de Toque de queda está en los detalles. No solo argumentales, sino también gráficos. Por un lado, la relación entre padre e hija, los diálogos, las reuniones de William con sus clientes, la figura de Louisa (esposa de William y madre de Molly, asesinada por el gobierno), y demás cuestiones que hacen de esta novela una más profunda, más completa. Por otro lado, Toque de queda se convierte en una historia poética no solo por los temas que toca y, más que nada, la forma en que lo hace, sino por el trabajo que realiza el autor en la parte visual del libro. La novela tiene poco más de 200 páginas, pero en realidad podríamos considerarla una nouvelle. La cantidad de hojas que contiene aumenta porque Ball juega con la ubicación de las palabras, el tamaño de la fuente y los capítulos cortos, además de que hay espacios bastante grandes entre los saltos de párrafos. En ese sentido también Toque de queda es un libro distinto.
La primera parte, en mi opinión, es la mejor. La segunda mantiene más o menos el nivel, y en la tercera decae un poco. La idea de esta última parte me pareció interesante (mezclar la realidad con la obra de títeres), pero quizás no la encontré realizada de la mejor manera. Aunque es probable que esa haya sido la intención del autor, por momentos se vuelve bastante confusa, y difícil de seguir. No por la prosa del autor, que de hecho es clara y precisa (y tiene algunas frases muy lindas), pero sí por cómo va desarrollando esta tercera parte, en ese ir y venir entre la realidad (que en realidad es ficción) dentro de la ficción (la obra de títeres). Algo así como una ficción dentro de otra.
Toque de queda es un libro interesante, que parte de una premisa poco original, que está en la mayoría de las distopías no solo clásicas sino también contemporáneas. Sin embargo, el autor le concede un estilo personal en la medida en que decide trabajar sobre la parte visual y la relación entre los dos protagonistas.
November 16, 2024
A bit too clever and twee for its own good, though also quite chilling in parts, given these dark times. Ultimately, a case where less was not more.
October 10, 2017
La primera pregunta que me surge es: ¿cómo leer a un autor extranjero que impreca de cierta manera la historia de nosotros como argentinos?
William es un escritor de epitafios que tiene como hija a Molly, una niña muda e inteligente. Viven en una sociedad gobernada por un sistema totalitario y expandido al punto de no saber diferenciarlo de otras cosas. Nunca sabemos como lectores, menos como personajes, quiénes son agentes del gobierno y quiénes no. Hay personas que mueren con disparos sin saber quiénes lo hicieron y otras que desaparecen al estar bajo la mira del gobierno. Así está Louisa, madre de Molly y esposa de William, que sobrevuela la historia desde su no integridad física. Videla justificaría esto con un "Ni muerta, ni viva. Está desaparecida".
Dentro de ese no saber constante se instala una relación íntima padre e hija que bordea la ternura y lo lúdico. La historia vista a través de un prisma, en este caso una obra de títeres, para recomponer el pasado y el presente.
Toque de queda sirve para continuar pensando cómo la apropiación de lecturas ayuda a seguir entendiendonos desde una historia ajena.
William es un escritor de epitafios que tiene como hija a Molly, una niña muda e inteligente. Viven en una sociedad gobernada por un sistema totalitario y expandido al punto de no saber diferenciarlo de otras cosas. Nunca sabemos como lectores, menos como personajes, quiénes son agentes del gobierno y quiénes no. Hay personas que mueren con disparos sin saber quiénes lo hicieron y otras que desaparecen al estar bajo la mira del gobierno. Así está Louisa, madre de Molly y esposa de William, que sobrevuela la historia desde su no integridad física. Videla justificaría esto con un "Ni muerta, ni viva. Está desaparecida".
Dentro de ese no saber constante se instala una relación íntima padre e hija que bordea la ternura y lo lúdico. La historia vista a través de un prisma, en este caso una obra de títeres, para recomponer el pasado y el presente.
Toque de queda sirve para continuar pensando cómo la apropiación de lecturas ayuda a seguir entendiendonos desde una historia ajena.
July 20, 2011
I'm being a bit tough on this book with only three stars, but I think that's a solid rating. Problem is I kept comparing this in my head to Herta Müller's masterpiece, The Land of Green Plums. Both books are minimalist, with short sections. Both books take place in police states, where paranoia is a way of life. And there's even in a similarity in the tone.
But Müller's novel is work of poetic genius, while Ball's spare approach veers a bit more towards postmodernism. I cared deeply about Müller's characters, who were multi-dimensional, and I cared about Ball's, but found them more predictable, so my emotional involvement was less intense.
Ball really had me for about the first half of the book, and then I became increasingly aware of devices: repetitions; naive phrasings; typographical hyperbole.
Gosh, I do sound harsh, don't I? Well, I'm glad I read this book, and I'd read more by the same author. Because this is a book by a writer with a lot of promise.
But Müller's novel is work of poetic genius, while Ball's spare approach veers a bit more towards postmodernism. I cared deeply about Müller's characters, who were multi-dimensional, and I cared about Ball's, but found them more predictable, so my emotional involvement was less intense.
Ball really had me for about the first half of the book, and then I became increasingly aware of devices: repetitions; naive phrasings; typographical hyperbole.
Gosh, I do sound harsh, don't I? Well, I'm glad I read this book, and I'd read more by the same author. Because this is a book by a writer with a lot of promise.
May 10, 2022
A former violinist has turned epitaphorist and lives with his 9 year old mute daughter, Molly, in an dystopian unnamed country post revolution. Systematic disappearances and massacre have given way to everyday incidents of oppression and random street violence.
Ball’s one bit of humour in this fever-nightmare vision is William’s role as epitaphorist; assisting families to create the perfect life summation of their loved ones, to be carved into their gravestones. He has raised Molly since the ‘disappearance’ of his wife years before.
William and Molly live a tranquil life, under the radar, being careful not to be out after curfew. But one day William meets an old friend on the street and he is drawn into a group of wine drinking subversives. One night he leaves Molly with neighbours and attends a mutinous gathering, where he receives a smuggled violin and a dossier on his wife’s disappearance. Molly involves the neighbours in creating an elaborate puppet show which maps out her parents’ bequest.
Despite its mystery and complications, this is an accessible story, which isn’t always the case with Ball. It highlights what he does so well, the art of omission. The many blanks invite deduction. Often it’s one step up, two steps back, like climbing a scree slope. But when you eventually arrive at the summit, it is hugely rewarding.
In developing its own theory of resistance, its ghoulish, an acerbic piece of grotesque.
Ball’s one bit of humour in this fever-nightmare vision is William’s role as epitaphorist; assisting families to create the perfect life summation of their loved ones, to be carved into their gravestones. He has raised Molly since the ‘disappearance’ of his wife years before.
William and Molly live a tranquil life, under the radar, being careful not to be out after curfew. But one day William meets an old friend on the street and he is drawn into a group of wine drinking subversives. One night he leaves Molly with neighbours and attends a mutinous gathering, where he receives a smuggled violin and a dossier on his wife’s disappearance. Molly involves the neighbours in creating an elaborate puppet show which maps out her parents’ bequest.
Despite its mystery and complications, this is an accessible story, which isn’t always the case with Ball. It highlights what he does so well, the art of omission. The many blanks invite deduction. Often it’s one step up, two steps back, like climbing a scree slope. But when you eventually arrive at the summit, it is hugely rewarding.
In developing its own theory of resistance, its ghoulish, an acerbic piece of grotesque.
January 12, 2012
To begin: When the publisher claims at the end of their synopsis that Jesse Ball’s “The Curfew is a mesmerizing feat of literary imagination,” you may think it an excitable exaggeration. It isn’t. Nor is Minneapolis Star-Tribune’s observation that “There seems to be no other novelist writing today who is capable of so thoroughly disarming one’s narrative expectations.” Writers and Readers alike: prepare to be equally intimidated and inspired.
Those who have read Jesse Ball–and adore him, I would recommend you The Curfew. It has all the fluid strange mesmerism of Samedi the Deafness and The Way Through Doors (my favorite), while pushing creative boundaries: for both author and narrative. One sitting would be best for this darkling daydream.
[book synopsis]
Ball maintains a tight focus and casual periphery. His cast, their world, is small, often claustrophobic and other times cozy. He creates a randomness that can remain random and yet also gain greater significance as the narrative continues. In The Curfew, the violence collects into a pervasive sense of fear. By the time the father must go out after curfew, you are terrified for him. Those stories, those small everyday interactions between characters slip into a deepening pool from which the novel draws emotion. That “fierce love” left me breathless, the ending left my hands trembling.
When those ministers of “show don’t tell” jab you repeatedly with their red pen, few are recommending the level of revelation The Curfew attains.
The novel is written in the shifting between 1st and 3rd person, holding present tenses. The 3rd person narrator? Oh, but I’ve been pondering this. I believe it to be a figure such as the one discussed on pages 126-8. And if so…the implications. The Curfew is told in three Parts (or Acts). They become increasingly abstract. As the reader becomes more and more attached to the little girl and her father, the movement away from the concrete is for the better–a beautiful coping mechanism.
Ball likes to mind the visual impact with dash (–) introductions to dialog, unexpectedly fluid segues, font shifts. Riddles* make their return, though with a more overt role. His repetition of images, the novels preoccupations (seats, strings, epigraphs, lies, “ideas,” etc). The use of puppetry takes on a more surprising presence than I’d anticipated; not that I figured it would remain as obvious as “people as puppets,” but the use of the puppeteer’s narrative structure (105-6), compounded by Ball’s, is marvelous.
The Curfew is a puzzle. On a primary level, the reader understands what is going on. By that ending–on another level–you are not entirely certain. This should not repel you. The response could very well be my own as I may be denying what I am being told. However, I do believe there are cues to suggest a second or third look, none of which I am going to share before your first reading. The result is an expansion of narrative possibility. The Curfew is a complex work that can be read very simply. But why you would leave it there, I’m not entirely sure.
Ball has an elegant hand with the bizarre; which may not resonate with the greater audience. The father was a world-renowned violinist. His new job is for a Mason, consulting with people and writing epigraphs for headstones. The daughter is mute and clever and irrepressible. The mother is perceived differently by the father and the daughter, but haunts both. You learn them through external interactions, dialog, encounters. They are exactly as they seem in an environment where little is certain. Aren’t they?
There is an old-world feel despite the sense that the setting could occur anywhere, anytime. There is a surreality in even the most mundane, in the quiet and sorrowful moments that enthrall the reader. And ultimately, there is an aching familiarity; this is where empathy and fear take hold and linger long after the book closes. What does happen to the father? What happens to the little girl?
There is an ending. But I guarantee it will have you working your way back through to the beginning, after a recovery period. And you won’t hate Jesse Ball for doing that to you, submerging you back into the book. At least, you mightn’t.
____________________________________
recommendation: I understand that I really respond to Jesse Ball’s writing on a level that challenges articulation. Especially with only one reading of the text. While The Curfew takes notable departures from previous novels, I would recommend you start with either Samedi the Deafness (a suspense thriller) and/or The Way Through Doors (a love story) and enter them with an open mind, patient, clear of expectation; this way you can get the style of his writing (voice/form). my reviews for: The Way Through Doors and Samedi the Deafness.
For fans of Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges. For those who like Poetry, Riddles, Literature, the Absurd. Not to be read in proximity to lengthy dystopian fantasies (for both their sakes).
of note: I was reminded of the film Children of Men (2006), as well as the book The Beauty & The Sorrow by Peter Englund in that explanations for the current State are intimate and limited to a character’s understanding of the events/context and their pertinence.
There are conversations The Curfew broaches regarding Art, the Individual, Oppression, Ideas, etc. that I didn’t even touch, partially to keep the “review” relatively spoiler-free. I would love to talk about any of them.
______________________________
*I am bad with riddles, but I wasn’t put off. However, I would like to read this with someone who is good at them.
L @ omphaloskepsis
http://contemplatrix.wordpress.com/20...
Those who have read Jesse Ball–and adore him, I would recommend you The Curfew. It has all the fluid strange mesmerism of Samedi the Deafness and The Way Through Doors (my favorite), while pushing creative boundaries: for both author and narrative. One sitting would be best for this darkling daydream.
[book synopsis]
Ball maintains a tight focus and casual periphery. His cast, their world, is small, often claustrophobic and other times cozy. He creates a randomness that can remain random and yet also gain greater significance as the narrative continues. In The Curfew, the violence collects into a pervasive sense of fear. By the time the father must go out after curfew, you are terrified for him. Those stories, those small everyday interactions between characters slip into a deepening pool from which the novel draws emotion. That “fierce love” left me breathless, the ending left my hands trembling.
When those ministers of “show don’t tell” jab you repeatedly with their red pen, few are recommending the level of revelation The Curfew attains.
The novel is written in the shifting between 1st and 3rd person, holding present tenses. The 3rd person narrator? Oh, but I’ve been pondering this. I believe it to be a figure such as the one discussed on pages 126-8. And if so…the implications. The Curfew is told in three Parts (or Acts). They become increasingly abstract. As the reader becomes more and more attached to the little girl and her father, the movement away from the concrete is for the better–a beautiful coping mechanism.
Ball likes to mind the visual impact with dash (–) introductions to dialog, unexpectedly fluid segues, font shifts. Riddles* make their return, though with a more overt role. His repetition of images, the novels preoccupations (seats, strings, epigraphs, lies, “ideas,” etc). The use of puppetry takes on a more surprising presence than I’d anticipated; not that I figured it would remain as obvious as “people as puppets,” but the use of the puppeteer’s narrative structure (105-6), compounded by Ball’s, is marvelous.
The Curfew is a puzzle. On a primary level, the reader understands what is going on. By that ending–on another level–you are not entirely certain. This should not repel you. The response could very well be my own as I may be denying what I am being told. However, I do believe there are cues to suggest a second or third look, none of which I am going to share before your first reading. The result is an expansion of narrative possibility. The Curfew is a complex work that can be read very simply. But why you would leave it there, I’m not entirely sure.
Ball has an elegant hand with the bizarre; which may not resonate with the greater audience. The father was a world-renowned violinist. His new job is for a Mason, consulting with people and writing epigraphs for headstones. The daughter is mute and clever and irrepressible. The mother is perceived differently by the father and the daughter, but haunts both. You learn them through external interactions, dialog, encounters. They are exactly as they seem in an environment where little is certain. Aren’t they?
There is an old-world feel despite the sense that the setting could occur anywhere, anytime. There is a surreality in even the most mundane, in the quiet and sorrowful moments that enthrall the reader. And ultimately, there is an aching familiarity; this is where empathy and fear take hold and linger long after the book closes. What does happen to the father? What happens to the little girl?
There is an ending. But I guarantee it will have you working your way back through to the beginning, after a recovery period. And you won’t hate Jesse Ball for doing that to you, submerging you back into the book. At least, you mightn’t.
____________________________________
recommendation: I understand that I really respond to Jesse Ball’s writing on a level that challenges articulation. Especially with only one reading of the text. While The Curfew takes notable departures from previous novels, I would recommend you start with either Samedi the Deafness (a suspense thriller) and/or The Way Through Doors (a love story) and enter them with an open mind, patient, clear of expectation; this way you can get the style of his writing (voice/form). my reviews for: The Way Through Doors and Samedi the Deafness.
For fans of Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges. For those who like Poetry, Riddles, Literature, the Absurd. Not to be read in proximity to lengthy dystopian fantasies (for both their sakes).
of note: I was reminded of the film Children of Men (2006), as well as the book The Beauty & The Sorrow by Peter Englund in that explanations for the current State are intimate and limited to a character’s understanding of the events/context and their pertinence.
There are conversations The Curfew broaches regarding Art, the Individual, Oppression, Ideas, etc. that I didn’t even touch, partially to keep the “review” relatively spoiler-free. I would love to talk about any of them.
______________________________
*I am bad with riddles, but I wasn’t put off. However, I would like to read this with someone who is good at them.
L @ omphaloskepsis
http://contemplatrix.wordpress.com/20...
July 1, 2016
Lindo librito, quizás no demasiado memorable. Es una distopía escrita de forma poética. La temática en sí se me hizo medio anticuada: gobierno totalitario, estado de sitio, nadie sabe quién es policía y quién no. Quizás sólo porque pienso en los clásicos que leí de adolescente, 1984, Un mundo feliz, etc y la verdad no sé si es un género que se sigue escribiendo y de qué forma, pero en fin, me queda la sensación de que quiere dar con la problemática del presente y no lo logra. Aunque quizás lo que quiera es sólo hablar de cómo vivir en un tiempo adverso o de cómo "endurecerse sin perder la ternura" como dirían mis ex compañeros de Fsoc. La gracia del libro, igual, está en la tercera parte, que es la representación de una obra de títeres escrita y protagonizada por una de las protagonistas de la novela. La obra en sí es muy linda y está muy bueno cómo se va mezclando con la historia y terminan contando el final los títeres. El dibujo de la tapa, que lo hizo el autor, no es Maus, es el títere que representa y maneja como a un títere a la nenita protagonista.
August 3, 2011
Minimalist, poetic, Kafkaesque, pretentious. A short novel, not really even a novella, but it its brevity it tells a large story. Jesse Ball gives you the outline, images, ideas, and tools from which you flesh out the story with your own experiences and reading, a pretty neat trick. Two elements of The Curfew made a strong impression on me: William's secondary occupation (which he took up after society became a police state and the curfew was imposed -- he had been a concert violinist before music was banned), epitaphorist, a man who helps the bereaved compose epitaphs for tombstones; the informal resistance movement's "idea" or "concept," which boils down to killing agents of the police state whenever and wherever possible. The magical puppet show of the second half of the book was too arty and Pan's Labyrinth-ish for me. I will say, though, that the book got under my skin. I won't forget it.
March 28, 2015
Personally I'm glad to see experimental, postmodernist fiction like this get some affection from reviewers, . The protagonists, a 29-year old widowed father and his 8-year old mute daughter (or is she 9? on one page she's 8, a few pages later we're told she's 9...), have the makings of characters you could get attached to, if the novel were longer, but it's extremely short. The dystopic setting is objectively horrifying, but again there's so little matter here that it's hard to feel any true despair about this tyrannical city where people are shot by state agents in the street at the merest peep of resistance. The protagonist William's wife Louisa is one of those people who was shot, several years ago. His pain is still raw. One night, violating curfew, William goes to a house where resisters meet. He is given a violin (he used to be a professional violinist but hasn't played since music was banned) and a packet of papers pertaining to his wife's murder, and he heads back home. In the meantime, his daughter Molly is in the care of elderly neighbors, and they stage a puppet show together. Molly, William, and Louisa are puppets in the show, with Molly crafting a narrative that brings us to the present and to William as he tries to return home safely in the darkness. It's a creative technique, and it's mildly haunting, but unsatisfying.
The best part of the novel is the opening, where we see William going about his job as an epitaphorist, interviewing the relatives of recently deceased people and inquiring what they want carved on the gravestones. One woman wants "Died before his time" as her husband's epitaph. When William points out that he was 92, she suggests changing his birth date to twenty-five years ago.
August 2, 2011
I think I've been hesitant to include Jesse Ball near the top of the list of my favorite authors only because he's so young. Part of it is definitely the fact that, so far, we have only a limited library to choose from. But with The Curfew, his third novel, I can finally cave and claim Ball as a favorite. The Way Through Doors, novel #2, is one of the best books I've ever read, and with The Curfew as a follow up, Ball has proven himself to be a mind apart, crafting beautiful, bizarre, and thoughtful books that defy narrative norms. "Defiance" may not be a goal unto itself; that's my word, and it's probably better to look at Ball's writing as trusting its own formal logic so much that it doesn't need to rely traditional modes of storytelling.
The Curfew is set in a country that reads like a fascist fairy tale, possessing a feel both oppressive and fantastical. It concerns a man and his daughter and the way the larger world invades their own, and how that world is encapsulated at the same time on a smaller scale, completely within their control. There is an embedded, postmodern quality to the resolution, one that, in its impossible, Escher-esque construction, reveals something of the human condition that a realist rendering could not have. I think that's the real power of Ball's work - his ability to craft an absurdist lens that, even as it distorts reality, reveals parts of reality that would be missed when viewed head on.
Jesse Ball is one of the smartest, most inventive people writing today, and I'm happy to finally and publically refer to him as one of my favorite authors.
The Curfew is set in a country that reads like a fascist fairy tale, possessing a feel both oppressive and fantastical. It concerns a man and his daughter and the way the larger world invades their own, and how that world is encapsulated at the same time on a smaller scale, completely within their control. There is an embedded, postmodern quality to the resolution, one that, in its impossible, Escher-esque construction, reveals something of the human condition that a realist rendering could not have. I think that's the real power of Ball's work - his ability to craft an absurdist lens that, even as it distorts reality, reveals parts of reality that would be missed when viewed head on.
Jesse Ball is one of the smartest, most inventive people writing today, and I'm happy to finally and publically refer to him as one of my favorite authors.
September 16, 2012
The Curfew is a quick read, I finished it in a single sitting.
Jesse Ball is a poet. His work of prose is filled with empty spaces and Ball manages to evoke a great deal of feeling with sparse lines. The puppet show is beautifully realized and satisfyingly resolved. Maybe it's the brevity of the work, the concentration of so much in such a thin volume, but I find that I can't help but keep thinking about the story. It would make a great book club read as it invites so much in the interpretation.
Jesse Ball is a poet. His work of prose is filled with empty spaces and Ball manages to evoke a great deal of feeling with sparse lines. The puppet show is beautifully realized and satisfyingly resolved. Maybe it's the brevity of the work, the concentration of so much in such a thin volume, but I find that I can't help but keep thinking about the story. It would make a great book club read as it invites so much in the interpretation.
June 18, 2011
holy fucking shit the goddamn asshole
April 15, 2024
Wow (4.5)
March 19, 2015
A ver.
El argumento es más o menos este: en la ciudad C hay toque de queda y quien lo viola es asesinado. No hay mucha más explicación que esa, ni para lector ni para los habitantes de C. Hay un hombre cuya mujer desapareció hace un tiempo y ahora cría él sólo a su hija muda. Un día le dicen que alguien tiene información sobre el paradero de su mujer, pero tiene que violar el toque de queda para encontrarse con ese alguien. Esa noche deja a su hija a cuidado de unos vecinos y va a buscar esa información.
Y entonces el libro se convierte en una película de Michel Gondry con guión de Charlie Kaufman.
Es un libro muy bien escrito. Hay frases filosas, ideas afiladas que te dejan rebotando la vista en el renglón varias veces mientras pensás lo que leíste. "No habrá nada de magia. La magia es una necesidad nacida de la pobreza, o bien es una fantasía suntuosa".
Frases así, a montones.
Muy bello.
Pero la mejor línea, una frase tan simple que sólo puede explicarse con un arrebato de pura inspiración, es el título de la sección final (la parte que parece una película de Gondry):
"UNA ESCALERA DE LLUVIA Y UN TECHO EN LAS NUBES".
Qué buena frase.
No sé en qué falla el libro. No sé qué le falta para que lo haya cerrado y haya querido contarle a todos sobre este libro (como sí me pasó con el de Pinedo que leí el otro día, por ejemplo. Quizás sea que uno intuya desde el comienzo el final. No lo sé. Quizás deba releerlo en el futuro, y quizás lo distinga, o también puede que cambie de opinión.
El argumento es más o menos este: en la ciudad C hay toque de queda y quien lo viola es asesinado. No hay mucha más explicación que esa, ni para lector ni para los habitantes de C. Hay un hombre cuya mujer desapareció hace un tiempo y ahora cría él sólo a su hija muda. Un día le dicen que alguien tiene información sobre el paradero de su mujer, pero tiene que violar el toque de queda para encontrarse con ese alguien. Esa noche deja a su hija a cuidado de unos vecinos y va a buscar esa información.
Y entonces el libro se convierte en una película de Michel Gondry con guión de Charlie Kaufman.
Es un libro muy bien escrito. Hay frases filosas, ideas afiladas que te dejan rebotando la vista en el renglón varias veces mientras pensás lo que leíste. "No habrá nada de magia. La magia es una necesidad nacida de la pobreza, o bien es una fantasía suntuosa".
Frases así, a montones.
Muy bello.
Pero la mejor línea, una frase tan simple que sólo puede explicarse con un arrebato de pura inspiración, es el título de la sección final (la parte que parece una película de Gondry):
"UNA ESCALERA DE LLUVIA Y UN TECHO EN LAS NUBES".
Qué buena frase.
No sé en qué falla el libro. No sé qué le falta para que lo haya cerrado y haya querido contarle a todos sobre este libro (como sí me pasó con el de Pinedo que leí el otro día, por ejemplo. Quizás sea que uno intuya desde el comienzo el final. No lo sé. Quizás deba releerlo en el futuro, y quizás lo distinga, o también puede que cambie de opinión.
January 12, 2016
Leí este libro hace un par de meses y decidí no calificarlo hasta terminar de procesar lo que me dejó su lectura.
La historia de Toque de queda transcurre en la ciudad C. en una realidad distópica, podríamos decir. El gobierno es totalitario; los ministerios y la policía, invisibles. Nadie sabe con certeza quiénes están al mando.
Dentro de este clima "kafkiano" están William y Molly. Él es un violinista retirado que se dedica a escribir epitafios porque, desde que existe el toque de queda, está prohibida la música. Ella es una nena muda de 8 años y es su hija.
La trama desarrolla la vida de estos personajes, y el conflicto ocurre cuando William viola el toque de queda para conseguir información sobre su esposa, que es asesinada al asumir el nuevo gobierno. Mientras tanto, Molly escribe una obra de teatro para títeres que se va mezclando con la realidad.
El libro me dejó una sensación de ternura y a la vez melancolía. Me encantaron los pequeños detalles: la aparente simplicidad que en el fondo dice mucho, la poesía de los epitafios, la relación padre e hija, el recurso de la ficción dentro de la ficción.
Además me resultó un libro muy visual: el autor juega con la distribución de las palabras dentro de las páginas y el tamaño de la tipografía. En fin, es un libro distinto y me gustaría leer más de Jesse Ball.
La historia de Toque de queda transcurre en la ciudad C. en una realidad distópica, podríamos decir. El gobierno es totalitario; los ministerios y la policía, invisibles. Nadie sabe con certeza quiénes están al mando.
Dentro de este clima "kafkiano" están William y Molly. Él es un violinista retirado que se dedica a escribir epitafios porque, desde que existe el toque de queda, está prohibida la música. Ella es una nena muda de 8 años y es su hija.
La trama desarrolla la vida de estos personajes, y el conflicto ocurre cuando William viola el toque de queda para conseguir información sobre su esposa, que es asesinada al asumir el nuevo gobierno. Mientras tanto, Molly escribe una obra de teatro para títeres que se va mezclando con la realidad.
El libro me dejó una sensación de ternura y a la vez melancolía. Me encantaron los pequeños detalles: la aparente simplicidad que en el fondo dice mucho, la poesía de los epitafios, la relación padre e hija, el recurso de la ficción dentro de la ficción.
Además me resultó un libro muy visual: el autor juega con la distribución de las palabras dentro de las páginas y el tamaño de la tipografía. En fin, es un libro distinto y me gustaría leer más de Jesse Ball.
August 16, 2011
I sort of complained that Ball's prior novel, The Way Through Doors, was treacly, so I don't really have grounds to whine that this one is a stone cold bummer. It's an odd complaint especially given that I usually love distopias. I think, though, that my problem is rooted in the dissonance between the gravity of the Curfew's themes and plot, and the persistant cutesy-wootsiness of Ball's prose. Even with its subject matter of invisible violence, state hegemony, death, and rememberance, The Curfew is almost unbearably precious. Underneath the menace, it's all fond sighs and potentious symbols. All signifier, no signified, this book.
September 27, 2013
Dreamy, minimalist totalitarian state lit. Sometimes has the scent of Paul Auster around the edges but with a more self-concious attachment to formal experiment. It's told in fragments, which generally works for me, but I found some of the novel's individual shards and pieces greater than the sum of its parts.
August 22, 2011
After reading his other two books, The Way Through Doors and Samedi the Deafness, a few years ago, I was ready to declare Jesse Ball my favorite living author and eagerly awaited his next book. The Curfew, is Ball's third novel and it does not disappoint. This story is set in a dystopian police state and follow a (forcefully) retired violinist turned epitaphorist, William, and his young mute daughter, Molly. William finds out that an old friend may have some information about the disappearance of William's wife and ventures out to meet this friend knowing that it will take him out well after curfew.
One of my favorite things about Ball's writing style is his ability to reveal a great deal about a person or a society through very little actual description. In The Curfew, Ball reveals snippets of information about world that William and Molly live in without ever directly addressing the creation or describing in great detail the restraints of the society on it citizens. These snippets are revealed in a way that helps portray the distrust and paranoia that pervade the society in the book.
The best part of the book is the third part. Ball uses one of my favorite literary devices, the mise-en-abîme. In The Curfew, when William ventures out to find out about his wife, his daughter is left with the elderly couple next door, where she writes and has performed a puppet show. Much of the past and a glimpse of the future are portrayed in this puppet show. Through this private puppet show much of the world is revealed in ways that it couldn't be revealed in public. Once the puppet show starts and you realize that this show is actually the events that have occurred/are occurring in real life it is hard not to rush to the end of the play to find out what happens.
One of my favorite things about Ball's writing style is his ability to reveal a great deal about a person or a society through very little actual description. In The Curfew, Ball reveals snippets of information about world that William and Molly live in without ever directly addressing the creation or describing in great detail the restraints of the society on it citizens. These snippets are revealed in a way that helps portray the distrust and paranoia that pervade the society in the book.
The best part of the book is the third part. Ball uses one of my favorite literary devices, the mise-en-abîme. In The Curfew, when William ventures out to find out about his wife, his daughter is left with the elderly couple next door, where she writes and has performed a puppet show. Much of the past and a glimpse of the future are portrayed in this puppet show. Through this private puppet show much of the world is revealed in ways that it couldn't be revealed in public. Once the puppet show starts and you realize that this show is actually the events that have occurred/are occurring in real life it is hard not to rush to the end of the play to find out what happens.
December 27, 2018
This book left me confused, but touched all the same. The prose was beautifully done, and Jesse Ball was really able to leave his mark on me.
You immediately know that this is dystopian novel, but you're never really sure what's happening. Are they at war? How far back is this happening? Or how far into the future does this take place? Who or what is ruling? You never really know, and it is never revealed. All we know, as readers, is that there is a curfew, and if you are found roaming the streets after the curfew, you are immediately shot. Dead. Over.
Eight year old Molly, and her father, live in this town, and we know that her mom is no longer, but we also get bits and pieces of how much her dad loved her mom. The father is raising his child, and they have a game in which he gives her little riddles and clues to solve. It's their favorite pastime.
When an old acquaintance runs into her dad, he reveals to him that he knows what really happened to his deceased wife. This is enough to lure the father out past curfew, putting his life at risk, and leaving his daughter in danger of becoming an orphan. He leaves her with the neighbors and ventures out into the night.
The neighbors, an elderly couple, decide to entertain Molly by putting on a puppet show.
In the third and final act, the puppet show takes over the novel, becoming the tool in which the story is told from beginning to end. It is a spectacular show, filled with life and death and emotion, and it leaves you reeling at the ending. The book ends with the puppet show, and Ball leaves you never knowing for sure what had happened. It is both unsatisfying but deliciously satisfying. It is both frustrating, but incredibly amazing. I couldn't decide whether I loved it or hated it, but I felt most of all, confused.
I wish I had closure. I wish I knew what really happened. But that doesn't take away from the overall story. Not one bit.
You immediately know that this is dystopian novel, but you're never really sure what's happening. Are they at war? How far back is this happening? Or how far into the future does this take place? Who or what is ruling? You never really know, and it is never revealed. All we know, as readers, is that there is a curfew, and if you are found roaming the streets after the curfew, you are immediately shot. Dead. Over.
Eight year old Molly, and her father, live in this town, and we know that her mom is no longer, but we also get bits and pieces of how much her dad loved her mom. The father is raising his child, and they have a game in which he gives her little riddles and clues to solve. It's their favorite pastime.
When an old acquaintance runs into her dad, he reveals to him that he knows what really happened to his deceased wife. This is enough to lure the father out past curfew, putting his life at risk, and leaving his daughter in danger of becoming an orphan. He leaves her with the neighbors and ventures out into the night.
The neighbors, an elderly couple, decide to entertain Molly by putting on a puppet show.
In the third and final act, the puppet show takes over the novel, becoming the tool in which the story is told from beginning to end. It is a spectacular show, filled with life and death and emotion, and it leaves you reeling at the ending. The book ends with the puppet show, and Ball leaves you never knowing for sure what had happened. It is both unsatisfying but deliciously satisfying. It is both frustrating, but incredibly amazing. I couldn't decide whether I loved it or hated it, but I felt most of all, confused.
I wish I had closure. I wish I knew what really happened. But that doesn't take away from the overall story. Not one bit.
May 30, 2022
William era un violinista y, ahora que la música está prohibida, es un epigrafista: escribe epitafios para las personas que ya no están, dejando una huella que signifique y tenga peso. William ya no puede usar sus manos para tocar, y su hija Molly, que es muda, solo puede usar sus manos para hablar. Su esposa Louisa desapareció y hace un tiempo que William y Molly viven solos, en una ciudad donde los disparos y arrestos son moneda corriente, como también los actos de rebelión que estallan espontáneamente en las calles. En este escenario, se pone en escena una obra de teatro con títeres, que narra a su manera el pasado, presente y futuro de William y Molly.
A este libro no le sobra ni una palabra, condensa en pocas páginas una historia que combina la brutalidad y dureza de un gobierno totalitario y una ciudad donde diariamente desaparecen personas sin razón, con la cotidianidad y los juegos de un padre y su hija, que parecen vivir en un mundo propio, donde inevitablemente se filtra la violencia exterior. Esa mezcla entre lo brutal y lo tierno describe para mí este libro, que además es original en sus formas de narrar: juega con los silencios y la disposición de las palabras en la página, y presenta una obra de teatro dentro del mismo libro que cierra de alguna forma la historia principal.
Para mí la historia tiene algo del V de Vendetta de Alan Moore y la imaginación de las películas Terry Gilliam. Incluye desde instrucciones para la puesta en escena de una obra de títeres a escenas kafkianas que muestran lo irracional de la dictadura: por ejemplo, diálogos donde se dice que un hombre no debería correr con una fruta en el bolsillo porque podrían dispararle o el hecho común de que los policías a veces se arresten entre sí porque no están identificados y sospechan de sí mismos.
Me pareció un libro súper original y lo disfruté un montón. Ya quiero leer más del autor.
A este libro no le sobra ni una palabra, condensa en pocas páginas una historia que combina la brutalidad y dureza de un gobierno totalitario y una ciudad donde diariamente desaparecen personas sin razón, con la cotidianidad y los juegos de un padre y su hija, que parecen vivir en un mundo propio, donde inevitablemente se filtra la violencia exterior. Esa mezcla entre lo brutal y lo tierno describe para mí este libro, que además es original en sus formas de narrar: juega con los silencios y la disposición de las palabras en la página, y presenta una obra de teatro dentro del mismo libro que cierra de alguna forma la historia principal.
Para mí la historia tiene algo del V de Vendetta de Alan Moore y la imaginación de las películas Terry Gilliam. Incluye desde instrucciones para la puesta en escena de una obra de títeres a escenas kafkianas que muestran lo irracional de la dictadura: por ejemplo, diálogos donde se dice que un hombre no debería correr con una fruta en el bolsillo porque podrían dispararle o el hecho común de que los policías a veces se arresten entre sí porque no están identificados y sospechan de sí mismos.
Me pareció un libro súper original y lo disfruté un montón. Ya quiero leer más del autor.
September 8, 2016
5+ out of 5.
This one is meant for a warm cup of something nice by a window on a crisp, clear autumn Sunday. I know I say that about a lot of things, but believe me on this one: there's just something in the prose, in the feeling of the story, that makes me think that that's a perfect way to read it. This is, on its surface, a simple story - totalitarian, a historical European feel, a father and daughter struggling in the face of unknowable entities larger than they... but with Jesse Ball, nothing is ever so simple as it seems. Or, perhaps, it's that even the simple things are imbued with a dash of narrative daring and dexterity. One thing is for sure, no matter how you come to grok it, this is a truly beautiful novel from one of the most brilliant authors working today.
More soon at RB: http://ragingbiblioholism.com/2016/09...
This one is meant for a warm cup of something nice by a window on a crisp, clear autumn Sunday. I know I say that about a lot of things, but believe me on this one: there's just something in the prose, in the feeling of the story, that makes me think that that's a perfect way to read it. This is, on its surface, a simple story - totalitarian, a historical European feel, a father and daughter struggling in the face of unknowable entities larger than they... but with Jesse Ball, nothing is ever so simple as it seems. Or, perhaps, it's that even the simple things are imbued with a dash of narrative daring and dexterity. One thing is for sure, no matter how you come to grok it, this is a truly beautiful novel from one of the most brilliant authors working today.
More soon at RB: http://ragingbiblioholism.com/2016/09...
October 18, 2012
This was a novella really - pages sparse and book very short.
Which is why I finished it.
I kept thinking - this has got to change.
It's one of those books that is written in such as way as to make the reader think there is more than meets the eye - but it is smoke and mirrors. Granted, there are a few well spaced philosophical truths thrown throughout - and it is symbolic. But just not good enough or consistent enough to create any sort of train of thought or overall development.
Which is why I finished it.
I kept thinking - this has got to change.
It's one of those books that is written in such as way as to make the reader think there is more than meets the eye - but it is smoke and mirrors. Granted, there are a few well spaced philosophical truths thrown throughout - and it is symbolic. But just not good enough or consistent enough to create any sort of train of thought or overall development.
March 20, 2017
It's very hard to even know what I think about this book. I tore through it (it's more like a long short story) horrified as an American living in the Trump administration. I don't usually like pomo fiction, but recently read a great book by an author who recommended this one. It's scary, it's spare, it's sad, it's humane, it's chilling ... and that bone at the end! Right in the heart, so poetic and beautiful. I'm not sure how I feel about that long puppet show, though I loved the puppet master and his wife, but once it became a strange fantastic parallel, I found it a little too too something. But my heart was in my mouth at the same time. This one deserves a reread for a fair review, but it was too upsetting to read again right now.
Coincidentally I finished Huck Out West by Coover right before, also basically a Trump novel that scared the beejeesus out of me. Ultimately much better, but there was much more to it as well.
Coincidentally I finished Huck Out West by Coover right before, also basically a Trump novel that scared the beejeesus out of me. Ultimately much better, but there was much more to it as well.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 22, 2022
I picked this book up at random in the library. The first page chilled me. Living under an authoritarian regime and no one know when things really changed. This novella keeps the pages turning even when you’re not exactly sure what’s happening. It turns in and around on itself. Will we all end up creating a puppet show to explain what happened? I’m going to read it again today. It’s worth the time.
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