Evie and Guy is a novel written wholly in numbers. When we tell the story of a relationship, we, and it, are judged by what we omit. By design, by ignorance, or just because there are only so many pages and so much time, the blank spaces tell a story every bit as true, as rich, and as important as the print marks meandering through them. Acknowledging that truth, Evie and Guy is the history of a relationship told through the white space of the protagonists’ most solitary act.
It's been just a day since I read Dan Holloway's "Evie and Guy," a novel crafted solely with numbers—an experience entirely novel to me. Yet, the urge to pen down my sentiments about this unique narrative overwhelms me. This unconventional piece, devoid of implicitly saying anything with words, captivates through its numerical prose.
Holloway's creation astonishes with its ability to articulate a narrative with just numbers, stands as a testament to originality, adorned with a haunting beauty that resonates both brilliance and melancholy.
However, I felt a pang of frustration as some nuances remained elusive, leaving me yearning for a complete grasp of the novel. Yet, in hindsight, it becomes apparent that this intentional ambiguity invites us, the readers, to actively participate in sculpting the intricate relationship between Evie and Guy. The author's deliberate omission nudges us to contribute to their story, allowing our imaginations to weave threads of connection in this enigmatic numerical tapestry.
This is a book with no words, just numbers. Really, I’m not kidding you. It’s avant-garde you see. A piece of art. Only numbers. And it’s over a hundred pages long.
How is this possible?
How can a story be told with just numbers?
Well, I won’t give too much away, but Dan Holloway has achieved the impossible. Because after reading Evie and Guy, I really did have a story in my head.
Parts I skim read; other parts I studied for longer. I’ll admit: the fact that I read it like this was cheating, and lazy. But if it put a story in my head through my undertaking of such an act, then think what it could have done if I’d read it properly, in detail, one chapter at a time.
When I do eventually go back for a re-read, then that’s what I’ll do. A chapter a day, studying every number carefully. Because there is a story in all of them.
To read this book for long periods of time, however, would give you a headache – you are only looking at numbers and interpreting the meanings behind them – despite it being a simple code, and easy enough to understand.
My other criticism is that like many pieces of art, I’d enjoy it more it was fully explained to me afterwards. I found that after reading and pondering over the story somewhat, I began to think of different ways to decipher what I’d read, and the ending especially is, in my opinion, open to interpretation. But the fact that it got me thinking so much is a remarkable achievement.
In summary, there is a lot of story and a lot of depth to this piece. And it’s a very clever idea. But it’s a novella that makes you do the work as you’re filling in the blank spaces, which isn’t exactly relaxing, enjoyable reading.
Not a book for curling up next to a roaring fire, that will sweep you away on a thrilling journey … but worth a look.
In writing this novel using virtually nothing but numbers with punctuation (plus a brief verbal introduction giving a guiding clue or two), Dan Holloway has done something flamingly original; and he has executed it with beauty, aplomb and uncompromising seriousness. It's a love story – not one whose details are as clearly perceivable as most love stories' details are, but a love story nonetheless. And it's one whose readers will bring unpredictable doses of themselves and their own imaginations into their reading of it. I look forward to re-reading it, when I'm sure I'll bring elements into it that will be different from those I brought when I first read it. Its unique form and content is moving, both in its so-strangely-inflected humanity and in its fascinating, perhaps infuriating “muteness”: in the manner of a rock formation, its particular wordlessness contains a sense of organic accretion combined with implacable silence, as if its stains and shadows of warm humanity have somehow been set into a form that’s transcended any established tropes of review or other chitchat…
Possibilities play a major part in his latest work, Evie&Guy, a novel without words, a story told in numbers documenting acts of masturbation by the couple. At first glance I simply couldn't get my head around the concept of the numbers,the sheer amount of raw data and the blank pages. I fed some of the numbers into a audio generator to see if I could 'hear' the book, but it was just like looking at it ,this strange kind of white noise.Then I thought about numbers and how they control our world, statistics and amounts of stupid pieces of paper that constitute life and death. I remembered a line from 'The Scientist' by Coldplay; "I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzle apart" and I played the song, that beautifully sad song and then I got it. You can't read this book you have to think through the book,look away from the numbers, see the possibilities between the numbers, raw data only represents events at the basest level, there's so much more to be imagined, that's what I got from Evie&Guy.